They left as the sun began its descent, casting long, skeletal shadows that seemed to grasp at their heels. The Gurukul, a haven of order and light, felt like a lifetime away after just a few hours of trekking through the untamed wilderness. Guru Vrish had equipped them with simple traveling packs—dried fruit, waterskins, and a map that was frustratingly vague about the northern territories.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. It was not the hostile silence of before, but the tense quiet of two soldiers marching towards a battlefield they were not ready for. Every rustle in the undergrowth, every snap of a twig, made Anal's hand twitch towards the hilt of his sword. The "dormant inferno" within him felt restless, a caged beast sensing the approaching storm.
It was Neel who finally broke the silence, his voice low. "We should keep to the game trails. The main path will be watched."
Anal merely nodded, his focus on the treacherous ground. He was a prince of court and controlled training grounds; this raw, unpredictable nature was Neel's domain. For the first time, he allowed himself to follow without question.
As dusk began to bleed into night, the forest changed. The air grew colder, and the trees became gnarled and twisted, their branches like claws against the deepening purple sky. A fine, clinging mist rose from the damp earth, muffling sound and reducing visibility to a few arm's lengths.
"We're close," Neel murmured, his eyes scanning the oppressive gloom. "I can feel it. The air... it's wrong."
Anal felt it too. A subtle, corrosive energy that made the hair on his arms stand on end. It was a feeling of being watched by a thousand unseen eyes.
They found the entrance to the temple just as the last light faded. It was not a grand structure, but a gaping maw in the side of a moss-covered cliff, half-hidden by thick, thorny vines that resembled grasping serpents. The Serpent's Temple. Above the entrance, almost worn away by time, was the same symbol from the leaf: a serpent coiled around a fading flame.
"Ready?" Neel asked, his voice barely a whisper. In the dim light, his face was all sharp angles and grim determination.
"No," Anal answered truthfully. "But that doesn't matter now."
He summoned a small, controlled flame to his palm, holding it aloft like a torch. The firelight danced over the damp stone, casting long, writhing shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. Together, they stepped inside.
The air within was stale and heavy with the smell of damp earth and something else—something metallic and ancient, like old blood. The tunnel sloped sharply downwards, the walls slick with condensation. The only sounds were the drip of water and the frantic beating of their own hearts.
They had not gone far when the first attack came.
It was not a man, nor a beast. It was the temple itself.
With a sound of grinding stone, a section of the wall to their left slid open, and a torrent of murky, foul-smelling water burst forth, slamming into them with the force of a tidal wave. Anal's flame was extinguished in an instant, plunging them into absolute darkness. The icy water knocked him off his feet, pulling him down the sloped passage.
"Anal!" Neel's shout was swallowed by the roar of the water.
Anal flailed, his lungs burning. Just as he felt he would be swept away into the unknown depths, the water around him suddenly stilled, pulling back as if repelled by an invisible force. He gasped, coughing up foul-tasting water, and found himself on his hands and knees.
A soft, blue glow illuminated the tunnel. Neel stood a few feet away, his hands outstretched, his entire body trembling with effort. He had parted the water, creating a dry pocket around them, holding back the raging flow with sheer will.
"Trap," Neel managed through gritted teeth, the strain evident in his voice. "The temple... it's alive. It defends itself."
Anal scrambled to his feet, relighting his flame. The water pressed in against Neel's invisible barrier, swirling and angry. "Can you hold it?"
"Not... indefinitely," Neel grunted. "We need to move. Now!"
They pushed forward, Neel maintaining the draining effort of holding back the water while Anal led the way, his fire pushing back the oppressive darkness. They encountered more traps—poison-tipped darts that shot from the walls, which Anal melted with a precise burst of heat; pits that opened beneath their feet, which Neel bridged with a swift-freezing platform of ice.
It was a brutal test of their nascent partnership. They moved not as prince and keeper, but as two halves of a single unit—Fire and Water, destruction and preservation, working in a desperate, synchronized dance for survival.
Finally, the tunnel opened into a vast, circular chamber. In the center, on a raised dais of black stone, sat a pedestal. And on that pedestal rested a pulsating, crimson crystal that throbbed with a malevolent light. The Catalyst.
But they were not alone.
Standing between them and the crystal was the hooded man. This time, his hood was thrown back, revealing a face scarred by old burns, his eyes burning with a fanatical fire.
"Welcome," he rasped, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "I am Agneya, Voice of the Conclave. You have passed the temple's tests. A commendable effort." His gaze fixed on Anal. "Now, Prince of Flames, it is time for your final exam."
He raised a hand towards the crimson crystal. It glowed brighter, and a wave of pure, agonizing energy slammed into Anal.
It was like being thrown into a forge. Every nerve ending screamed. The dormant inferno within him roared to life, not as a controlled power, but as a wild, consuming agony. He fell to his knees, a scream tearing from his throat as uncontrolled flames erupted from his skin, threatening to incinerate him from the inside out.
"Anal!" Neel cried out, rushing towards him.
"Ah, ah, ah, Keeper," Agneya tutted, gesturing casually. A wall of searing heat erupted from the floor, separating Neel from Anal. "This is his journey. You cannot help him now. Watch as your charge is unmade and remade... into our weapon."
Anal was lost in a world of fire and pain. He could feel his consciousness fraying, his very soul being burned away to make room for the Conclave's influence. Through the haze of agony, he saw Neel pounding against the wall of heat, his face a mask of desperation.
And then, through the roaring fire in his ears, he heard Neel's voice, not shouting in panic, but speaking with a strange, resonant calm, chanting words in an ancient tongue that sounded like the soothing flow of a deep, eternal river. The words cut through the pain, a lifeline thrown into his personal hell. It was a language he did not know, but his soul recognized it. And as the strange words washed over him, the raging fire within him stuttered, as if hearing a command from an older, greater power.
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