Chapter 12: Test of Oath
The Codex flame was quiet now.
Not gone. Not resting.
But watching.
The mirrored spiral of the arena still bore the scars of the previous trial—fragments of shattered emotion glinting faintly beneath the surface. Veck and Krask had been carried from the ring like echoes cradled in silence. Their memory still lingered in the trench air, charged and unsettled.
Kael stood beneath the towering flame, not as king nor conqueror, but as witness. Serrin stood beside him, eyes narrowed as the Codex's spiral runes began to realign.
"Another?" she asked.
Kael nodded.
"The last."
She looked back to the warhost, so many faces tired, scarred, sharpened by revelation.
"And the deepest."
The Final Trial
Blue light unfurled across the arena's inner circle, weaving like thought made flesh. Codex vines etched spiraling glyphs into the trench floor—living script, thrumming with resonance.
From the center, four obelisks rose—Codex-forged, each one humming with ancestral gravity. The Oathforge Pillars.
Flame — radiant and unstable, Kael's light made tangible.
Kin — warm and pulsing, wrapped in hybrid faces of the past.
Blood — fierce and cold, chiseled with familial sacrifice.
Truth — flickering, unreadable, and silent.
Each stood at a cardinal point of the ring. Each one reflected not just light—but loyalty. And price.
Talym stepped forward, robes drawn like cracked paper. He raised his hand.
"Trial Three: The Test of Oath."
The Codex answered with a pillar-deep chime. Then: two names burned into the air in glyphic flame.
Zhaer Kryndross — First Talons Vice-Captain.
Salak'ra Venn — Thal'khaar Vice-Captain.
A murmur rippled through the trench ranks. Not excitement. Dread.
VyrmClaw rose slowly, jaw tight, fingers twitching.
Thyrn remained seated upon his coral throne, unmoving. His eye ridges narrowed by a hair.
Zhaer stepped forward, rail-pike in hand. His body still bore the wounds of his first duel—the black line on his ribs, a fractured knuckle. He looked neither to Kael nor VyrmClaw. Only ahead.
Salak'ra moved like a wave. Her armor was minimal—bio-corals and trench-carved bone. Her steps were measured, deliberate. She did not spare Zhaer a glance. Only the pillars.
The Arena Reborn
The moment their feet crossed the threshold, the Codex convulsed.
The audience, the trench, the flame—vanished.
A new realm unfolded. A hollow space of memory and decision. The arena walls stretched like mirrored oceans, memory-reflective and endlessly deep.
The four Oathforge Pillars expanded to immense heights—each flickering with the duelists' past:
Blood showed VyrmClaw charging into fire, Zhaer behind him with eyes wide.
Kin showed Salak'ra and Thyrn beneath the ocean's pressure, exchanging a silent vow.
Flame twisted Kael's silhouette, ever-burning, ever-watching.
Truth showed a battlefield scarred by betrayal—both had walked it. Neither spoke of it.
A voice descended—Talym's, amplified through Codex resonance:
"You must break one. Before you break each other."
"Choose what you will no longer follow."
Their weapons hummed. The duel had begun.
First Clashes
Zhaer moved first, with Talon discipline. His pike spun, embedding a feint into a thrust.
Salak'ra ducked low, spun on her heel, coral dagger clashing with metal.
Steel. Coral. Echoes.
Their blades hissed. Their movements were not wild, but weighted. Every parry carried memory. Every slash, burden.
"You carry VyrmClaw's name like a shield," Salak'ra hissed.
"Better than hiding behind coral titles," Zhaer shot back. "You think the deep makes you pure? It makes you blind."
"Blind to what?"
"To the fire that called us all."
Salak'ra's next strike nearly took his arm.
Pressure Builds
The Codex began to twist the arena. Gravity tilted. Vision shimmered. Every time they hesitated to strike or move, the pillars pulsed, releasing echoes:
Zhaer's father dying on the field, swearing his name would never follow weakness.
Salak'ra's sister taken by surface raiders—the vow to never protect outsiders again.
Their oaths were not just remembered.
They were weaponized.
Serrin, watching from above, clutched the Codex shard.
"If they don't choose soon—"
Kael's voice was low.
"They'll be unmade."
The Choice
Zhaer stumbled toward the Flame pillar. It flared, singing the Codex chime Kael once heard.
Salak'ra dragged herself toward Kin, hands shaking.
But neither could do it.
They turned.
And met at the center of the ring.
Their faces were torn—not from wounds, but from knowing.
"You'll kill me for your loyalty," Zhaer said, nearly breathless.
"No," Salak'ra whispered. "I'd kill myself if I let someone else decide it for me."
She turned. One dagger in hand.
And hurled it into the Kin pillar.
It shattered.
Memory vapor rushed the arena. Zhaer collapsed to one knee.
Then he stood.
Faced Truth.
He raised his pike high.
"I thought I knew what I was fighting for."
He threw.
The Truth pillar shattered.
Judgment
Outside, the Codex erupted. Not with flame, but with light—black, white, then a silver-violet that no one had seen before.
Talym's voice cracked.
"Two oaths broken. One truth born."
Veins of Codex light spiraled across the trench floor.
Kael exhaled.
"It was never about who wins."
Serrin's eyes shimmered.
"It's about who dares to remain."
The warhost did not cheer.
They dropped to one knee.
And the Codex pulsed.
Preparing its final judgment.
Next: Chapter 13 - The Flame's Verdict