Zay's eyes suddenly opened as a yawn escaped his lips. Still lying in bed, he stretched his arms and legs out, feeling a satisfying pop in his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, the release easing some of the tension in his body.
'What time is it?' he wondered, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet touched the floor as he sat up, then he tilted his head to the side and cracked his neck with a soft snap.
Zay pushed himself off the bed and stood, his long hair cascading down his back. He grabbed a handful, glancing down at the strands of black laced with streaks of white and red. He stared at it in silence for a few moments before sighing and letting his hand fall to his side. His hair swayed slightly before settling, falling still like the rest.
He debated with himself for a moment—whether or not he should cut it. After a brief pause, he shook the thought away. Not yet, he decided.
Zay slipped on his boots and made his way to the Flamebrick door. He twisted the doorknob, hearing the soft click as it unlocked, and slowly pulled it open. The sunlight poured in, harsh and unrelenting.
"D-Damn, that's bright," he muttered, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
He waited a few seconds for his vision to adjust before stepping outside and quietly closing the door behind him.
"GET THE HELL TO WORK!"
Zay heard the shouting and turned his head toward the source. He saw a man—no taller than three feet—barking orders with surprising authority. The man's face was deeply wrinkled, his features aged enough to suggest he was in his eighties, perhaps even his nineties.
Zay followed the man's gaze and spotted three towering figures—massive men who looked like they could dominate bodybuilding tournaments on Earth and take first place every year without contest. Their bodies were pure muscle, even their necks bulging with veins and definition. Though they wore the same style of cloak and leggings as Zay, theirs were tailored to accommodate their enormous frames.
"How tall are those guys? They've got to be at least ten feet... easily," he muttered.
As the shouting faded into the background, a sudden shift in the air pulled Zay's attention to the center of the encampment. A man dressed in pure white stood atop a raised platform of stone, his cloak fluttering slightly from the heat that radiated from the ground. Even his boots and gloves were bleached to match, making him stand out like a ghost amid the crimson and black surroundings.
"All white-cloaked Arbiters, front and center!" the man barked, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise.
Dozens of heads turned. One by one, individuals in white cloaks began to form a line before the platform. Zay remained where he was, hands tucked behind his back, observing with mild curiosity but no intention of moving.
The man's sharp eyes scanned the forming crowd before his voice rang out again.
"Today, you'll be entering the Pyrefang Mountains. Your task is to descend into the volcanic network until you reach what I call the Beast Room. It's there that the obstruction lies."
He paused, letting the silence thicken. "Inside the Beast Room resides a creature of living magma—a guardian born of flames. Until it's slain, the miners cannot continue their work. That beast must fall today."
Zay raised an eyebrow slightly. 'Beast Room? Magma creature? Sounds like the kind of absolute bullshit that a Sequence would pull.'
Suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned sharply, only to see a burly man in a white hood frowning at him.
"You deaf or something?" the man grunted. "You've got a white cloak. That means you're coming with us."
Before Zay could respond, the man yanked him forward, dragging him into the line of white-cloaked Arbiters now gathering with sharpened focus.
Zay exhaled through his nose, letting his irritation slip away.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, "looks like I'm heading into the fire either way..."
Once the line had fully formed, the man in white stepped forward, his presence commanding even among the most seasoned warriors that were in line.
"My name is Vyker," he announced, his tone steady, precise. "I will be your commander through the Pyrefang Mountains and into the Beast Room."
The group shifted slightly, adjusting their gear and weapons. Heat shimmered in the distance, waves of it rolling across the horizon like restless spirits. Vyker wasted no time. He turned with a sharp movement, his white cloak swirling behind him as he began walking toward a trail carved into the scorched black dirt.
"Keep pace," he called over his shoulder. "Fall behind, and you'll be crawling through volcanic tunnels on your own."
The group moved.
Zay walked near the middle of the formation, his eyes flicking from the terrain to the Arbiters ahead. The ground beneath their boots cracked and radiated warmth, almost as if fire pulsed beneath the surface. Jagged obsidian spikes jutted out along the trail like the bones of some ancient, buried creature.
After an hour of walking, Vyker raised his hand. "From this moment onward, we'll be crossing a bridge. I want only two people on it at a time. I also won't take responsibility if you fall off and die."
He lowered his hand and looked ahead. There, stretching across a deep chasm, was a narrow bridge made of aged wooden planks. The ropes on either side looked thin and frayed, barely strong enough to offer comfort, let alone real support. Beneath the wooden steps was nothing but air—and far below, jagged spikes jutted up from the ground like the teeth of a waiting beast. A single misstep meant certain death.
The wind howled faintly through the gap, tugging at cloaks and shifting loose strands of hair.
Zay's eyes narrowed. He could hear the planks creaking under the weight of the first two Arbiters who began crossing. They moved carefully, placing each foot with surgical precision. One of them glanced down mid-step, and his pace faltered before he steadied himself again.
"Keep your eyes forward!" Vyker shouted.
Zay kept his gaze on the bridge, studying its length. It wasn't just long—it was swaying, moved by the subtle tremors of the heat-ridden air and the sheer altitude. He clenched his fists lightly, mentally noting the tension in his legs and arms.
The first pair made it across. Another began.
Zay stepped forward slowly, waiting for his turn.
Behind him, one of the larger men grunted. "Wouldn't take much to snap that bridge clean off," he muttered.
Zay didn't bother responding. He was already mapping out each step ahead.
Finally, it was his turn. A white-cloaked woman beside him nodded silently, and they stepped onto the bridge together. The moment his boot touched the wood, he felt the whole structure tremble, groaning beneath their combined weight.
The wind picked up.
Zay kept moving, each footfall echoing hollowly across the abyss. The ropes on either side quivered with every breath of the mountain air. Halfway across, the woman next to him stumbled slightly.
Zay instinctively reached out, grabbing her arm and steadying her.
"Thanks," she whispered, not meeting his gaze.
They moved on, and after another two minutes of cautious steps and creaking boards, they finally reached solid ground.
Vyker stood at the other side, arms crossed over his white cloak, his expression unreadable. "You didn't die. Good."
Zay exhaled quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he stepped aside to make room for the next pair. The wind whispered through the chasm, carrying with it the scent of ash and something metallic—blood, perhaps, long dried on the spikes below.
The next pair stepped onto the bridge. One of them, a lanky man with unsteady footing, took a step too wide. The wind surged at that exact moment, tugging at his cloak like a predator.
He lost his balance and a sharp gasp tore from his throat as he flailed. His partner turned to help, but too late. With a panicked wail, the lanky man toppled into the abyss. His cry echoed, growing fainter, until it was silenced by a wet, sickening crunch below.
The survivor stood frozen for a moment, trembling—then hurried to finish the crossing alone.
Vyker didn't so much as blink. "He's dead. Keep moving."
Another pair crossed. This time, they both made it.
Then another pair stepped forward. They were quiet and serious, but halfway through, one of them slipped. In desperation, he grabbed his partner's arm. The other man tried to brace, but the added weight pulled him forward.
"Let go!" the man yelled—but too late. The bridge jerked violently.
Both men went over the side.
Their bodies twisted as they fell, white cloaks flaring like dying flames. The impact below was swift and brutal—spikes claiming them with finality.
A grim silence followed.
The next pair hesitated, but after Vyker glared at them, they stepped on. They made it.
Then came the final two.
The wind picked up again, as if the mountain itself hungered for more. Halfway across, one of the men panicked. His leg gave out. As he tried to rise, the other leaned too close to help—and the ropes jolted.
Both lost balance.
"NO—WAIT!"
Their screams overlapped, echoing as they tumbled into the abyss, crashing through the air like ragdolls before disappearing from view.
A long beat passed.
Then Vyker turned without expression. "Five down. That leaves nine."
He started walking again without another word.
Zay looked around at everyone as they all followed behind Vyker, showing no regard for the people who had died. 'What an odd group of people...' he thought. 'I've met some messed up people before, but damn...'
He shrugged his shoulders with a heavy exhale before falling into line, beginning to follow behind the others. He counted each of their heads, making sure there were actually nine. He counted Vyker, the woman just slightly ahead of him, himself, and a few others—and confirmed there were nine.