—The World Central —
Erin skidded into the Obsidian Colosseum, his boots slipping on gravel still damp from the morning rains. The air reeked of sulfur and sweat, a metallic tang clinging to his tongue as he gasped for breath. Above him, the arena's towering arches loomed like skeletal fingers, clawing at a sky stained the sickly violet of a fresh bruise. Dusk had always been a time of reckoning in the World Central—when the veil between realms thinned, and the scars of the day's trials pulsed with residual magic.
The colosseum floor sprawled before him, a patchwork of devastation. To the east, the Sentinels' quadrant lay pockmarked with craters, the earth charred and smoking from their earth-shattering spells. To the west, the Wardens' domain glittered with jagged ice, frost clinging to the stones like a burial shroud. But it was the Vigil's section that made Erin's chest tighten—a barren, dust-choked circle at the arena's edge, untouched by magic, where the crowd's jeers echoed loudest.
Sage Akira, Captain of the Vigil, stood at the center of the desolation, a blade thrust into the earth. His obsidian robes hung heavy, embroidered with twin symbols: a silver lantern, its flame stitched in thread so vivid it seemed to flicker, and a spear that gleamed like a shard of moonlight. A cigarette dangled from his lips, its ember casting a faint glow over a face carved from eroded granite. His eyes—sharp enough to flay skin—scanned the crowd of contestants, a ragged cluster of thirdborn nobles and scarred outcasts clutching tools and talismans.
"You want this robe?" Akira's voice slithered over the colosseum, colder than a grave's shadow. He flicked a finger toward the lantern on his chest. "Prove you can carry its light… or die clutching its weight."
The contestants shifted uneasily. Whispers coiled through the air like smoke:
"The Vigil's a joke. They dig latrines, not glory."
"Heard the last recruit got dragged out in a sack."
"Why bother? Even the rats avoid their barracks—"
Erin crept along the colosseum's cracked wall, his boots still caked in grave mud from the morning's work. The pendant beneath his tunic—a tarnished silver cog, his father's last gift—burned against his collarbone. "Aria's counting on you", he reminded himself. "Get the robe. Get the pay. Keep her safe."
But Sage Akira's head snapped toward him, predator-quick.
"You." The word was a dagger thrown. The captain's gaze raked over Erin's dirt-streaked tunic, lingering on the shovel strapped to his back. "The trials aren't a farmer's market. You don't wander in when the pigs have finished squealing."
Erin opened his mouth—"My father just died. I buried him. I'm here for my sister"—but Sage flicked a hand, silencing him like a snuffed candle.
"Spare me your excuses. The test begins… "now."
—First Trial: Wall Repair—
A crumbling section of the Northern Training Wall, rigged with cracks and glowing demon blood—paint.
The contestants surged forward as Sage led them to a replica of the Northern Wall—a jagged, twenty-foot monstrosity of mismatched stones. It wasn't the real fortification, but Erin's stomach twisted anyway. The mock stones were pockmarked and oozing a sticky red liquid that reeked of burnt sugar. "Demon blood", the captain called it. To Erin, it looked like the jam Aria had once tried to make from rotten berries, the memory souring his throat.
"the role of the Vigil is to mend what others break," Sage barked, cigarette bobbing as he spoke. "Tools on the rack! Twenty minutes. Fix it, or fail."
The others lunged for polished hammers and gleaming pulley systems. Erin hesitated. His calloused fingers brushed the splintered handle of a shovel—a tool as familiar as his own heartbeat. "This is your world", his father's voice echoed in his mind. "Dirt. Weight. Blisters."
The wall groaned.
Erin jammed the shovel under a teetering stone, heaving until his arms screamed. Sweat stung his eyes as he slapped glowing mortar—thick, blue, and cold as snow—into the cracks. It hardened with a hiss, sealing gaps like a wound clotting.
"Twelve minutes!" Sage's voice cut through the chaos.
A girl nearby cursed as her pulley snapped, sending a stone crashing down. Idiot, Erin thought, ducking debris. "Should've checked the ropes!" he muttered.
"Not bad, Gravedigger," sneered a boy in polished boots—Garrett, a blacksmith. "You've buried so many, you know how walls fall, eh?"
Erin ignored him. His pendant bounced against his chest, its edges biting into his skin. "Focus. Fix. Don't let them win."
—SCREECH!—
A siren split the air—the demon horde alarm. Red lights bathed the arena, and the crowd's murmurs swelled to a panicked roar.
"Attack incoming!" Sage shouted. "Finish repairs or retreat to sound the alarm!"
Two contestants bolted, sprinting for the exit. Erin's hands shook. "If the wall falls, the demons get in. But if I don't warn the Sentinels…" He pictured Aria, curled in their shack's corner hugging her knees sobbing. "She'd die."
"Five minutes!"
The wall shuddered. A crack split Erin's section—his mortar too thin, too rushed. "No. No. NO." He slathered more on, but the fissure crept upward like a claw.
"Three minutes! Last chance to run!"
Erin grabbed a flare, its casing icy against his palm. A warning. That's the Vigil's job. He struck it, a blazing blue streak, and hurled it over the wall. Then he pressed his back to the stones, shoving with every ounce of strength.
—TIME!—
The wall stood—barely. Half the contestants were gone.
Sage Akira approached Erin, eyes narrowing at his blistered hands and the smoldering flare at his feet. "You stayed. Why?"
"The wall's still here," Erin panted. "And the Sentinels saw the flare."
The captain's lip twitched. "Your repairs are garbage."
"Yeah." Erin wiped sweat, smearing demon blood across his cheek. "But I didn't let it fall."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in Sage's gaze—recognition, perhaps, of a stubbornness he knew too well. Then it vanished. "Next trial's worse," he said, turning. "Pray your luck holds, Gravedigger."