Ashes Of The First Tyrant

Mist curled along the jagged edges of the Greyward Maze, coiling like the breath of something ancient. Towering stone walls, etched with the wear of centuries, stood like titans frozen in place. The grey sky loomed above, casting a somber pallor over the staging grounds. A hundred initiates stood in formation, clad in dark robes trimmed with the sigils of their aura classes, swords and staves and relics gleaming under the dull light.

Thalen adjusted the straps on his gear, his legendary-class training sword resting across his back. It hadn’t glowed since the vision atop the Spire, but he could still feel it breathing beneath his skin. A low thrum, like a heartbeat not entirely his own.

Dain stood beside him, rolling his shoulders. "Think they’ll toss a drake at us this time?"

"No," Thalen said quietly. "Worse."

"You say that every time."

Thalen didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the opening gate of the maze, where Arkan stood alone, crimson cape billowing, silver mask hiding his expression. The Master’s presence silenced even the cockiest trainees. But it wasn’t just the authority it was the aura. Heavy. Quiet. Absolute.

Arkan raised his hand. "Listen carefully."

Silence fell like a shroud.

"This is no ordinary evaluation. You are no longer children with toys. You are potential weapons of war. We stand at the edge of a great shift, though many of you do not yet see it. In the Greyward Maze, you will face illusions, traps, beasts, and worse yourselves. Your aura will be tested. Your resolve will be shattered. And if you are weak, you will fall."

A few initiates exchanged nervous glances. Thalen didn’t move.

"You are to navigate to the Mazeheart. There lies your marker. Only ten of you will pass. The rest will be deemed unfit for advancement. And yes injuries, even death, are a possibility."