The first light of dawn filtered through the massive stone windows of the Silver Dojo, casting pale streaks across the polished floors. The air was thick with the smell of incense and sweat, mingling with the faint tang of metal from weapons racks lining the walls. Swift stood at the center of the hall, adjusting his armor and observing the space with meticulous attention. Every surface, every rune, every shadow seemed alive, as if the dojo itself were watching, judging, and preparing to test those who dared enter.
Liang Tao appeared silently at the front of the hall, his expression unreadable. "Welcome, Swift. You have been chosen for the path of the Silver Dragon. Few are strong enough to survive it. Here, your mind, your body, and your soul will be tested. The dojo does not reward arrogance, nor does it forgive weakness."
Swift flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, the green star embedded in his armor faintly glowing in anticipation. "I've survived worse than this," he said, though even he felt a flicker of unease. The Silver Dojo had a reputation even among the Golden Dragon's allies. Its trials were merciless.
Liang Tao's gaze did not waver. "Your first trial is immediate. Enter the Maze of Silver Shadows. Fail, and the dojo will reshape you until you learn. Proceed."
The floor panels shifted beneath Swift's feet as he stepped forward. Tiles rose and fell unpredictably, some solid, others crumbling into pits. The walls pulsed with faint light, revealing hidden runes that moved whenever he tried to focus on them. The air felt heavy, charged with a strange energy that tugged at his mind, whispering doubts and fears.
Swift moved cautiously, testing each step before committing. He leapt across collapsing tiles, rolled to avoid spikes erupting from the walls, and dodged jets of freezing water shooting from hidden vents. Every obstacle tested him not just physically, but mentally. The dojo seemed to anticipate his moves, reshaping itself to exploit the tiniest hesitation.
Minutes became hours as he pressed forward. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with dirt and blood from small cuts earned by sharp edges he could not always see in time. Yet his armor, forged from fallen stars, absorbed far more than a human body could withstand. The green light embedded in his chestplate pulsed with his heartbeat, almost as if it were alive, guiding him through the shadows.
Then the illusions began. Shadowy figures rose from the walls, twisting into grotesque shapes, mimicking Swift's every movement but striking with impossible speed. He parried with his red-star broadsword, but even his weapon felt sluggish against these forms. Every strike passed through thin air, every movement met resistance that was not entirely physical.
"Focus on the pattern… not the enemy," he muttered to himself, centering his thoughts. The shadows tested him relentlessly, flanking, feinting, striking from angles that didn't exist. He adapted, anticipating their motions not with raw strength, but with calculation, striking only when he sensed the true form. Slowly, they began to falter, dissipating into mist with eerie whispers that clawed at his mind.
Exhausted, Swift pressed deeper into the Maze. Each step demanded everything he had—every ounce of strength, every shred of focus. Pain throbbed through his body, yet he could not stop. Stopping meant failure. Stopping meant death. And failure was something Swift refused to accept.
Finally, he reached the Heart of the Dojo. The chamber was massive, its ceiling lost in shadow, and the floor covered in intricate, glowing runes that twisted like living veins. At the center hovered a crystal sphere, pulsating with a soft silver light. He approached cautiously, sensing the energy radiating from it—power that was almost tangible, a force that could either elevate him or destroy him outright.
Liang Tao's voice echoed through the chamber, though he was nowhere to be seen. "You have survived the Maze of Shadows, but survival alone does not grant mastery. This is where you must prove yourself to the dojo—and to yourself. Understand the energy of the Silver Dragon. Bend it, do not break against it. Harness it, or it will consume you."
Swift took a deep breath and extended his hand toward the sphere. A surge of energy shot through him, knocking him back onto the floor. Pain and visions of Espearia's destruction assaulted him—the screams, the fires, Bones' laughter. He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword with both hands as the energy continued to press against his mind.
He remembered the green star, the source of his strength and survival. Its calm, steady pulse at his chest reminded him why he had come this far. Slowly, he forced the energy to flow through him rather than against him, channeling it into his arms, his legs, and finally into his broadsword. The sphere pulsed in response, brightening, as if acknowledging his effort.
Liang Tao's voice returned. "Good. You have begun to understand. The Silver Dojo does not make you stronger merely through endurance. It teaches control, adaptation, and the ability to face what others cannot. Remember this: mastery over yourself is the only mastery that matters. The world beyond this dojo will test you in ways far crueler than these walls ever could."
Swift sat back, sweat pouring from his body, limbs trembling. Yet for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years—hope. He had survived the Silver Dojo, not because he was invincible, but because he had learned to adapt, to bend without breaking, and to trust his instincts when logic failed.
The night fell outside the dojo, the stone halls bathed in moonlight. Swift stood, adjusting his armor, his broadsword heavy in his hands. The path ahead was long and filled with dangers he had yet to imagine. Bones was still out there, a force beyond comprehension, waiting for the right moment to strike again. But Swift was no longer the same man who had walked through the forests of Espearia weeks ago. He had begun the transformation, the forging of body, mind, and spirit into something sharper, faster, and more dangerous than even the Silver Dragon might have anticipated.
He walked through the silent halls of the Silver Dojo, each step echoing like a drumbeat of determination. Shadows twisted around him, but he no longer feared them. He had faced darkness before, and he would do so again. Bones would find him waiting—not as a man, but as a weapon forged in the trials of the Silver Dragon.
And when that day came, the world would remember the name Swift.