The tension in the air had become suffocating. The countdown to the [Bronze City Stele]'s activation ticked ever closer, the glowing numbers casting an eerie light over the room. Sylas couldn't stop watching it. The closer it got to zero, the heavier the pull in his chest became, as if the cube itself were demanding his attention.
Most of the other attendees had clustered into groups by now. Some were whispering plans, others praying, and a few simply sat in silence, their faces pale with dread. Sylas stood with his family near the edge of the room, trying to piece together the fragments of information they'd gathered.
"They're testing us," his father muttered, his voice low. "Nathaniel said the Stele chooses, but what does that mean? How does it decide?"
"Maybe it's looking for something specific," his mother suggested, though she looked just as lost as the rest of them.
Sylas glanced at Ana. She was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her face partially hidden behind her arms. She wasn't crying, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.
He crouched beside her, his tone soft. "We'll get through this, Ana. I promise."
Ana looked up at him, her expression wavering between hope and doubt. "You can't promise that. We don't even know what's going to happen."
Sylas hesitated, unable to argue. She was right. But he couldn't let her see his own fear. He had to stay strong—for her, for their family.
"I'll figure it out," he said firmly. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
As the countdown hit 01:00:00, the Stele's hum grew louder, reverberating through the room like a heartbeat. The symbols on its surface began to shift more rapidly, glowing with an intensity that made the cube seem almost alive.
Then, without warning, the whispers began.
Sylas froze, his body rigid as the sound filled his mind. It wasn't coming from the room—it was coming from the cube. The voices were faint, fragmented, speaking in a language he couldn't understand. They swirled around him, pulling at his thoughts, digging into his memories.
"Sylas!" Ana's voice cut through the haze, grounding him. He blinked, realizing he'd taken several steps toward the Stele without meaning to.
"I'm fine," he said quickly, though his heart was racing.
But he wasn't fine. The whispers had left something behind—a faint, lingering presence in his mind. And with it came a single, unmistakable truth: the cube had noticed him.
Others in the room began to react as well. A man near the front collapsed to his knees, clutching his head and muttering incoherently. A woman screamed, her voice piercing the air as she stumbled backward, her hands covering her ears.
Nathaniel Brown stepped forward again, his calm demeanor unshaken. "The Stele is awakening," he announced. "Those of you who feel its call should consider yourselves fortunate. It means you have been noticed."
"Noticed for what?" someone shouted from the back of the room.
Nathaniel's gaze turned cold. "To be chosen—or rejected. The Stele does not explain itself, nor does it tolerate weakness. If you cannot withstand its presence, you will not survive the Trial."
Sylas clenched his fists, trying to block out the whispers that still lingered at the edges of his mind. Whatever this cube was, it wasn't just a machine. It was something far more powerful—and far more dangerous.
The countdown reached 00:30:00, and the room grew eerily silent. The Stele's glow intensified, casting long shadows across the floor. Then, slowly, it began to rotate, its symbols aligning in intricate patterns that seemed almost deliberate.
Nathaniel raised his hand, silencing the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the crowd. "The Stele is preparing to mark those who will take part in the Trial. Those who are marked will be bound to its rules. Refusal is not an option."
The room erupted into chaos.
"What do you mean, 'bound'?!" someone shouted.
"Is there a way to avoid it?" another asked desperately.
Nathaniel's expression remained impassive. "The Stele decides. You cannot hide from it. You cannot outrun it. Accept your fate, or be destroyed."
Sylas's stomach churned. He looked at his parents, who were both pale and visibly shaken. His father tried to say something, but no words came out.
"Do you think it'll choose us?" Ana whispered, her voice trembling.
"I don't know," Sylas admitted. "But whatever happens, we'll stay together."
As the final minutes ticked down, the Stele's glow became almost blinding. Then, with a low, resonating hum, beams of light shot out from its surface, each one targeting an individual in the room.
Sylas flinched as one of the beams struck him square in the chest. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming—like a wave of energy crashing into him, filling his body with heat and light. He stumbled backward, gasping for air as the light faded.
When he looked down, he saw a faint symbol glowing on the back of his left hand. It was intricate and otherworldly, its lines pulsing faintly with a bronze light.
He wasn't the only one. All around the room, others were inspecting similar marks, their expressions a mix of awe and fear.
"You have been marked," Nathaniel announced, his voice cutting through the confusion. "The Trial begins now."
The Stele pulsed once more, and the room was consumed by light.
Sylas barely had time to register what was happening before the world around him shattered like glass. The grand hall, the other attendees, even his family—all of it dissolved into fragments, leaving him standing alone in an empty void.
Then, just as suddenly, the void gave way to a new scene. Sylas found himself in a dense jungle, the air humid and alive with the sounds of chirping insects and distant roars.
He looked around frantically, his heart pounding. Ana was nowhere in sight. Neither were his parents.
The only thing that remained was the glowing mark on his hand—and the faint whisper of the Stele in his mind.
The Trial had begun.Chapter 4: The Mark of the Chosen
The tension in the air had become suffocating. The countdown to the [Bronze City Stele]'s activation ticked ever closer, the glowing numbers casting an eerie light over the room. Sylas couldn't stop watching it. The closer it got to zero, the heavier the pull in his chest became, as if the cube itself were demanding his attention.
Most of the other attendees had clustered into groups by now. Some were whispering plans, others praying, and a few simply sat in silence, their faces pale with dread. Sylas stood with his family near the edge of the room, trying to piece together the fragments of information they'd gathered.
"They're testing us," his father muttered, his voice low. "Nathaniel said the Stele chooses, but what does that mean? How does it decide?"
"Maybe it's looking for something specific," his mother suggested, though she looked just as lost as the rest of them.
Sylas glanced at Ana. She was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her face partially hidden behind her arms. She wasn't crying, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.
He crouched beside her, his tone soft. "We'll get through this, Ana. I promise."
Ana looked up at him, her expression wavering between hope and doubt. "You can't promise that. We don't even know what's going to happen."
Sylas hesitated, unable to argue. She was right. But he couldn't let her see his own fear. He had to stay strong—for her, for their family.
"I'll figure it out," he said firmly. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
As the countdown hit 01:00:00, the Stele's hum grew louder, reverberating through the room like a heartbeat. The symbols on its surface began to shift more rapidly, glowing with an intensity that made the cube seem almost alive.
Then, without warning, the whispers began.
Sylas froze, his body rigid as the sound filled his mind. It wasn't coming from the room—it was coming from the cube. The voices were faint, fragmented, speaking in a language he couldn't understand. They swirled around him, pulling at his thoughts, digging into his memories.
"Sylas!" Ana's voice cut through the haze, grounding him. He blinked, realizing he'd taken several steps toward the Stele without meaning to.
"I'm fine," he said quickly, though his heart was racing.
But he wasn't fine. The whispers had left something behind—a faint, lingering presence in his mind. And with it came a single, unmistakable truth: the cube had noticed him.
Others in the room began to react as well. A man near the front collapsed to his knees, clutching his head and muttering incoherently. A woman screamed, her voice piercing the air as she stumbled backward, her hands covering her ears.
Nathaniel Brown stepped forward again, his calm demeanor unshaken. "The Stele is awakening," he announced. "Those of you who feel its call should consider yourselves fortunate. It means you have been noticed."
"Noticed for what?" someone shouted from the back of the room.
Nathaniel's gaze turned cold. "To be chosen—or rejected. The Stele does not explain itself, nor does it tolerate weakness. If you cannot withstand its presence, you will not survive the Trial."
Sylas clenched his fists, trying to block out the whispers that still lingered at the edges of his mind. Whatever this cube was, it wasn't just a machine. It was something far more powerful—and far more dangerous.
The countdown reached 00:30:00, and the room grew eerily silent. The Stele's glow intensified, casting long shadows across the floor. Then, slowly, it began to rotate, its symbols aligning in intricate patterns that seemed almost deliberate.
Nathaniel raised his hand, silencing the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the crowd. "The Stele is preparing to mark those who will take part in the Trial. Those who are marked will be bound to its rules. Refusal is not an option."
The room erupted into chaos.
"What do you mean, 'bound'?!" someone shouted.
"Is there a way to avoid it?" another asked desperately.
Nathaniel's expression remained impassive. "The Stele decides. You cannot hide from it. You cannot outrun it. Accept your fate, or be destroyed."
Sylas's stomach churned. He looked at his parents, who were both pale and visibly shaken. His father tried to say something, but no words came out.
"Do you think it'll choose us?" Ana whispered, her voice trembling.
"I don't know," Sylas admitted. "But whatever happens, we'll stay together."
As the final minutes ticked down, the Stele's glow became almost blinding. Then, with a low, resonating hum, beams of light shot out from its surface, each one targeting an individual in the room.
Sylas flinched as one of the beams struck him square in the chest. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming—like a wave of energy crashing into him, filling his body with heat and light. He stumbled backward, gasping for air as the light faded.
When he looked down, he saw a faint symbol glowing on the back of his left hand. It was intricate and otherworldly, its lines pulsing faintly with a bronze light.
He wasn't the only one. All around the room, others were inspecting similar marks, their expressions a mix of awe and fear.
"You have been marked," Nathaniel announced, his voice cutting through the confusion. "The Trial begins now."
The Stele pulsed once more, and the room was consumed by light.
Sylas barely had time to register what was happening before the world around him shattered like glass. The grand hall, the other attendees, even his family—all of it dissolved into fragments, leaving him standing alone in an empty void.
Then, just as suddenly, the void gave way to a new scene. Sylas found himself in a dense jungle, the air humid and alive with the sounds of chirping insects and distant roars.
He looked around frantically, his heart pounding. Ana was nowhere in sight. Neither were his parents.
The only thing that remained was the glowing mark on his hand—and the faint whisper of the Stele in his mind.
The Trial had begun.