The forest at dawn was a world of whispers and shifting shadows. Skodar moved through it like one of them. His enhanced senses painted the world in vivid detail: the hum of insect wings fifty yards away, the chemical scent of predatory sap on the air, the thermal glow of a burrowing creature beneath the roots. He was no longer a fragile Vakhas boy. He was a predator honed by grief and ancient genes.
Vaktari's final words echoed in his mind: "The spores do not attack the body, but the mind. They feed on fear. Your power must be a shield, not a sword, in that place."
He found the cavern entrance—a yawning maw in a moss-covered hillside, exhaling air thick with the smell of damp earth and something sweetly rotten. Bioluminescent fungi coated the walls in pulsating blues and greens, providing an eerie, shifting light.
He stepped inside.
The air changed instantly.It was heavy, resonant. A low, sub-audible hum vibrated in his teeth.
First Trial: The Hall of Echoes
The cavern widened into a cathedral-like space.His footsteps didn't echo; they were absorbed, then thrown back at him from wrong directions—a step from the left, a shuffle from above. Illusions flickered at the edge of his vision: the silhouette of his grandmother, the crying form of Sukodar. He felt a pang, a hook trying to snag his heart.
"They feed on fear."
Skodar closed his eyes.Instead of fighting the echoes, he focused on the river of energy within. He visualized it not as a raging torrent, but as a still, mirror-like pool. The Vaktari Essence shimmered around him, a calm, cerulean aura. The false echoes hit the aura and diffused, becoming harmless noise. The illusions wavered and vanished. He opened his eyes, clarity restored.
Second Trial: The Sporefall
The path sloped down into a chamber where the ceiling wept a continuous,glowing mist of golden spores. Where they touched the ground, thin, wiry fungal tendrils writhed. In the center of the chamber, pulsating on a large stalagmite, were three Mycelium Resonance Crystals, thrumming with soft white light.
As Skodar approached, the spore-mist thickened. It didn't touch his skin; his energy aura repelled it. But it began to sing. A haunting, beautiful chorus that promised peace, an end to struggle, a soft forgetting of all his pain. The temptation to lower his guard, to sink into the sweet numbness, was immense.
Sukodar's face, smiling in their village, flashed before him. Then the face, contorted in pain from the Srops bite. The numbness was a lie. His pain was his fuel. His memories were his compass.
"I remember," Skodar growled to the mist. "And I choose the pain."
He pushed his aura outward in a sharp pulse.The spore-mist recoiled, clearing a path. He sprinted forward, his hand closing around the first crystal. It was warm, vibrating in sync with his own heartbeat. He plucked it. The tendrils on the ground lashed out.
Third Trial: The Sporewalkers
As the first crystal came free,the chamber awoke. From behind fungal curtains, three Krynn Sporewalkers emerged. They were humanoid shapes of compacted fungus and shimmering spores, their eyes pits of swirling, hypnotic light. They moved with silent, unsettling grace.
The lead Sporewalker raised a hand. A wave of disorienting energy, visible as a distorting haze, shot toward Skodar. This was no illusion; it was a psychic assault meant to shatter his focus and leave him catatonic.
Skodar didn't dodge. He met it.
He shaped his inner energy into a spear-point of pure will and thrust it forward.The two forces collided mid-air. The psychic wave shattered like glass. The Sporewalker staggered.
The other two attacked physically, limbs whipping like fibrous ropes. Skodar's body moved with the fluid economy Vaktari had drilled into him. He ducked, weaved, and channeled energy into a focused chop. His hand, sheathed in blue light, severed a fungal limb. It dissolved into dust.
This was the balance: shield for the mind, sword for the body.
He was learning.
In a flurry of controlled,powerful strikes, he disabled the Sporewalkers, not destroying them, but disrupting their core structures. They slumped, returning to inert mounds of fungus.
He collected the remaining two crystals. The chamber fell silent, the oppressive atmosphere lifting.
Return
He emerged from the caverns as the sun was setting.The journey back to the sanctuary was a blur of speed and focus. When he entered the Genesis Chamber, Vaktari was waiting, a look of intense appraisal on her face.
Without a word, he extended his hand, offering the three pulsating crystals.
She took them, her fingers brushing his. A current passed between them—part pride, part something deeper and more complicated. "You mastered the internal shield. You controlled the battlefield. Good."
She placed the crystals into a fabrication node. Energy swirled, and in moments, a garment materialized. It was a deep grey, almost black, with a texture that seemed to drink the light. The Cloak of Whispering Mycelium.
"Put it on," she instructed.
He did.As it settled on his shoulders, he felt a strange sensation. The cloak attuned to his energy signature. When he focused, willing himself unseen, the fabric shimmered and he seemed to blur, blending perfectly with the background. Even his energy aura was dampened to a nearly imperceptible whisper.
"The cloak is your first true tool," Vaktari said. "Tomorrow, you enter Taksipa. Your goal is not battle. It is intelligence. Find the slave pens. Locate the holding area for new 'stock.' See if your family is among them. The Arena games begin the day after. That is when the lots will be chosen for the hunt."
Skodar clenched his fist, the cloak shifting silently. "And if they are there?"
Vaktari's gaze was like tempered steel. "Then we learn everything about the Arena. Its guards, its gates, its schedule. We learn where they take the Genes Amplifier Liquid. We plan not for a rescue, but for a revolution."
She stepped closer, her form glowing softly in the chamber's light. "But remember, Skodar. In that city, you are still a Vakhas. The cloak hides your power, not your species. The weak, blue slave is the disguise your enemies will believe. Use their arrogance against them."
Skodar looked at his reflection in a polished metal panel. He saw a tall, powerful warrior shrouded in shadow. Then he let the cloak's illusion drop, and for a fleeting second, he forced his posture to slump, his eyes to dull. He saw the ghost of the boy from Mohsi Village.
Two identities. One purpose.
The shadow descended into the city of chains at first light.