The Tower did not care about fear.
It did not acknowledge hesitation, regret, or desperation. Those were human currencies, and the Tower dealt only in results.
Voryn learned this the moment the summons arrived.
It was not a message. Not a messenger.
The shadows around him simply rearranged.
One moment, he stood within the fractured ruin chamber, chains still humming faintly from the unstable Shadow Slave behind him. The next, the world folded inward like a closing eye.
Darkness compressed.
Then released.
The Trial Hall
Stone. Endless stone.
Voryn stood at the center of a circular platform suspended over an abyss so deep his shadow failed to reach the bottom. Pillars carved with ancient runes rose like the ribs of some colossal beast, each etched with marks that pulsed faintly, watching, measuring.
Above, a vast dome reflected no sky.
Only symbols.
Ranks. Names. Failures.
Successes were conspicuously absent.
"Well," Voryn muttered, adjusting his stance, "this feels welcoming."
His voice echoed once, then vanished, swallowed by the space itself.
The chains binding his Shadow Slaves were gone.
Not broken.
Suppressed.
That alone told him everything he needed to know.
No external assets, he realized. This is a purity test.
The Black Oath stirred, restless but muted, like a blade wrapped too tightly in cloth.
A presence manifested before him, neither fully solid nor entirely incorporeal. A tall figure draped in layered robes of stone-gray light, its face obscured by a fractured mask bearing no expression.
A Judge.
Its voice arrived not through sound, but pressure.
"Voryn of the Lower Ascent. Candidate for Stage Three."
Voryn inclined his head slightly, not in submission, but acknowledgment.
"This trial evaluates survivability, cognition, and adaptability under ranked threat conditions."
Figures began to appear along the outer ring of the platform.
Other candidates.
Seven of them.
Some stood tall and confident, aura flaring openly. Others hid their power, eyes sharp with calculation. One leaned against a pillar casually, as if attending a performance rather than a trial that routinely ended lives.
Voryn noted everything.
Posture. Breathing. Micro-movements.
Three overconfident. Two cautious. One pretending to be careless.
And one…
His gaze lingered briefly on a woman standing perfectly still, eyes closed, hands folded. Her presence was quiet but wrong. Like a blade sheathed too neatly.
Dangerous.
Rules Without Mercy
"The trial begins when the bell tolls."
A low vibration rippled through the platform.
"Only those who remain conscious at the end will ascend."
No mention of teamwork.
No prohibition against killing.
The Tower did not encourage brutality.
It simply rewarded efficiency.
The Judge's head tilted slightly toward Voryn.
"You are statistically unlikely to pass."
Voryn smiled faintly.
"Good. I'd hate to be predictable."
The Judge did not respond.
The bell rang.
Chaos Is a Resource
The platform shifted.
Stone segments rotated, breaking the arena into uneven elevations. Lines of glowing script ignited beneath their feet, each corresponding to threat vectors and suppression zones.
The overconfident ones attacked first.
Of course they did.
A man wreathed in crackling red energy charged the nearest opponent, fist already igniting with condensed force. Another candidate unleashed a barrage of spectral blades, laughing as they tore through the air.
Voryn didn't move.
He watched.
Timing matters more than speed, he reminded himself.
The first death came quickly.
Too quickly.
The red-energy man never saw the thin line of distortion that severed his torso. The woman who'd appeared harmless now stood behind him, fingers still extended.
Efficient.
Clean.
She didn't look at the body as it fell into the abyss.
Voryn filed that away.
Calculated Engagement
Only when the field began to thin did Voryn act.
A wave of pressure surged toward him, an attack meant to test, not kill. He sidestepped, letting it graze his sleeve while his shadow stretched unnaturally, anchoring him to the shifting stone.
They're probing, he realized. Seeing who reacts.
He obliged just enough.
A flick of his wrist sent his shadow rippling across the ground, disrupting the rune beneath one opponent's feet. The man stumbled as gravity inverted locally, crashing into another candidate mid-cast.
Voryn didn't follow up.
He didn't need to.
The Tower punished mistakes brutally.
The runes flared.
Both candidates screamed as suppression fields collapsed inward, crushing consciousness rather than flesh. Their bodies slumped, alive but finished.
Two down, Voryn counted. Five remain.
Risk Versus Reward
Pain pulsed faintly behind his eyes.
Suppressing the Black Oath wasn't free.
Every calculation demanded focus, and focus cost him fragments of stamina, clarity, warmth. His breath fogged slightly despite the still air.
I can't drag this out, he decided. Endgame fast. Minimal exposure.
The pretending-to-be-careless candidate lunged suddenly, blade appearing in his hand without warning. Fast. Skilled. Targeting vitals.
Voryn smiled.
He'd already stepped into the man's blind angle.
The blade passed through the afterimage.
Voryn's shadow rose like a wall, slamming the attacker into the ground not with brute force, but redirected momentum amplified by gravity distortion.
The man groaned once.
Then went still.
Voryn leaned closer, whispering just loud enough to hear.
"Next time, don't fake boredom. It makes you sloppy."
Dark humor. Controlled. A release valve.
The Quiet Threat
Only two others remained now.
The cautious one, bleeding, exhausted, barely standing.
And the silent woman.
They faced each other across the fractured platform.
The cautious man glanced between them, calculating odds. He chose poorly.
He attacked Voryn.
Voryn didn't even look at him.
A precise shift of shadow collapsed the man's footing, sending him tumbling into unconsciousness against a pillar.
Voryn finally turned his attention fully to the woman.
She opened her eyes.
They were void-black.
"Impressive," she said calmly. "You waste nothing."
"Habit," Voryn replied. "You haven't attacked once."
"I didn't need to."
True.
Their shadows reacted to each other instinctively, curling, testing boundaries. Hers felt… older. Refined through repetition and loss.
"Name?" she asked.
"Names get people killed," Voryn said lightly. "I'm fond of mine."
She smiled faintly.
Then vanished.
Edge of Ascension
The attack came from everywhere.
Pressure. Distortion. A collapsing field that sought to crush him from all angles at once.
Voryn barely reacted in time, slamming his shadow into the ground and riding the recoil upward as the platform imploded beneath him.
Pain flared really this time as the suppression field scraped against his defenses.
Blood filled his mouth.
Too strong, he thought. Not Stage Three.
He twisted midair, landing hard, rolling, forcing breath back into his lungs.
The woman stood untouched amid the chaos.
"You're right," she said softly. "Names get people killed."
Her aura surged.
Stage Three peak.
Borderline Stage Four.
Voryn laughed hoarsely.
"Oh, that's cheating."
She tilted her head.
"No. It's surviving."
The Judge Intervenes
Before either could move again, the arena froze.
Time itself seemed to hesitate.
The Judge reappeared between them.
"Trial complete."
The woman frowned slightly.
Voryn straightened slowly, muscles screaming.
"Voryn of the Lower Ascent: Pass."
A mark burned into the air before him. Stage Three Ascension confirmed.
"Candidate Nyx: Pass."
The woman's expression didn't change.
Then the Judge turned its faceless gaze fully toward Voryn.
"Consider this advisory."
The pressure deepened.
"Not all who pass… survive the next stage."
The abyss beneath the platform stirred.
Something vast shifted far below, responding to the ascension marks.
Voryn felt it.
The same presence.
Watching.
I'm interested.
His smile faded not in fear, but anticipation.
"Good," he said quietly. "I was worried this would get easy."
As the trial hall began to dissolve, the shadows around Voryn whispered in unison, no longer just his.
"Stage Four has noticed you."
And somewhere beyond the Tower, something ancient began to prepare.