Bjorn stood horrified as he watched Drakkus enter the fire. Its color turned blacker than midnight, but unlike every other participant before him, not a single sound could be heard. Looking up at the Sergeant, he saw the confusion plain on his face. Bjorn was the first to admit he was glad to see the Baron scream like an injured pig. But even his fire was nowhere near as dark as their ill-fated leader. What would one have to do to have so much darkness within themselves? Especially as young as he was.
These thoughts plagued his mind as the time went by. Ten seconds turned to thirty, and thirty seconds turned into five minutes as the time went on. Right as worry began to grow in his chest, the black fire changed to a blinding white, confusing the Sergeant further.
—
"Pathetic," a low, inhuman voice spoke in my head. Somehow, my intuition told me that this was not directed at me. "Once again, they cling to their false idols." The amount of bitterness in his voice almost made me recoil as I was enraptured by his words. "They look at those better than themselves, not with reverence but fear. I have seen your memories, and I know your lives. Yet, still, I do not understand your mind. Your own flesh and blood betrayed you out of fear, yet you forgive him? Has death clouded your mind? Making you… lesser" There was both disgust and sympathy in his voice.
"And who are you to judge me? Have I not hated enough? Have I not spilled enough blood for three lifetimes? That anger you speak of would have ruined me. Besides, it would have been pointless. I am no longer in that world, so who would be the product of my revenge? My own mind. Your thought process is flawed." There was a finality in my tone, as if to prove that my will would not be shaken.
"Hahahaha," his laughter sounded like the rattling of bones. "I am Aeron The Undying boy, at least a part of him that is. In my past, some fools called me the god of death. But that domain belongs to Lunesra. No, I am the first lich and the greatest necromancer to have ever lived." There was genuine pride in his voice as he spoke.
"That is all good and well, but what does any of that have to do with me?
"The answer is simple, boy. By accepting my tome, you have become one of my phylacaries. Worry not, the law of balance demands an equal exchange. So in exchange, you have been granted access to my exclusive knowledge and wisdom. Rejoice, boy, for few have ever received such an honor."
"What use have I of necromancy? I follow the path of the blade. Although I use magic, my sword will always be my focus."
A moment of silence followed my words. For a being who had introduced himself with such overwhelming arrogance, Aeron seemed almost amused by my answer.
"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully. "How very disappointing."
"Disappointing?"
"Yes," he replied lazily. "I had hoped the vessel chosen by my codex would possess a more… ambitious mind."
"Ambition has led more men to ruin than it has to greatness," I answered calmly. "The blade demands discipline. Necromancy, from what little I know of it, demands something else entirely."
"Sacrifice," Aeron said without hesitation. His voice became harsh and resolute. "Power always demands sacrifice."
The certainty in his voice was absolute, as if he spoke not of theory but of long experience.
"And you believe that makes it worthwhile?"
"Of course," he scoffed. "What is the value of a life if it cannot be traded for something greater?"
I remained silent for a moment, considering his words. For someone who had once been called a god of death, his philosophy was unsurprisingly simple.
Power above all.
"It seems to me," I said eventually, "that you confuse power with purpose."
Aeron let out a dry chuckle.
"Purpose? What purpose could possibly surpass power itself?"
"That is where your philosophy fails. The point of purpose is to give a reason to gain power. Power for its own sake corrupts always."
For the first time since his voice had appeared, the lich fell completely silent. When he spoke again, the arrogance had not disappeared, but something else had joined it. Curiosity.
"You truly believe that?" he asked slowly.
"I lived by that belief," I replied my voice going softer to barely a whisper. "And I died by it."
"Fascinating."
The word rolled from his tongue as if he had discovered some strange new creature.
"You gave up a throne. You fought wars that were not your own. You accepted death at the hands of the very man you sacrificed everything for." His voice lowered slightly as if challenging my words. "And you still claim your purpose was fulfilled."
"Yes."
"Then you are either the most foolish creature I have ever encountered…" Aeron said thoughtfully.
"…or the most steadfast."
Before I could respond, the world around me began to fracture. The throne room dissolved like mist under the morning sun. The stone walls warped and twisted before collapsing entirely, leaving nothing but blinding white light in their place. The flames of the trial.
"So the illusion is ending," Aeron muttered. "How unfortunate. Our conversation was just beginning."
"You sound disappointed."
"I am," he admitted. "It has been centuries since I last encountered a mind capable of arguing with me without immediately begging for power."
The white light grew brighter until it swallowed everything.
"But do not worry, boy," Aeron continued calmly. "Now that you are one of my phylacteries, we will have plenty of time to continue this discussion."
The arena returned all at once. The roaring sound of the crowd rushed back into my ears as the flames around me faded to nothing. I stood alone at the center of the bonfire, completely unharmed. Yet judging by the stunned expressions of the officers watching from the podium, something about the fire had not behaved as they expected.
Interesting. Perhaps the flames had seen something they did not quite understand. And if the uneasy expressions on the Sergeant's face were anything to go by, neither did he.
"Pass," The voice of the Sergeant felt louder than it should have been to my adjusting ears. A murmur spread through the arena almost immediately. Hundreds of voices whispered amongst themselves, each trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed. I ignored them all. The opinions of strangers had never held much value to me.
Instead, my gaze drifted back toward the podium. The Sergeant had not taken his eyes off me since the flames disappeared. The confusion that had been present earlier had not left his face. If anything, it had deepened. Beside him, the other officers exchanged quiet words among themselves. Their expressions were far less neutral than they had been at the start of the trial.
Whatever the flames had shown them, it had clearly not been something they expected.
I stepped out of the circle of scorched stone where the bonfire had stood only moments before. The heat had already begun to fade, leaving behind nothing but a faint warmth lingering in the air. As I walked back toward the remaining contestants, the crowd parted instinctively.
Most avoided looking directly at me. They feared me. It was not something I was unfamiliar with. I had seen the same expression countless times on battlefields long since reduced to ash by the passage of time.
Yet seeing it directed at me still felt… strange.
"By the gods," Bjorn muttered when I finally reached him. His eyes moved over me as if searching for injuries. "You were in there for nearly ten minutes. What the hell happened?"
"An illusion," I answered simply.
He blinked. "That's it?" There was a silent question in his eyes.
"Yes." My expression made it clear that now was not the time to talk. Touching my ears and make a circle with my pointer finger around me. To express that even the walls had ears.
Bjorn stared at me for a moment longer before letting out a breath through his nose. "Remind me never to play cards with you. Your face doesn't give away a damn thing."
Before I could respond, the Sergeant's voice once again carried across the arena.
"The second stage of the trial is complete."
The remaining murmurs died instantly. Out of the original one hundred and thirty contestants who had advanced past the duels, barely half still stood within the arena. Some of those who had failed the flames were still being carried out by the officers. Others had collapsed on their own, their minds seemingly unable to withstand whatever horrors the illusion had shown them.
The Sergeant's eyes swept across the survivors. "Those who remain have proven that they possess both skill and will." He paused briefly. "But the First Legion is not built upon individuals." A few confused glances were exchanged among the contestants. "It is built upon unity."
With a wave of his hand, the massive gates along the far side of the arena began to open. Beyond them lay a vast training ground stretching far into the distance. Rows of wooden structures, obstacles, and practice fields filled the space like the organized chaos of a military camp.
"The final trial," the Sergeant continued, "will test your ability to fight as a unit." That caused a noticeable shift among the remaining contestants. Many of them had arrived here as mercenaries or lone adventurers. Cooperation was rarely their strongest trait. "You will be divided into squads of five," he said. "Your objective will be simple." A faint smile appeared on his scarred face. "Survive."
The gates finished opening with a heavy rumble that echoed across the arena. Something about the Sergeant's expression told me that whatever awaited us beyond those gates would make the trials we had already endured seem merciful by comparison.
Beside me, Bjorn cracked his knuckles with an eager grin. "Well," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Now this sounds like fun."
I did not share his enthusiasm. After everything I had just witnessed within the flames, one thought lingered quietly in the back of my mind. This legion will shape the course of my life. And now that Aeron had taken residence within my soul, I had a feeling that the course would be far more complicated than I had originally anticipated.