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."
A murmur broke out, quickly silenced by the cold look in Arkan's eyes.
"You may begin," he said.
The gates screamed open.
They entered in staggered groups, but once inside, all order vanished. The maze was alive. Stone shifted when backs were turned, corridors stretched impossibly long then twisted into nothing. The air thickened and light dimmed, as though the walls drank illumination. Every sound echoed too loudly. Footsteps came from directions no one had walked.
Thalen pressed forward, his sword drawn. Blade Aura hummed faintly around the weapon's edge thin, focused, as he'd practiced. But even it wavered in this place. He kept one hand near his chest, feeding his aura into his senses. One wrong step and he could vanish forever.
Behind him, Dain kept pace. "We should've brought markers."
"The maze would eat them."
"So optimistic."
"Just stay close."
They turned a corner and immediately froze.
Ahead, the path split three ways.
In each direction stood a version of Thalen.
Same face. Same eyes. Same sword.
But something was off. One's blade was stained crimson. Another's aura crackled erratically. The third bled shadows.
"What in the"
"Don't look too long," Thalen said quickly. "They're mirages. Reflections."
"How do we tell which is real?"
"We don't. We move."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Aura, he had learned, was not just power. It was self. Intent. Emotion.
He focused inward. He felt the call of the blade, the burn of the vision, the voice of Vael Seros still echoing in the cracks of his mind.
Then he stepped forward and cut the middle copy in half.
The illusion exploded into dust.
Dain blinked. "You sure?"
"I am now."
They sprinted left.
Deeper into the maze, things grew darker. Shapes moved just outside torchlight. Screams real or imagined rose and fell like distant sirens. Fera's voice rang out once, sharp and urgent, then vanished. Thalen clenched his fists, but Dain grabbed his shoulder.
"No. Focus. That's what it wants."
Thalen ground his teeth. "If she's in trouble"
"She can handle herself. You'll help no one if you die chasing ghosts."
He knew Dain was right, but that didn't ease the pressure in his chest. Every step forward felt like a betrayal.
They pressed on.
At the midpoint of the maze, they encountered the first real trap.
A field of glass blades, suspended in the air like frozen raindrops. Some were no larger than needles. Others the size of swords. And they hovered with purpose.
"Thoughts?" Dain asked, crouching low.
"They'll respond to motion. Probably aura."
"So… brute force?"
"Controlled force."
Thalen stepped forward slowly, sword angled. He pulsed his Blade Aura not violently, but with precision. A ripple passed through the glass, some shards vibrating in response, others shifting aside.
"Thread the path," Thalen whispered. "One pulse. One breath. Move exactly where the resonance bends."
Dain followed, hesitant. "I swear, if I get impaled"
"You won't."
A few tense minutes later, they emerged from the trap, hearts racing, but unscathed. Behind them, the glass field reformed like a living entity.
Dain let out a long breath. "You really are changing."
Thalen didn't answer. He didn't know how.
Two hours passed.
They faced a mimic disguised as a friend. A wall that consumed aura. A beast made of writhing chains.
Then, at last, they reached the final gate.
A vast stone arch pulsing with golden script. A figure stood before it, tall and unmoving.
Not a statue.
A man.
Clad in old SSS Hero armor. Torn. Bloodstained. Eyes vacant. And his aura wrong.
It flickered. Twisted. Cracked like dry glass.
"Who is that?" Dain whispered.
Arkan's voice echoed in Thalen's memory: A rogue Tyrant-wielder... now released.
"It's a failed one," Thalen said.
The man's head tilted. "You're not ready," he said. His voice was brittle, like stone breaking.
"We don't have to fight," Dain said quickly. "We can find another path."
"There is no other path," Thalen said, stepping forward.
The rogue raised his hand.
A pulse of Tyrant Spirit exploded outward.
Thalen flew back, skidding across the stone. Blood welled from his mouth.
"Thalen!"
Dain ran forward but was struck by a blast of wild aura. He hit the wall hard and didn't move.
Thalen groaned, pushing himself to his feet. His aura sparked erratically. The pressure was immense like standing in the eye of a storm made of fury.
"You want power?" the rogue whispered, approaching. "You'll drown in it."
Thalen raised his blade. His hand trembled.
The rogue attacked faster than Thalen could react.
Steel met steel. Sparks flew. The first blow nearly broke Thalen's guard. He twisted, redirected, slashed back, using every ounce of training Arkan had drilled into him.
Still not enough.
"You can't win," the rogue hissed.
"I don't need to win," Thalen gasped. "Just survive."
He released a pulse of Blade Aura focused, cutting, aimed at the rogue's dominant side.
It worked.
The enemy staggered.
Thalen lunged slash, pivot, stab
The rogue caught the blade barehanded, aura seething.
Then something inside Thalen shifted.
The vision returned. The pale mask. The golden eyes. The voice.
"The blade remembers."
Light flared.
Thalen's sword ignited with a second aura not fully born, not yet Tyrant, but resonating. Echoing. Recognizing.
The rogue froze.
His aura faltered.
Thalen struck one final, perfect blow.
The rogue collapsed.
The gate shimmered.
Dain coughed behind him, eyes wide. "You… your sword"
"I don't know what that was."
"I think… it's starting."
The Mazeheart opened.
And Thalen stepped into the light.