I have watched many rites of survival, but few reshape a mortal as quickly as this one did. The forest did not merely test Erias. It carved him.
The first month of the ritual passed in blood and exhaustion. Days blurred into nights, and nights into relentless vigilance. Erias learned quickly that rest was a luxury earned only through dominance or isolation. He killed beasts whose names were unknown to him, creatures with too many eyes, too many teeth, or hides thick enough to turn a careless strike into a death sentence. He fought other participants too. Some attacked out of desperation, others out of hunger, and a few because they believed fear was weakness and cruelty was strength.
Each fight left its mark.
By the time the second month bled into the third, Erias was no longer the boy who had first been swallowed by the forest. His body had hardened, muscle defined by constant strain and necessity. Scars crossed his arms, his ribs, his shoulder. His stance had changed. He stood taller now, broader, his movements economical and deliberate. He was a little taller than he had been when he first met Varos, and there was a weight in his gaze that had not existed before.
He survived because he adapted.
On one ash-grey morning, as mist clung low to the forest floor, Erias sensed conflict before he saw it. Raised voices carried through the trees, sharp and heated.
He moved quietly, keeping to the shadows, until he saw them.
A girl stood at the center of a small clearing, her back straight despite the half-circle of armed participants surrounding her. She was one of the contenders Erias had noticed before the ritual began. One of the few whose presence had felt heavy, grounded. Powerful.
Her voice rang out, unshaken.
"We came here to become the Sword of Torvas," she shouted. "That means something. It means righteousness. It means standing for others, not preying on them."
The leader of the group laughed, a harsh sound. He was broad-shouldered, his armor mismatched, his dagger stained dark.
"Righteousness?" he sneered. "Being the Blade is just being the strongest. Nothing more."
The girl smiled, sharp and fearless.
"If that were true," she said, "the Blade of Torvas would not have died protecting the Sanctuary."
The group burst into laughter.
Something inside Erias went cold.
He stepped out of the trees.
The laughter faltered.
Erias walked into the clearing, his presence drawing attention like gravity. His clothes were torn and patched. His arms scarred. His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing careless about him. He looked every inch a warrior now.
His voice, when he spoke, carried none of the hesitation it once had.
"So you think Kaelar was weak," he said calmly, "because he was righteous?"
The leader glanced at him, unimpressed. "And who are you supposed to be?"
Erias met his gaze, unblinking.
"Let me tell you something," Erias continued. "Kaelar was stronger than anyone I have ever met. Stronger than you. Stronger than every beast in this forest. He died because he chose to protect others. Not because he lacked strength."
The group leader snorted. "Big words."
He motioned with his hand. "Kill him."
Three men rushed forward.
Erias did not retreat.
He watched them as they moved, his eyes tracking their footwork, their spacing, the tension in their shoulders. He read them the way Kaelar had taught him to read enemies.
Too aggressive. Too eager.
He moved.
In a blink, he closed the distance. His blade flashed once, precise and efficient. The first man dropped without a sound, blood blooming across his chest.
The second froze, shock stealing his breath.
Erias was behind him before the man could turn, the hilt of his blade slamming into the back of his head. The man collapsed unconscious.
The third man stumbled back, terror flooding his face. He turned and ran toward the rest of the group.
Erias did not chase him.
Instead, he walked forward, slow and deliberate.
He looked at the girl.
"I know you're strong," Erias said. "I felt it before the ritual began. Why don't you fight?"
The girl's eyes sharpened.
She smiled.
Then she moved.
She attacked from behind with startling speed, her dagger cutting deep into the group before they could react. Erias joined her without hesitation. Together, they dismantled the remaining participants with brutal efficiency. When it was over, the clearing was silent except for ragged breathing.
Erias turned to leave.
"Wait," the girl called, following him. "What's your name?"
He hesitated, then answered. "Erias."
She nodded. "I'm Lira."
She walked beside him as they disappeared into the trees. "Did you know the Blade?" she asked.
"Yes," Erias said. "He chose me as his successor."
She studied him with new interest.
Behind them, a lone figure stepped into the clearing.
A boy, his face hidden beneath a cloth mask, the dagger resting easily in his hands. He surveyed the bodies, the precision of the strikes, the direction Erias had gone.
"Why do you hide?" a voice asked from the shadows.
Aven stepped out, hands relaxed, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
The masked boy tilted his head. "Because I'm curious. I wonder who would win in a fight between you and Erias when the time comes. After all, you were once considered a successor too before you left."
Aven glanced at the fallen bodies, then smiled faintly.
"Interesting," he said.
The masked boy's voice hardened. "Stay away from my mission. I'm here to kill the successor Kaelar chose."
Aven laughed softly, stepping back into the forest.
"We'll see," he said.