Sylas Korr stepped through the Veil, her silver hair glowing under its violet pulse.
The Shatterscape swallowed her whole, spitting her into a world of jagged crystal cliffs and a sky that bled neon green. The air buzzed, sharp with static, like the hum of a thousand angry wasps. Her ember-like runes flared on her scarred skin, the Ecliptic Codex thrumming in her chest like a second heartbeat.
She smirked, all teeth and defiance.
"Alright, glow-ball," she muttered. "Let's see what you've thrown me into."
"Trial Two: Slay three Shardlings in the C-tier Veil," the Codex's voice purred, smug as ever. "Reward: Ten Ecliptic Marks. Fail, and you'll wish you'd stayed in the dirt, little spark."
Sylas's grey eyes scanned the Shatterscape. The ground was a mosaic of cracked obsidian, reflecting the neon sky like a broken mirror. Crystal spires jutted upward, their edges sharp enough to cut air.
Somewhere, Shardlings waited.
Her fingers flexed, itching for a fight.
The Codex had changed her. The frail "Silver Weakling" was gone, replaced by fire in her veins and a gangster swagger that made her feel untouchable. But the slums' lessons lingered. She'd seen kids like her—scrawny, bruised, weak—crushed under Ironhaven's boot.
She'd protect them, like she wished someone had protected her.
Like Elias had, before the Veil took him.
A shadow moved behind a crystal spire.
Sylas tensed, her braid swinging as she crouched. "Come on out," she called, voice dripping with bravado. "I ain't got all day."
The Shardling lunged—a blur of claws and glowing eyes, twice the size of the last one. Its insectoid body shimmered, scales like molten glass.
Sylas dove, rolling across the obsidian as claws sparked against the ground.
Her heart pounded, but her grin widened.
"That all you got?" she taunted, raising her palm.
Emberclad flared.
A burst of primal fire seared the Shardling's flank. It screeched, retreating, its scales blackened.
"One down, two to go," the Codex said, amused. "Sloppy, but not bad."
"Shut it," Sylas snapped, wiping sweat from her brow. Her silver hair stuck to her neck, but she didn't care.
The fire felt good—alive, like it was part of her.
She stalked forward, tracking the Shardling's scorched trail. The Shatterscape's hum grew louder, the neon sky pulsing like a warning.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
Not Shardlings—too human.
Sylas spun, her runes flaring.
Veyra Sol stood there. Her dark cloak billowed. Ice-blue eyes gleamed like her Aether-forged sword. The exiled Sentinel's expression was unreadable.
"You're reckless, Scavenger," Veyra said, voice cold but curious. "C-tier Veils aren't for slum rats."
Sylas smirked, leaning against a crystal spire. "And yet, here I am, ice queen. You here to babysit or fight?"
Her gangster vibe was in full swing.
But she studied Veyra. The woman's exile from Luminaris was a mystery, but her eyes held a flicker of respect—or maybe suspicion.
Veyra's lips twitched, almost a smile. "You survived an F-tier collapse. That's not luck. What's in you, girl?"
"Trouble," Sylas said, winking. "Wanna find out?"
Before Veyra could answer, two Shardlings burst from the shadows.
Sylas moved on instinct.
Voidstep kicked in—a flicker of teleportation that carried her behind one beast.
She hadn't even realized she'd unlocked it.
"Aspect Unlocked: Voidstep. Reward for grit. Use it wisely."
Sylas's palm flared again.
Emberclad torched the Shardling's legs. It collapsed, shrieking.
Veyra's sword sliced through the second, ice crystals exploding in a frosty burst.
The beasts' essence swirled—half into Sylas's chest, half dissipating into the Shatterscape.
She staggered, the rush of Ecliptic Marks making her head spin.
"Trial Complete: Three Shardlings slain. Ten Marks awarded. You're learning, spark. But the Veil's not done with you."
Sylas panted, her silver hair falling loose.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she muttered.
The Shatterscape answered.
The ground trembled. A low roar echoed.
A Behemoth.
Far bigger than any Shardling. Stirring in the distance.
Her gut twisted.
But her grin held.
"Bigger fish, huh? Alright."
Veyra grabbed her arm, grip like iron. "Don't be a fool," she hissed. "That's an A-tier at least. You're not ready."
Sylas yanked free, grey eyes blazing. "Ready or not, I don't run. Not anymore."
The slums had beaten running out of her. She'd faced Gorran's fists, Sentinel sneers, and her own fear.
A Behemoth?
Just another bully to burn.
Veyra studied her. Then nodded, sword lowering. "Then we do it together. But don't die, Scavenger. I want answers."
Sylas laughed, a sharp, gangster bark. "Deal, ice queen. Try to keep up."
They moved toward the roar.
The Shatterscape's neon sky darkened.
Crystal spires cracked. The air grew heavy, like the Veil itself was watching.
Sylas's runes pulsed.
The Codex hummed with anticipation.
She glanced back at Ironhaven's slums, visible through the Veil's shimmer.
A group of slum kids had gathered, watching her silhouette.
The bruised kid from before clutched her gifted vial, eyes shining with hope.
Sylas's smirk softened.
"Stay strong, runt," she whispered.
Then turned to the Behemoth's roar.
She'd protect them—her, Toren, the kids, anyone too weak to fight back.
That's who she was now.
Not the Silver Weakling.
Not anymore.
The ground split.
The Behemoth emerged—a towering mass of crystal and shadow, its eyes like dying stars.
Sylas's heart raced.
But her swagger didn't falter.
She cracked her knuckles, Emberclad flaring.
"Yo, big guy," she called, voice pure defiance. "Let's dance."
"Bold move, spark," the Codex whispered, gleeful. "Survive this, and I'll show you what ascendance really means."
The Behemoth roared.
The Shatterscape shook.
Crystal shards rained like daggers.
Sylas charged.
Voidstep flickered.
Veyra's ice blade flashed beside her.
The fight was on.
And Sylas Korr was ready to burn.