Three days of tension built like a storm behind glass.
Thalos had spent his time between rest and refinement. The Academy provided modest quarters, quiet spaces, and training platforms saturated with controlled mana—places to recover, reflect, and prepare. He studied his new reward items carefully. The blood refinement elixir had improved his blood core's clarity slightly, the pulses now tighter, less erratic. Even minor gains were critical now.
But no amount of preparation could ease the tension of not knowing what came next.
He wasn't afraid of combat.
He was afraid of people.
On the third morning, all candidates were summoned to the Circular Courtyard—a vast arena of dark stone veined with glowing blood-glyphs. Statues of ancient Vampire Lords loomed around the edges, bearing weapons, scrolls, chains.
More than seventy candidates stood in silence, spread across the arena like mismatched pieces on a warboard. Some glanced around, seeking familiar faces. Others remained perfectly still, as if carved from obsidian.
Thalos stood near the edge, eyes scanning the crowd.
He spotted Kirelle across the ring. She gave a small nod. No wave. No smile. They both knew the truth—Phase II wasn't about friends.
A ripple passed through the courtyard.
An instructor entered—a tall woman wrapped in layered crimson robes, with sharp eyes and a voice like cooled steel.
"Candidates," she called, her voice projecting across the ring with ease. "You have survived Phase I. You have been judged for your strength, wit, and will. But survival alone is not power."
She raised one hand.
The glyphs in the stone flared to life.
Light circled each candidate's feet, drawing curved lines outward—forming trios.
Thalos felt the magic pull at his blood. A glowing strand stretched from beneath him to two others—connecting them with cold finality.
To his left, a broad-shouldered boy in half-armor. Crimson tattoos lined his forearms. He looked at Thalos once, said nothing.
To his right, a slim girl with ink-dark hair and a single monocle carved from obsidian crystal. Her robes shimmered faintly with passive enchantments. She adjusted the monocle with practiced grace.
Team Formed
Members: Thalos Valen, Brann Forgehide, Cela Vren
Objective: Retrieve the Crest of Midnight from the Shrine of Ash
Time Limit: 48 hours
Condition: Complete Mission with At Least Two Survivors
Bonus Criteria: Strategy, Cooperation, Conflict Resolution
Warning: Betrayal is permitted.
The glyph beneath Thalos's feet dimmed.
He looked up slowly at his new teammates.
Brann cracked his knuckles. "Hope neither of you slow me down."
Cela offered a shallow nod. "Speed is meaningless if it leads to death."
Thalos didn't reply. His heartbeat had already slowed, instincts settling into place.
Another instructor stepped into the circle's center and extended both hands. The ground beneath them shimmered.
"You have your team. You have your goal."
And then, without ceremony—they fell.
The arena vanished in a rush of motion.
They landed hard in a dense forest choked with fog and silence. Gnarled trees twisted around them, moss clinging to every root and rock. A heavy gray haze blanketed everything more than thirty paces away.
Thalos rolled up into a crouch, blade already drawn. Cela landed beside him with grace. Brann crashed down like a warhammer and immediately stood up, wiping dirt from his armor.
"Well," Brann muttered. "Welcome to the jungle."
A nearby obelisk pulsed with runes. Words carved in bloodglow across its surface read:
Objective: Retrieve the Crest of Midnight from the Shrine of Ash
Location: Unknown
Time: 48 Hours
Crest Bearer will receive score multiplier.Team members will receive partial merit based on contribution.
Betrayal of teammates is permitted.Caution is advised.
"That's twice they've reminded us betrayal is allowed," Cela said, reading aloud.
"They want us paranoid," Thalos replied. "They want to see who breaks first."
Brann grunted. "Good. Let's test some breaking points."
Thalos stepped in before the tension escalated. "No need to posture. We've got a full mapless maze to work through and no leads."
He crouched and traced a sigil in the dirt with one finger—a basic navigation rune, taught by his father. It didn't reveal locations, but it helped him keep his bearings.
"We'll head east," he said. "The moss grows thinner that way—less rot, maybe a clearing. Could be a landmark."
Brann crossed his arms. "Why should I follow your lead?"
Thalos looked up at him, calm. "You don't have to. But if we each run off, we'll all fail."
Cela added, "Strategy improves survival. You're strong, Brann. Stay strong and live longer."
Brann rolled his eyes but followed.
The first few hours were grueling. The fog distorted distance, sounds echoed in ways that made direction meaningless. Once, they heard laughter—but when they arrived, they found only bloodstains and broken tree limbs.
Cela muttered arcane phrases to activate her monocle. "Some sort of illusion field woven over this trial. Designed to mislead both memory and sense."
Thalos tested the fog by throwing a rock. It hit a tree trunk, bounced twice, and then… vanished.
He didn't like that.
They continued carefully. Thalos marked every fifth tree with a sigil. He tracked the flow of the land—where water pooled, where birds nested, where paths naturally twisted.
Eventually, they came to a forked path—one winding toward a stream, the other sloping toward higher ground.
"That way," Brann said, pointing uphill. "Clearer view."
"Or an ambush," Cela noted. "High ground's predictable."
Thalos weighed both.
"Let's split for twenty minutes," he said. "Me and Cela to the stream. Brann uphill. Meet back here. We test both paths and cover more ground."
Brann narrowed his eyes. "And what if you two don't come back?"
Thalos shrugged. "Then you keep the map, the sigils, and the crest if you find it. But if we don't split, and one path leads to nothing, we lose time we don't have."
Brann grumbled—but agreed.
The trio split.
At the stream, Thalos crouched beside Cela, observing the water's unnatural stillness.
"No fish," he said. "Not even bugs."
"Dead mana," Cela murmured. "The stream's poisoned. Ritual runoff, maybe."
Thalos stood. "That means we're close. Shrines use runoff to contain blood resonance fields."
Cela looked at him, eyebrows raised. "You've studied shrine theory?"
"Father drilled me with combat manuals and old city lore. Had to do something between blade forms."
They both smirked.
Then they turned serious.
"You think Brann will turn on us?" Cela asked quietly.
Thalos didn't answer right away.
"I think Brann wants glory. That makes him predictable. He'll take the crest if he finds it."
"And you?"
"I want to see who takes it. That tells me more than who earns it."
Cela nodded, impressed.
"We should head back."
They turned—and the fog whispered behind them.
The fog had thickened by the time Thalos and Cela returned to the rendezvous point.
Brann was already there, pacing beside the marked tree with agitation etched across his broad shoulders. His armor bore fresh scorch marks.
"You're late," he growled.
"No," Cela corrected calmly. "We're on time. The fog distorted the sun shadow by a few degrees, but I set an internal rhythm counter."
Brann glared, but Thalos stepped forward. "Find anything?"
The larger boy hesitated, then nodded. "Shrine's uphill. Between two broken pillars, past a ridge of ash trees. I didn't get closer. Something's wrong with the air there. Feels like it pulls at your thoughts."
Thalos narrowed his eyes. "That's typical of active relic fields. The Crest must be exposed."
Cela added, "That would explain the fog density shift too. The shrine is probably near the ritual core of the trial arena."
Brann turned. "So what now? We go together and let the fastest take it? Or are we going to play noble little blood games?"
Thalos's mind raced.
They had just enough information to predict what the academy wanted: not just power, but decision-making under strain. A relic that tempts betrayal was never just about who gets it—it was about how you reach it.
He remembered his father's voice:When power is on the table, the strongest isn't the one who takes it—it's the one who walks away knowing when to strike later.
Thalos looked up.
"Let's go."
The Shrine of Ash stood like the corpse of a cathedral.
Pillars wrapped in blackened vines. Ash underfoot. A small altar in the center, cracked and weeping red mist. Floating just above it, spinning slowly—a silver crest shaped like a bleeding eye.
It pulsed with quiet menace.
Brann took a step forward. "So. We know the rules. One person gets the prize. Double score. Everyone else gets crumbs."
"No ambush?" Cela asked.
"No guards," Thalos replied. "That is the trap."
They walked toward the crest together.
Halfway there, glowing runes ignited around the platform.
Only one may claim the Crest of Midnight.The bearer's trial score will be doubled.All others will receive partial merit.
Betrayal is permitted.
Your decisions are being evaluated.
The glow faded.
Three vampires. One crest.
No rules on how to claim it.
Only what it would cost.
"I'll make it easy," Brann said, stepping forward and drawing his massive axe. "I take the crest. You get your participation awards. Everyone walks away breathing."
Thalos didn't move. "You're just taking it because you can."
Brann shrugged. "And? That's how the world works. Power flows to the bold."
Cela spoke next, soft but cutting. "Or to the easily manipulated."
Brann flinched. "Say that again?"
"She means," Thalos said carefully, "that taking the crest is easy. The hard part is living with what it means."
"Means I'm smarter than you two."
"No. It means you just told the instructors you're short-sighted. You grab bait without thinking what comes after."
Brann sneered. "You sound scared."
"I'm thinking," Thalos said. "That's different."
The three stood at a triangle—each one an axis of choice.
Cela turned toward the altar. "I won't take it. Not because I'm weak, but because I won't be measured by someone else's dangling bait."
Brann blinked.
Thalos smiled faintly. "Me either."
They both stepped back.
Brann's eyes darted between them. "This... this is a trick. You're going to jump me the second I grab it."
Thalos shrugged. "Or maybe you're being handed a victory so you can show what you do with it."
Silence.
Brann stepped forward slowly, cautiously, hand trembling slightly as he reached toward the Crest.
The moment his fingers closed around it, red light exploded across the shrine floor.
Crest ClaimedBearer: Brann ForgehideTrial Score: Doubled
Observations Noted. Decision Archived.
After the light faded, the three stood in silence again.
Brann held the crest in one hand, his other curled into a fist.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because we weren't competing with you," Cela said. "We were competing with ourselves."
Thalos added, "And we didn't lose."
Brann's brow furrowed.
Then he laughed. A short, confused sound. "You two are weird."
"You're not wrong," Thalos said.
They were extracted several hours later by a flash of runelight. When Thalos opened his eyes, he was once again standing on a polished terrace of blackstone overlooking the Duskhaven skyline.
He was alone this time.
His name appeared briefly in glowing glyphs before him:
Trial II Complete – Thalos Valen
Performance Evaluation: HighNoted Traits: Strategic Restraint | Cooperative Integrity | Environmental Analysis
Reward Pending
Final Ranking Pending
He let out a slow breath.
No score number. No flashing banners.
Just a quiet acknowledgment that he had played the game they were really testing.
And that he was still standing.
He found Cela near one of the lower gardens that evening, sitting under a tree of pale crystal leaves.
She looked up. "They give you a speech?"
"No. Just a status line."
"Same."
They sat in companionable silence for a while.
Thalos finally asked, "Would you have taken it if I hadn't backed off?"
Cela shrugged. "Maybe. But not if you looked like you needed it more."
"Thanks."
"You still owe me one."
He grinned. "Add it to the ledger."