The night devoured the land like a ravenous beast, its breath cold and thick with blood and smoke, slithering through the dense forest like an unseen predator. The damp earth, soaked in fresh crimson, exuded the lingering stench of death, its touch clammy, unyielding.
Amidst the towering trees, shadows twisted and writhed, shifting with the wind, flickering like specters caught in a silent waltz. Darkness surged like an encroaching tide, devouring what little light remained, pulling Adrian into its depths.
His heartbeat pounded, each thud a drum of war against his ribs. His chest tightened, as if caught in an iron grip, each breath a ragged, searing pain. The Azure Dragon's Might churned within him, scorching his veins, a storm of agony and battlelust entwined. Every step forward felt precarious, as though he teetered at the edge of an abyss, one misstep from oblivion.
"Move!"
Elder Seth's voice sliced through the night, sharp and unyielding. His palm struck Adrian's shoulder, sending him stumbling forward. Boots slid over damp leaves, the cold slick of blood a stark reminder of the carnage left behind.
Adrian turned, his instincts warring against the command.
Seth stood alone in the dark. His presence was unshaken, unwavering, a silent sentinel against the encroaching void. His sharp, hawk-like gaze swept the forest, his breath measured, as if facing nothing more than another hunt.
But beneath his stillness—there was a blade, unseen but waiting to strike.
The wind whispered through the trees.
Then—silence.
A silence too deep. Too unnatural.
The leaves no longer rustled. The distant breath of the night had been swallowed whole.
And beneath the weight of that silence—a sound.
Subtle. Calculated.
Not the wind.
Footsteps.
Soft, deliberate, soundless. Predators closing in.
Darkness moved.
Shadows slithered between the trees, creeping through the underbrush, slinking through the cracks between the broken light. The very air shuddered, as if recoiling from what lurked beyond sight.
Then—the temperature plummeted.
A creeping cold slithered across the forest floor, threading through the leaves, pooling in the spaces between heartbeats. It was not the crisp bite of winter, but something wretched, decayed—a deathly chill that gnawed at the bone, draining warmth from flesh as if feeding on the life within it.
As if the Legion of Dusk had ripped open the void, letting the abyss itself seep through.
"The blood of the Starborn… must perish."
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, rising from the belly of the shadows. It was low, rasping—corroded, as if the abyss itself had etched its whispers into the speaker's throat.
The words were not spoken—they seeped into the marrow, like the murmur of forgotten ghosts, dissolving into the fabric of the night.
Killing intent fell like a guillotine.
The air locked into place, the weight of impending slaughter freezing the world in a breathless moment.
Then—shadows erupted.
Three figures burst from the blackened veil, their movements fluid, unnatural, as if gliding through the void itself.
Blades, wrapped in writhing mist, carved through the air. Their edges gleamed—hungry, insatiable, merciless.
A single heartbeat.
A flicker of steel.
The strike was already at his throat.
Baptism of the Hunt
Adrian's body reacted on instinct.
The Thunder Spear rose, cutting through the suffocating silence. Lightning erupted along its length, blue-white arcs crackling like a storm unchained, illuminating the shadows of the cold forest.
"Thunder Spear—Break!"
A surge of violent energy tore through the night. The spear's edge flashed, and an azure dragon roared to life, spiraling through the darkness before devouring the first Dusk Warrior whole.
His blackened armor fractured, his body convulsing beneath the searing thunder, yet no scream escaped—his form collapsed into charred remnants, scattering in the wind.
But the second warrior was already upon him.
Moving like a wraith, he twisted past the storm, his blade reversing in a fluid arc, black energy coiling around the edge like a serpent's fang, lunging for Adrian's heart—a perfect, lethal strike.
His breath caught.
His power had not yet recovered.
The Thunder Spear's energy had not yet returned to his grasp.
And now, death loomed over him, unavoidable.
A whisper of air.
A silent flash of blue sliced through the dark.
Silent. Swift. Final.
The second Dusk Warrior froze mid-strike. His abyss-blue eyes flickered—then widened.
A thin red line formed along his throat.
Then—his head snapped back.
Blood exploded from the wound.
The force tore through his blackened armor like paper, his body crumpling without a sound, the ground swallowing him whole.
Adrian's gaze sharpened, sweeping the treetops.
Nothing.
The forest was silent, save for the rustling leaves in the wind.
But—something lingered.
A faint resonance, almost imperceptible—like the whisper of a distant lyre, a note fading into the abyss.
Then, it was gone.
High above, among the canopy's shifting shadows—Lia withdrew her hand.
The fading energy of her attack still hummed in the air, the last traces of her power dissipating into the night.
Her fingers ghosted over her lyre's strings before slowly retreating.
She had been watching all along..
Adrian was strong—undeniably so. The raw burst of Azure Dragon's Might that surged through him had been enough to overwhelm most foes.
But his execution was reckless.
He lacked finesse. He wasted power. His attacks—for all their force—were not yet decisive.
He was like a young beast set loose upon the battlefield—fangs bared, claws outstretched, yet still unable to fully command his own savagery.
She should not have intervened.
And yet, in that fleeting moment—she chose to.
The night wind shifted.
Leaves swirled.
She vanished into the darkness.
Unseen. Unheard.
Adrian's grip tightened around the Thunder Spear.
His palms tingled with residual energy, his breath uneven, his heartbeat hammering like war drums.
He knew—someone else had made that final strike.
He had not fought alone.
Then—his eyes fell upon the battlefield.
Upon the pool of crimson staining the dirt.
A Dusk Warrior still twitched, his broken armor leaking blackened blood, his fingers digging weakly into the dirt as he struggled for breath.
Yet, even as his body failed, his abyss-blue eyes burned with deranged fervor.
His lips curled into a twisted smile.
A flick of his wrist—
A blade, concealed beneath his sleeve, flashed toward Adrian's heart.
Lightning tore through flesh.
The Thunder Spear struck first.
The force shattered the enemy's chestplate, lightning erupting through his body, crackling energy consuming his final breath.
His body convulsed once.
Then—nothing.
The stench of burning blood filled the air.
Dark ichor dripped from the spear's edge, searing the earth where it fell, leaving behind blackened scars upon the dirt.
Adrian stared down at the corpse.
His pulse pounded against his skull.
His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear.
But from something far more primal.
His first true kill
Not an accident.
Not mere instinct.
This—this was a kill he had chosen.
A death he had claimed with his own hands.
The reality settled into his skin, the lingering warmth of the enemy's lifeblood still staining his knuckles.
He understood, now.
There was no hesitation in battle.
There was no mercy.
Elder Seth said nothing.
He did not praise him.
Nor did he scold him.
He simply watched, his expression unreadable. Then—he turned, stepping back into the night.
His silence carried more weight than words ever could.
Adrian exhaled, releasing his grip.
The Thunder Spear hummed in his palm before its glow dimmed, the last flickers of energy dispersing into the wind.
The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air.
A single drop of crimson slid down the spear's shaft, falling onto the scattered leaves below.
Adrian did not flinch.
He was not afraid.
No—he had crossed a threshold tonight.
No one would tell him whether he had passed this trial.
But—
Only those who remained standing had the right to fight.