I have watched mortals be stripped to nothing in the name of judgment, and I have watched others be given too much and crumble beneath it. Torvas' trial was neither mercy nor cruelty. It was truth.
At dawn, before the sun had fully risen over the stone spires of the Sanctuary, a bell rang.
Once.
The sound was deep, final, and absolute. It rolled through halls and courtyards, down mountain paths and into distant valleys. Those who heard it felt the weight of it settle into their bones.
The ritual had begun.
By the High Priest's order, the refugees of Aramoor were moved first. Men, women, and children were escorted beyond the Sanctuary walls and guided toward a nearby village prepared to receive them. None were allowed to remain. What was about to happen was not meant for the untested.
When the gates closed behind the last of them, the Sanctuary grew still.
The contenders gathered in the central courtyard.
They came from across Vvralis warriors hardened by battle, nobles desperate to prove themselves, wanderers with quiet eyes and scarred hands. Some whispered prayers. Others said nothing at all.
Erias stood among them, both swords at his sides.
One rested against his left hip, its craftsmanship refined, balanced, forged by the finest smiths of the Sanctuary and gifted to him by the High Priest when he first arrived. The other, worn and familiar, hung at his right Kaelar's blade. The sword of the fallen Blade of Torvas.
The weight of both was different.
One carried duty.
The other carried legacy.
Erias was seated briefly on a low stone step, steadying his breath, when he felt it.
A presence behind him.
No footsteps. No warning.
He turned sharply, hand already near Kaelar's blade.
A boy stood there, only a few years older than him. Three at most. Lean, relaxed, but balanced in a way that suggested experience rather than carelessness. His eyes were alert, calm, missing nothing.
Erias frowned.
He hadn't heard him approach.
The boy noticed and smiled faintly.
"My name's Aven," he said, extending a hand. "You're Erias."
It wasn't a question.
Erias hesitated, then took the hand and rose. Aven's grip was firm, steady.
"Yes," Erias replied.
Aven nodded. "Thought so. You're the one Kaelar chose."
The name struck deep, but Erias didn't react. Before he could speak, the air changed.
From the inner halls of the Sanctuary, chanting began.
Low. Rhythmic. Ancient.
The High Priests emerged in a slow procession, their voices weaving together into a prayer older than kingdoms. The words pressed against the air itself.
Fire answered.
A wave of flame surged outward from the Sanctuary's heart. It did not burn. It did not consume. It expanded with purpose, climbing walls, flowing over towers, spreading far into the forest beyond.
A dome of fire sealed the Sanctuary and the woodland around it.
Knights moved instantly.
"Collect all weapons!" a captain shouted.
They moved through the crowd with disciplined speed. Spears. Swords. Axes. Bows.
When they reached Erias, the captain paused.
Erias removed both swords.
First, the blade gifted by the High Priest.
Then Kaelar's sword.
The knight accepted them with reverence. His eyes softened, grief visible as his fingers closed around Kaelar's blade. He bowed his head slightly.
"You honor us," he murmured.
In return, Erias was handed a crude dagger short, unbalanced, unforgiving.
Aven turned his dagger in his hand, testing its weight. "Figures," he muttered. "They wouldn't make it easy."
Erias examined his own dagger. It was light. Simple.
Honest.
When the last weapon was taken, the chanting ceased.
The High Priest emerged.
This time, his eyes were covered with a black blindfold, identical to those worn by the chanting priests. His posture was rigid. His presence unyielding.
He raised his hands.
"Those who stand here," he declared, "stand at the edge of judgment."
Silence followed.
"For the next three months," he continued, "you will survive within the forest that now surrounds this Sanctuary."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"There are no rules," the High Priest said. "You may kill. You may steal. You may flee or hunt as you choose."
Some stiffened. Others smiled grimly.
"There are beasts within that forest capable of killing even high-ranking knights. Hunger will test you. Fear will shape you. And you will test one another."
He paused.
"And any special abilities you possess divine blessings, gifts, powerss granted by the gods will not function. The forest will strip them from you."
Erias felt his chest tighten.
"This trial will reveal who you are when everything else is taken away," the High Priest said. "Only then can Torvas judge who may bear his Blade."
He lowered his head.
"May Torvas watch over you."
The chanting resumed.
The world folded.
Erias felt the ground vanish beneath him. The sky shattered into green and gold. For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then he landed.
Hard.
Leaves and soil burst around him as he rolled, instinctively curling to absorb the impact. He came to a stop on one knee, dagger clenched in his hand.
The forest loomed around him ancient, vast, silent.
Ancient trees. Thick undergrowth. Shadows layered upon shadows.
And then he heard it.
A low, guttural growl.
Erias looked up.
Between the trees, something moved.
Too large.
Too still.
Too patient.
The beast's eyes opened.
And the trial truly began.