The training grounds beneath the Citadel were nothing like the polished arenas above. Here, stone replaced sand, and the air was heavy with the scent of scorched metal and ancient sweat. This was not a place for performance. It was for war. For truth.
Thalen stood at the center of the underground chamber, Kindle strapped to his back, his muscles sore from the morning drills. Every bone in his body ached, but he welcomed the pain. It meant he was growing.
Velis circled him slowly, arms behind his back, watching with eyes that missed nothing.
"Again," Velis ordered.
Thalen lunged at the target post an iron dummy inscribed with aura runes. He swung, feinted, pivoted, struck. Sparks scattered from the blade's edge as it met the enchanted metal. His footwork was tighter now. His form sharper.
Velis raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
After five more sets, Thalen dropped to a knee, panting.
"You think the test is over," Velis said, walking to him. "You think you've passed because you've been chosen. But that's not how this works."
Thalen looked up, sweat dripping from his brow.
"Then how does it work?"
Velis drew his sword still sheathed and pointed it at Thalen's chest.
"You pass the real test by surviving me."
Before Thalen could reply, Velis moved.
It was a blur a phantom wind and pressure that slammed Thalen to the floor. His ribs groaned in protest, but he rolled, barely avoiding the blow that split the stone where his chest had just been. Kindle was already in his hand.
He parried an overhead strike, then ducked low and countered. His blade scraped across Velis's sleeve, drawing the faintest hint of blood.
Velis grinned. "Good."
Then the Warden vanished again.
A boot slammed into Thalen's back, sending him forward. Another strike came from above he blocked it by instinct, but the sheer force drove him to one knee. Kindle hummed with reactive aura, absorbing as much of the blow as it could.
Velis stepped back, sheathing his sword.
"You're still thinking too much," he said. "Let your aura breathe. You keep clenching it like a fist."
"I'm trying," Thalen growled.
"Don't try. Listen."
Velis gestured to a rune on the wall. It glowed with dull orange light.
"That's the Heart Flame Sigil. Sit in front of it. Meditate until your aura speaks. Don't move until it does."
Thalen obeyed. He sat, legs crossed, sword across his knees, the rune pulsing softly before him.
At first, there was only silence. Then the noise of his own thoughts memories of failure, shame, hunger, comparison. He saw himself being outpaced by Rhyn, laughed at by Callen, ignored by teachers. He had never had natural talent.
But he had always had will.
The flame pulsed.
And deep inside, something stirred.
A thread of warmth, buried in his core. It was not fire, not yet. It was a spark. And it responded to his breath. When he inhaled deeply, it glowed. When he calmed his mind, it flickered brighter.
He opened his eyes.
The rune glowed red now. Kindle pulsed gently in his lap.
Velis stood a few paces away, arms crossed.
"You heard it," he said.
"I think so," Thalen whispered. "It was faint, like... like a whisper behind my heart."
"That's your inner aura. Most people never learn to hear it. You just took your first step."
Thalen rose. The pain was still there but now it felt earned. Not endured.
That night, they returned to the upper Citadel. Velis led him through a quiet corridor lit with hanging crystal lanterns, their light swaying like ocean tides. They passed no one. Only shadows followed.
"Do you know the legend of the first Tyrant?" Velis asked suddenly.
Thalen hesitated. "Only the basics. He was the first to awaken the Tyrant Spirit. He ended the Great Sundering and unified the fractured lands. They say the land itself bends around him."
"They say many things," Velis murmured. "Some true. Some false. But there is one truth no one dares speak aloud."
Thalen looked at him.
"He didn't find the Tyrant Spirit," Velis said. "He became it."
That night, Thalen lay on the narrow cot in the dormitory provided for training candidates. Kindle rested beside him. Outside the window, the twin moons of the realm hovered above the horizon, casting pale light over the distant mountain spines.
He couldn't sleep.
The words echoed in his mind.
He became it.
What did that mean? Could the spirit of the tyrant truly become someone? Was it a force one inherited or something one forged?
He closed his eyes.
The spark behind his ribs pulsed again, faint and warm.
He would find the answer.
Even if it killed him.