The mist curled around us like living tendrils as I stepped into the center of the ancient courtyard. The woman - who I now knew as Seraphyne, Guardian of the Fourth Flame - raised her staff high. The five figures surrounding her melted into the gloom, save for one.
He was a giant of a man, clad in blackened steel armor chased with red. His face was hidden behind a dragon-shaped helm, but I could feel the force of his presence even before he moved.
"Strength," Seraphyne intoned. "To bear the weight of a kingdom. To endure flame and fury alike."
The warrior raised a massive hammer, easily the size of my torso, and slammed it once into the ground. The earth cracked beneath the blow, a low rumble echoing through the mountains.
There would be no delicate duel here.
I drew my sword slowly, feeling the bond between myself and Xyron pulse in the back of my mind - a steady thrum of heat and force. Yet this was a test of my strength, not my dragon's.
The giant charged.
I dodged the first swing by the barest margin, the hammer whistling past my ear and shattering the stone behind me. The second blow came faster - a downward arc aimed to crush. I threw myself to the side again, feeling the shockwave of its impact rattle my bones.
He was relentless.
I could not match him blow for blow. I would have to endure, survive, and strike true when the moment came.
Breath burning in my lungs, I let him drive me backward, dodging and weaving as his hammer tore craters into the ground. My body ached. My muscles screamed. Every heartbeat was a battle.
But as the clash continued, I began to read him - the slight hesitation before each overhead swing, the way he shifted his left foot before a wide sweep. Patterns hidden within the chaos.
I waited.
And when the giant raised his hammer high for a crushing two-handed blow, I moved.
I surged forward, inside his reach, and drove the hilt of my sword into his unarmored armpit - the single vulnerable point. The giant staggered, and before he could recover, I spun and drove my shoulder into his chest with every ounce of force I could muster.
He stumbled back, and with a roar, I slashed across his exposed thigh.
Blood spurted - dark and steaming.
The giant dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
I stood over him, sword poised.
Seraphyne's voice cut through the mist. "Enough."
The giant bowed his head in silent acknowledgment. With surprising grace, he rose and stepped aside.
The first trial was complete.
But there was no time to celebrate. The mist shifted again, and another figure emerged - this one slender, wrapped in gray silks, moving with a grace that spoke of lethal speed.
"Speed," Seraphyne announced, her voice echoing off the ancient stones. "The flame that strikes faster than thought, faster than death."
The second trial had begun.
And this one would be even deadlier.
-----
The figure in gray moved the moment Seraphyne's voice faded.
No ceremony. No warning.
Only motion - a flicker of silver steel darting toward my throat.
I twisted aside instinctively, feeling the bite of air as the assassin's blade missed by a hair's breadth. Before I could counter, the figure was gone - a blur at the edge of my vision, already repositioning for the next strike.
Speed beyond human.
I forced myself to stay calm, centering my breath the way the masters of Valyria once taught before battle. My sword seemed slow, clumsy, against such swiftness.
I could not win by reacting.
I had to predict.
The assassin struck again - low sweep for the legs, feinting high at the last instant. I parried on reflex, the shock of the impact jarring my arm.
Another strike. Another. A rain of blows faster than thought.
My body moved, but not fast enough. A shallow cut opened on my cheek, the sting sharp and immediate. Blood trickled down.
The assassin withdrew momentarily, circling me like a shark tasting blood.
Seraphyne's voice drifted from somewhere unseen:
"The flame does not wait. It consumes. It anticipates."
I remembered the surge of power I had felt in the Vault of Embers, the bond with Xyron, the flame running through my veins. It was not only destruction - it was life, instinct, awareness.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat.
And I reached.
The world sharpened.
I could hear the faint scrape of the assassin's sandals on the cracked stones. Smell the oil on their blade. Feel the slight shift of air as they prepared to move.
When they attacked again - I was ready.
The blade flashed toward my side, but before it could reach me, I was already stepping into the attack, parrying with a fluid grace that was not my own.
The assassin faltered - the first sign of uncertainty.
I pressed the advantage.
Moving with the flame's rhythm, I drove the figure back, my sword a blur of controlled strikes. The assassin defended desperately, but now it was they who struggled to react.
A feint, a pivot, a quick slice - I disarmed them, their blade clattering to the stones.
The figure fell to one knee, head bowed.
Seraphyne appeared once more, her staff tapping lightly against the ground.
"Enough."
The mist thickened, and the defeated assassin melted back into it.
I stood there, chest heaving, blood trickling down my face - but victorious.
Two trials completed.
Strength. Speed.
I turned to Seraphyne, who watched me with inscrutable eyes.
"You are not what I expected," she said, almost to herself. "Perhaps... you are something more."
Before I could respond, the mist parted once again.
A third figure stood before me now - robed in crimson and gold, a staff of black iron clutched in one hand.
Seraphyne's voice rang out clear and solemn:
"Now comes the third trial: Will."
"The flame of kings and conquerors. The fire that bends all others to its will - or burns itself to ash."
The figure raised its staff high.
The true test was about to begin.
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