The moment Ceyr woke up, the world around him was gone, it wasn't the plains, it wasn't the sky, it wasn't even real anymore, it was like he was floating in an endless sea of ash and bones, and everything was quiet, too quiet, so quiet that his own heartbeat sounded like thunder, and when he stood up, his body felt heavier, not from wounds, but from something else, something pressing on his soul, like invisible chains made of regret and wrath, and then he saw it, a throne made of rotting gold floating high above him, bleeding black mist into the air, and below it was a creature, or maybe a god, or maybe just a mouth with eyes, it had no name, no face, just hunger, pure hunger wrapped in shadows and fire, and it opened its countless mouths and spoke not in words, but in curses, every sound stabbing through Ceyr's thoughts like blades, and the voice said, "You are inside the Trial of the Throne, Ceyr the Cursed, Ceyr the Thief, Ceyr the Broken, Ceyr the Becoming," and Ceyr tried to move, tried to speak, but his feet were trapped in liquid darkness and every time he tried to break free, faces of people he failed appeared inside the black, screaming, blaming him—his mother, his old friends, the villagers, even Caelina, all of them looking at him like he was a monster, and he shouted "I'm not that thing! I didn't choose this!" but the Devourer laughed, "You didn't have to choose… because you were born to be ME."
Then everything shattered like glass and he was falling, falling, falling through a million memories, memories that were not his, memories of ancient kings who ate gods, of forgotten beasts who ruled galaxies, of devourers that swallowed planets and laughed at the stars, and Ceyr saw it all, felt it all, and the more he saw the more he felt his mind splitting, his soul breaking apart into raw hunger, and just when he was about to forget his own name, he landed in a place that was both familiar and wrong—it was his village, before it was burned, but the people were frozen like statues, and the air smelled like fear, and standing in the middle was a version of himself, younger, weaker, with clean eyes and no curse, just pain and loneliness, and that version looked at him and said, "You let us die," and Ceyr couldn't answer, because he didn't have words left, only guilt, only fire, only teeth, but then the Devourer reappeared behind him and offered him a blade, a long jagged sword made of bone and sorrow, and said, "Take this, and carve your name into fate."
But Ceyr dropped the sword, and screamed, "I'm not just your vessel! I'm more than you!" and the whole realm shook, because no one had ever screamed at the Devourer before, not in a thousand lives, and suddenly the sky tore open and light poured in like a river, and out of the light came a figure wearing robes of gold and blue, holding a staff shaped like a key, and his voice was calm, but filled with thunder, "So you reject the Devourer?" and Ceyr looked up, bloody and shaking, and said, "I reject being a puppet," and the figure nodded, "Then you must survive the Trial," and with that, he raised his hand and the world collapsed into war, and now Ceyr was standing in an arena surrounded by giant monsters, demons made of fire, ancient spirits with no eyes, angels with broken wings, all of them laughing, all of them hungry for his soul, and he had no weapon, no allies, just his fists and the curse screaming inside him, and the Trial began.
They came at him like waves of death, one after another, and he fought like a beast with no name, punching through steel, biting through spells, dodging lightning, bleeding, roaring, his hands breaking bones and his legs shattering mountains, his eyes glowing brighter with every kill, and the curse inside him begging, "Feed me! Feed me more!" but he didn't let it fully out, he danced on the edge, using just enough to survive but not enough to become the thing the Devourer wanted, and the ground burned under his feet, his screams mixing with thunder, and for hours, maybe days, he didn't stop, until finally there were no enemies left, only him, kneeling in a field of corpses, covered in ash and blood, shaking, and then the golden figure appeared again and placed a hand on his head, whispering, "You passed… but the path only begins now."
And the moment he said that, the arena exploded into dust and Ceyr stood once again before the golden throne of bones, but this time he wasn't afraid, and the Devourer stared at him, no longer laughing, just watching, and said, "Very well… you will carry my name, but not my chains… for now," and a brand appeared on Ceyr's back, burning through his soul, and with it came power, deeper than magic, older than gods, a power that could bend time, break laws, devour fate itself, and the throne cracked, just a little, and Ceyr opened his eyes to the real world once more, gasping, awake in a cave deep beneath the mountains, his body glowing with new symbols, his heartbeat slower, heavier, like a war drum, and he whispered to himself, "I passed… but I lost something… didn't I?"
Outside the cave, the sky was dark and heavy, and a storm was coming, not just wind and rain, but something worse, because the Trial had not gone unnoticed, and in the silver city of Highguard, a bell rang for the first time in a thousand years, and the Archlords gathered again, their faces pale, their hands shaking, and one of them said, "The Devourer's Heir has survived the Trial… and now, the world will start to fall."