Kael stood alone at the edge of the field.
The training grounds had been cleared. The other groups were gone, sent back to barracks under quiet orders. Lanterns were being lit one by one as dusk deepened into night.
The silence felt intentional.
A Warden adjusted markers in the center of the field. Another checked the mechanisms beneath the stone. Ronas watched from the elevated platform, hands folded behind his back.
No one explained why Kael had been kept behind.
That alone told him everything.
"You will not be given a partner," the Warden said.
Kael nodded.
"This is not a combat trial," the Warden continued. "It is a motion trial."
Kael frowned slightly. "Meaning?"
"You will move," the Warden said. "Continuously."
The Warden gestured toward the field.
Stone plates were set at uneven heights. Gaps separated them. Some surfaces were smooth. Others were jagged. Lines were etched into the ground, forming no clear pattern.
"There is no fixed path," the Warden said. "No endpoint."
Kael tightened his grip on his sword.
"You will be given pressure," the Warden went on. "You will adapt."
Ronas spoke for the first time.
"You will not stop unless ordered."
Kael looked up at him.
"And if I fall?" Kael asked.
The Warden answered instead. "Then the trial ends."
Failure.
The horn sounded.
The ground shifted immediately.
A plate tilted beneath Kael's feet. He jumped forward without hesitation, landing on a narrow stone ledge as the space behind him collapsed inward.
He moved again.
And again.
The field was alive.
Plates rose and fell. Gaps widened without warning. The ground punished hesitation.
Kael focused on rhythm.
Step.Land.Adjust.
Not speed.
Control.
Minutes passed.
Sweat gathered along his spine. His breathing steadied.
Then the pressure changed.
Weighted arms swung from concealed slots in the stone, forcing Kael to duck and roll. He blocked one with the flat of his blade, using the impact to redirect himself onto a higher plate.
The blade rang.
No resonance.No reinforcement.
Just steel and timing.
From the platform above, Wardens observed quietly.
"His pace is conservative," one noted.
"He's conserving energy," another replied.
Ronas said nothing.
The field narrowed.
Plates began shifting faster. The gaps widened.
Kael adjusted, lengthening his strides, taking calculated risks.
Then came the noise.
A horn blast—short and sharp—sounded from the far side of the field.
Kael flinched.
A second blast followed from behind.
False signals.
He ignored them.
The ground did not.
A plate dropped suddenly beneath his left foot.
Kael twisted mid-fall, catching the edge with his fingers. Stone scraped skin. Pain flared.
He pulled himself up, breath sharp, and moved on.
No pause.
Time stretched.
There were no breaks. No markers of progress.
That was the point.
The trial wasn't testing strength.
It was testing decision-making under exhaustion.
Kael felt it in his legs first. Then his shoulders.
The field did not slow.
A weighted arm swung too close.
Kael blocked too late.
The impact rattled his arm, sending his sword skidding across a plate.
The sound echoed.
The Wardens leaned forward.
Kael didn't chase the weapon.
He moved.
Bare-handed.
He rolled beneath the next swing, vaulted a gap, and snatched his sword on the run without stopping.
From above, one Warden murmured, "Good."
The pressure increased.
Plates tilted in opposite directions. Movements overlapped. The field became unpredictable.
Kael's breathing grew heavier.
Then the voices started.
"Hold position!"
"Advance!"
"Fallback now!"
They came from every direction.
Conflicting.
Urgent.
Kael gritted his teeth.
Ignore them.
He focused on the ground.
On what was real.
A sudden shift threw him off balance.
Kael stumbled.
For the first time, panic flickered.
The field sensed it.
A plate rose sharply beneath him, pitching him forward toward a widening gap.
Kael leapt.
He barely cleared it.
He landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact.
Pain shot through his side.
He didn't slow.
Minutes later—hours?—he lost track.
The field showed no mercy.
Kael's arms burned. His legs shook.
Still, he moved.
Still, he adapted.
Still, he did not stop.
Above, Ronas finally spoke.
"He's not trying to beat the field," he said. "He's trying to survive it."
"That's not the goal," a Warden replied.
Ronas's eyes remained fixed on Kael. "It should be."
The final change came without warning.
The field stilled.
For half a breath, everything froze.
Kael slowed instinctively.
Wrong move.
The plates beneath him vanished.
Kael fell.
Not far—but far enough.
He hit the lower stone hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.
Pain flared.
The horn sounded.
"Trial—"
Kael moved.
He forced himself up on shaking arms.
The horn cut off.
The Wardens stared.
"He stood," one said quietly.
Kael dragged himself to his feet.
Blood ran from his scraped hands. His vision swam.
He stayed standing.
The field locked into place.
Silence fell.
Ronas descended from the platform.
He stopped in front of Kael.
"You should have fallen unconscious," Ronas said.
Kael swallowed. "I didn't."
Ronas studied him. "Why?"
Kael answered honestly.
"Because if I fall out there," he said, "no one stops the trial."
The Wardens exchanged looks.
Ronas turned away.
"That will be all," he said.
Kael blinked. "Did I pass?"
Ronas did not answer.
As Kael limped from the field, Mira watched from a distance, unreadable.
Rask looked unsettled.
Tavian ran toward Kael the moment he was released.
"You're an idiot," Tavian said, grabbing his arm. "Do you know how long that went on?"
Kael shook his head. "No."
Tavian swallowed. "Long enough."
That night, Kael lay awake in his bunk.
Every muscle screamed.
But his mind was clear.
He hadn't won.
He hadn't failed.
Which meant something worse.
They were still deciding what to do with him.
And somewhere in the dark, someone was watching very carefully.