Chapter 30: The Tyrants Gate
Thalen had never seen a place as still as the chamber that held the Tyrant’s Gate.
Carved into the bedrock of Mount Volarik a mountain long forbidden to most the gate was not simply a structure. It was a presence. A monument of black stone that pulsed with power, rimmed with silver veins that glowed faintly beneath the dim torchlight. Above the arch, ancient runes shimmered in a language no one alive could read. Yet Thalen felt the meaning as if it were whispered into his soul: Only the worthy carry the will of fire.
Arkan stood beside him, arms folded behind his back. The old SSS Hero was quiet, his storm-gray eyes staring at the gate as if remembering some war long past.
"The gate opens only once every five years," Arkan said at last, voice low. "And only for one candidate. One."
Thalen swallowed. "Has anyone passed?"
"Not since I did." Arkan’s expression remained unreadable. "That was thirty-one years ago. Before me, there were three. Since me, none."
Thalen turned his gaze back to the gate. "What’s behind it?"
"The Trial of Dominion." Arkan began to pace slowly, each step echoing off the obsidian floor. "Three days. Three nights. No food. No water. No light. No exit unless you surrender or survive."
Thalen furrowed his brow. "What am I meant to do?"
Arkan stopped. "You are to endure. And fight. And burn. Inside the gate lies an ancient realm where your own aura will be tested against your will. You’ll face your fears. Your desires. Your worst self. And if you emerge... you will be reborn."
Thalen stepped closer. The heat from the gate was rising. It wasn’t physical it burned deeper, like a pressure on his chest, inside his veins. His blade trembled faintly on his back, reacting to the aura emanating from the stone.