For hours they marched through the winding catacombs, their torches casting long, uneasy shadows along the stone walls. The air was damp and heavy, the silence broken only by the echo of their boots. Time lost all meaning until, at last, the tunnels widened into a vast underground hall.
There, coiled in slumber, lay a creature out of legend. A dragon—its scaled body stretched across half the chamber, its breathing like thunder rolling beneath the earth. Smoke drifted lazily from its nostrils.
"Gods above…" whispered Ino, his voice trembling.
The Grandmaster stepped forward with practiced calm.
"One of your tasks," he said, his tone almost casual, "will be to feed this dragon."
The beast stirred, great eyes flickering open like molten gold. Its gaze fixed on them, and when it spoke, its voice rumbled through the very stone:
"Where are Paul and Rebecca? It is usually they who perform the offering."
"Not this month," Aurelian replied smoothly. He gestured toward the four young hunters. "This time, they will."
"What? Us?!" Juan hissed under his breath, nearly dropping his sabre.
Azazel's eye twitched as the Grandmaster produced a vessel—an ornate sphere of blackened steel, within which tongues of flame twisted and writhed as though alive. He handed it to Matteo, whose hands trembled under its strange weight.
"What… is this?" Matteo asked, his voice caught between awe and dread.
"His food," Aurelius answered simply.
Azazel pinched the bridge of his nose under the mask. Of course it is…
The dragon shifted, lowering its massive head until its snout hovered just above them. Its hot breath swept over the group, nearly knocking them back.
"What is your name, boy?" it rumbled.
"Matteo," he managed.
"And am I simply to take this from you?" The dragon's mouth curled into something disturbingly like a smile. "No. What interests me is not the vessel itself, but what it contains. That is what you must prove yourselves against."
A colossal claw extended, tapping the sphere. The moment it made contact, the container cracked open, spilling forth dozens of writhing tongues of flame.
They fell to the ground, twisting and twisting until a single form coalesced before the young hunters. Fire roared upward, shaping itself into a towering humanoid figure, a being of living flame. Its eyes burned like twin furnaces, its body shifting and flaring with every movement.
Azazel felt a sense of déjà vu.
This reminded Azazel of the first trial that his grandfather prepared for him. But this time it wasn't demonic, evil. It was pure heat, pure essence of fire.
"An elemental," Grandmaster muttered.
The Grandmaster and the dragon had already stepped aside, their forms watching in silence like spectators at some cruel play.
And the four disciples were left standing alone—face to face with fire incarnate.