Chapter 5: The Golden Ascent
Within the dream of Elias
The air shimmered with heat and ambition. It was the sort of morning where the sun didn't rise—it claimed the sky, bold and unapologetic, as if it too had something to prove. Elias stood among hundreds, shoulder to shoulder with aspiring warriors, all clad in worn leathers and patched armor, eyes locked forward toward the grand gates of Helios Keep.
But Elias... he couldn't stop grinning.
He had trained relentlessly for this moment. The call for recruitment into the Radiant Vow, the kingdom's elite special unit, had only come once every five years. And when it did, only a few would be chosen. Fewer still would earn the coveted Gold Rank—a symbol not just of strength,
but of unwavering loyalty to the realm.
And he wanted it. Not for glory. Not for fame. He wanted it because he believed. Believed in the Order. Believed in justice. Believed in the kind of strength that protected, not destroyed.
"Next!" barked a voice ahead.
He moved. Boots heavy against the dust-packed earth. His heart thudded like a war drum in his chest.
A knight in obsidian plate stood at the checkpoint, flanked by two mages in shimmering blue robes. The knight's eyes—barely visible beneath his helm—glowed faintly with a golden hue. Magic enhancement, Elias noted. Aether perception.
"Name."
"Elias Varein, of West Emberhold."
A pause. A flicker of recognition? Maybe not.
"You'll be tested in waves. Magic resistance, swordplay, endurance, and—" the knight tilted his head slightly, "—willpower. If you falter, you're out. If you break, you're forgotten."
Elias nodded. He didn't blink.
"Next."
And so it began.
The first trial was a gauntlet through flames, an obstacle course lined with illusionary fire-beasts meant to terrify the
mind and freeze the legs. But Elias charged through, blade high, eyes focused, slicing at shadows as if they bled real. Every leap was powered by purpose. Every breath reminded him: *Don't stop. Not until you've earned it.*
The second trial was worse.
They sat him alone in a circle of runes, letting silence and whispers eat at his sanity. Visions of betrayal, of loss, of his home in ruins—all fabricated by arcane suggestion—played in his head. He grit his teeth, eyes wet with the ghosts of futures that hadn't happened, and refused to give in. When he emerged, the mage watching him simply said: "Stronger than most."
By the time he reached the sparring arena, his limbs ached. He had bruises in places he didn't know could bruise. His hands
were scraped raw. But the sword still felt right in them. Still felt *true.*
His opponent was a Gold Rank already—a test of real battle. The man wielded a curved blade with elegant slashes and blinding speed.
The duel was brutal.
Elias lost blood. He took hits. He staggered more than once.
But he never fell.
And at the very last second, when the gold-ranked fighter moved in for what was meant to be a finishing blow, Elias dropped low, twisted, and slammed the hilt of his blade into the man's armored ribs, just enough to show he could've gone further.
The gold-ranked fighter looked down at him from the dirt, breathing hard, and then—
He laughed.
"*This one's got fire. Let him through.*"
When Elias was handed the white crest of the Gold Rank, it didn't feel real. It felt like holding a piece of light. Of destiny. Of everything he swore to live for.
The crowd roared behind him. Somewhere in the distance, horns blew across the kingdom. He stood at the top of the steps to Helios Keep, banner whipping in the wind behind him, armor scorched and dented from the trials.
But his eyes were proud. Daring. Young.
He didn't know yet what that crest would
cost him. He didn't know what darkness lay ahead.
All he knew was: he had made it.
And in that dream—warm and distant—he smiled.