POV: Ereze
Setting: Trial Seat #47 – Citadel of Ash
---
The sky bled rust.
Red clouds smeared across a dying sun, draping the Citadel of Ash in the color of wounds that never healed. Beneath it, the stone obelisk in the center pulsed once — not a beckon, but a summons. A sentence.
> [Trial Seat #47 Activated]
Trial Type: Honor Duel
Opponent: Guardian of the Seat
Conditions: Survive until collapse or defeat the Guardian
The words etched themselves into the sky. The throne's will made manifest.
I felt the weight in my chest tighten — not from fear, but from memory. I'd trained my whole life for this. And yet it still didn't feel like enough.
Jiwoon stood beside me, quiet for once. His hand brushed mine briefly — nothing romantic, just grounding.
> "You're up," he said softly. "Come back breathing."
I nodded once.
> I intend to.
The heat from the Citadel floor burned through my boots. But it wasn't the flames that hurt.
It was the expectation — the silent scream of everyone who failed before me, echoing through the bones of the coliseum.
---
The ash thickened. A ring of flame circled the battlefield.
Across from me, through the shimmering heatwaves, a woman emerged.
Her armor was obsidian, fractured with veins of molten orange. She held two swords that hummed with ancient resonance. Her face was masked, but her stance told stories.
Veteran. Executioner. Monument.
> "You seek the throne?" she asked, voice layered with smoke and time.
"I don't seek it," I said. "But I'll burn through anyone who stands in my way."
She didn't smile.
She charged.
---
[Combat Initiated – Time Elapsed: 74 seconds]
Steel screamed.
My sword met hers in a clash that nearly broke my arm. Sparks tore the air apart. Her strikes weren't just fast — they were inevitable, like history repeating itself.
I barely deflected a cut that would've shattered my ribs.
My thigh screamed — sliced open.
I dropped.
Ash clung to my skin like static.
I rolled, barely avoiding the downward arc of a second blade.
Pain surged. Adrenaline screamed louder.
Every instinct from my training under Master Arien flooded my body: footwork, timing, breath control, willpower.
But she was stronger. Older.
Too fast.
> I'm going to die here.
She loomed over me.
Her blade rose.
> "Fall."
And the world—
fractured.
---
[POV: Jiwoon]
It hit like a planet landing on my shoulders.
One second, the trial was still happening. The next—space folded. Time held its breath.
Kira stepped onto the platform like it was his throne and the world was just clay waiting for his hands.
The ash didn't dare touch him.
He didn't draw a blade.
Didn't lift a hand.
Didn't need to.
He just stood there, hands in his coat pockets, like someone halfway between amused and disappointed.
I yelled, "You're not supposed to interfere!"
He tilted his head.
> "I'm not interfering," he said lazily. "I'm observing."
But the ground didn't believe him.
Even reality bowed.
---
[POV: Ereze]
The Guardian faltered.
Just slightly. Just enough.
And I understood something in that instant. In the crack of time he opened with his Word of Will — the way his voice commanded the environment itself — I moved.
Not because I was faster.
But because the world waited for him, and in that pause, I became faster.
I let go.
Of the pain.
Of the doubt.
Of the fear.
And I rose.
One strike to disarm. The blade rang out as it clattered to the floor.
Second strike — deep, across the chest. Molten blood hissed into the ash.
Third strike—
Her mask shattered.
---
I saw her face.
It was mine.
Older. Tired. Broken by wars I hadn't fought yet.
Her lips moved.
> "You're not ready," she whispered.
"But you could be."
Then she dissolved into ash, like a memory released.
---
[Trial Completed – Seat 47: BLOODWEIGHT]
Title Gained: Scorched Survivor
New Trait Acquired: Trialwound
> Each injury permanently increases resistance by 1% (maximum: 20%).
My body shook.
My soul did not.
I had survived.
---
[POV: Reader]
I watched it all — the blood, the fracture, the silence that followed.
Kira turned to me.
His eyes held galaxies made of knives. Thoughts too old to name.
> "Now you see the stakes," he said. "Still think the throne is just a crown?"
I clenched my fists.
I didn't answer.
He vanished without a sound.
But the air didn't feel lighter.
The world didn't feel safer.
It felt heavier.
Because the further we climbed, the more the throne remembered us back.
And that, somehow, was worse than being forgotten.
---