Chapter 19 – Trial of Embers
The moment the runes sealed the dueling platform, the world narrowed to two figures—Ashen Aras and Vale.
The pressure in the chamber thickened, not from any spell, but from expectation. The masked overseers watched without a word. The other candidates stood silently around the edge, caught between curiosity and wariness.
Ashen felt the orb's fusion still simmering in his core, laced with threads of chaos essence. It hadn't settled. He could barely control it.
And yet, he had no choice.
Across from him, Vale stood tall—cloak discarded, revealing tight combat robes etched with subtle formation lines. Ashen's spirit sense swept across him and found something strange: a sealed construct woven into Vale's spiritual core.
Artificial enhancements?
But Ashen didn't have time to dwell.
"Begin," the masked figure said.
Vale struck first.
A flash of lightning-imbued wind surged forward, slicing toward Ashen with razor precision. The rune field shimmered to contain the force, warping light around them.
Ashen sidestepped, barely avoiding the brunt of it. The edge caught his shoulder, tearing fabric and skin. Pain flared—but it grounded him.
He breathed, drawing spirit energy inward.
The clone technique shimmered in his mind. Second Stage: Phantom Reflection.
He activated it.
A translucent version of himself stepped forward, mimicking his movements perfectly. Vale's eyes narrowed.
"Cheap trick."
Ashen said nothing.
Vale formed a sigil midair—his movements fluid, practiced. The wind responded with a howl, gathering into a spear that cracked with thunder.
Refined Wind Art. Mid-Martial Level at least, Ashen thought.
The spear launched.
Ashen's clone moved to intercept, exploding in a harmless shimmer. The spear passed through—and in that moment of confusion, Ashen slipped behind Vale.
He didn't strike.
Instead, he whispered near Vale's ear: "You're not testing me. You're showing them you."
Vale spun and struck blindly. Ashen stepped back.
The overseers stirred, slightly. One of the masked figures leaned forward.
Vale growled, abandoning subtlety. His body flared with wind runes—this time drawing strength from that internal construct. His aura swelled unnaturally.
"You think you're clever. But you don't understand—this is survival."
His next attack was different.
Instead of wind, it was silence.
Ashen's breath caught as a null field expanded around Vale, sucking energy from the air. Spells fizzled, sound dampened. A rare spiritual technique—one that countered casting mid-battle.
He's serious now.
Ashen moved, focusing inward. Chaos still surged. But he touched it, lightly—just enough to guide it into his limbs.
His body accelerated, feet leaving cracks where he landed. Within the null zone, he couldn't cast—but he didn't need to.
He ducked under Vale's wide arc, slammed a palm into his ribs, and redirected the kinetic force from Vale's own movement.
The wind mage flew across the platform, slamming into the barrier with a grunt.
The null field shattered.
Ashen stood calmly, breathing heavy, bleeding from the shoulder—but stable.
Vale coughed. Tried to rise.
Ashen took a step forward.
"Yield."
Vale's eyes flared, pride battling pain. But the masked figure raised a hand.
"Enough."
The duel seal lifted. Silence returned.
Ashen didn't feel triumph. Only questions.
Why did Vale provoke this? Who planted that construct in him?
He turned to leave the platform—but just before he stepped down, the voice returned inside his head.
Not the dragon. Someone else.
"You do well to hide, Ashen Aras. But secrets always find the light."
He stiffened.
---
Later That Night – Ember Dorms
Ashen sat on the balcony of his stone chamber, overlooking the training cavern.
Stars didn't shine here.
He missed them.
The egg inside him was quiet again, but its presence was firmer now. As though watching, approving.
In his hand, he held the fractured shard of the transport orb given to him earlier. It was warm—not with energy, but intent.
He hadn't noticed it during the duel, but now it pulsed faintly when he focused his spiritual sense.
He tried infusing a thread of chaos energy into it.
The shard shifted, revealing a glimpse of something… a memory not his own.
A broken throne room. The corpse of a dragon too vast to comprehend. A voice whispering: "The king is dead. But the blood remembers."
Ashen fell back, gasping.
His destiny was no longer veiled. Someone—something—was trying to awaken more than power.
Bloodlines. Chaos. Thrones.
And now he was inside the Empire's most secret institution.
And someone here already knows what I carry.
---
As Ashen tried to sleep, a hidden slit opened in the stone wall of his room.
A note slid through.
Written in old stellar runes—ones only the egg would recognize—it read:
"Meet me beneath the Furnace Gate. Midnight. Come alone. Or we all burn."
---