The forest dawned crimson, streaked with firelight that bled across the canopy. Morning mist clung to the roots, curling like smoke around the trunks of ancient trees. For the goblins, wolves, and ogres gathered in the village square, the day carried a weight unlike any other.
Today, they would begin the Ironwood Trial
---
The central clearing was alive with movement. Goblins straightened their spears and fumbled nervously with leather armor. The wolves padded restlessly at the edges, low growls and sharp yips betraying their agitation. The ogres stood firm, arms crossed, massive frames forming a wall of reassurance for the smaller folk.
At the heart of them all, Luminus stood. He had shed his casual garments for ceremonial robes stitched by goblin hands and adorned with wolf pelts offered by Rugo's kin. His aura shimmered faintly, a soft glow that bathed the clearing in calm.
"All of you," Luminus began, his voice steady though the weight of a hundred eyes pressed on him, "have come together because of trust. Not in me alone—but in each other. The Ironwood does not test strength alone. It tests unity. If we falter, we will be divided. If we prevail, we will be more than clans and packs—we will be one people."
A murmur swept through the gathered crowd, like wind over leaves.
Gorath stepped forward, slamming his axe's haft into the ground. "The Ironwood is no tale for children. Spirits dwell there, and they do not forgive weakness. But with you, King Luminus, we will not falter."
The ogres bellowed their agreement, tusks flashing in the morning light.
At the edge of the crowd, Rugo lifted his head and let out a single long howl. One by one, the wolves joined him, their voices echoing across the clearing. The goblins shivered, but instead of fear, their eyes gleamed with courage.
The oath was unspoken, but it was clear: they would enter the Ironwood as one.
---
By midday, the chosen delegation set forth: Luminus, Gorath and three ogre champions, Rugo and a dozen wolves, and fifty goblin warriors handpicked for their discipline.
The journey was long, yet silence dominated. The deeper they went, the darker the canopy became. Sunlight fractured into narrow shafts, barely touching the moss below. Trees loomed impossibly tall, their bark blackened as though charred by ancient fire. Their branches twisted like claws, locking together above to form a ceiling that shut out the sky.
When they finally reached the Ironwood Grove, even the ogres stilled.
The trees there were unlike any others. Their bark was not merely black, but shining obsidian. Their roots coiled like serpents, pulsing faintly with an inner light. The air was thick with energy—an oppressive weight that made even breathing a labor.
A stone altar stood at the grove's heart, worn with age, engraved with runes none of them could read.
"This is it," murmured Gorath. His voice, usually booming, was quiet now, reverent.
Luminus stepped forward. The air resisted him, as though the grove itself questioned his presence. Each step drew sweat across his brow, but he pressed on, laying a hand upon the altar.
At once, the grove came alive.
The runes flared with light, shooting sparks across the ground. The trees groaned like living things, their roots shifting, forming a circle that trapped the party within. Mist rose, cold and heavy, swirling around their feet.
A voice rang out—not spoken, but in every mind at once.
"Who comes to claim unity under the Ironwood?"
The goblins staggered, clutching their heads. The wolves snarled, ears flat. Even Gorath gritted his teeth, fists clenching.
But Luminus held firm. His glow pushed back the oppressive weight, his voice steady as he answered.
"I am Luminus. I seek not dominion, but harmony. We are many clans, yet we would stand as one. Judge us."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then laughter—deep, mocking, but not cruel.
"Then be tested. If you are truth, you will survive. If you are lies, you will be scattered."
The mist thickened, and the trial began.
---
The grove shifted. The altar vanished. The trees stretched impossibly high, forming a labyrinth of twisting paths. Each group found themselves pulled apart—wolves separated from ogres, goblins scattered in the mist.
Luminus found himself alone.
He pressed his hand against the air, but where once his magic could bend space, here it faltered. The Ironwood obeyed no law but its own.
From the fog stepped a figure. At first, it looked like him—glowing robes, calm face, steady eyes. But when it smiled, the expression twisted, cruel.
"I am Luminus," it said. "The true one. They follow me, not you."
The false double raised its hand, light gathering into a spear. Luminus barely conjured a shield in time, the clash ringing through the grove.
Elsewhere, the wolves found themselves facing spectral hunters—men clad in armor, wielding nets and spears. Rugo lunged at one, only for his teeth to pass through smoke, the phantom reforming behind him. His pack circled, frustrated, their unity fraying.
Gorath and the ogres battled shadow-beasts with eyes like coals. Each blow landed, but more creatures formed from the mist, endless and relentless. For the first time since swearing to Luminus, Gorath felt doubt gnaw at his heart.
The goblins, smallest and weakest, fared worst. Separated, they saw visions of their old lives: chains of human masters, mockery, the hopelessness of being lesser. One by one, they faltered, knees buckling, minds breaking.
The grove whispered, feeding the doubts. "You are nothing. You will never be one. Break. Scatter. Fall."
---
It was Luminus who broke the cycle.
He staggered under his double's blows, chest heaving. But as the false Luminus raised a killing strike, he remembered Gorath's words. Not faith—choice.
"I am not them," Luminus said, his voice firm. "But they chose me. That is truth."
With a burst of power, he shattered the false image, light ripping it apart. The grove shrieked, the mist wavering.
At that same moment, Rugo howled—not in rage, but in command. His pack froze, forming a circle around him. The phantom hunters lunged, but the wolves moved as one, their formation flawless. Their fangs met mist and scattered it, the illusions shattering under unity.
Gorath bellowed, swinging his axe in a wide arc. But this time, his brothers followed—not striking alone, but as one. Each movement built upon the other, their rhythm unbreakable. The shadow-beasts dissolved into ash.
And the goblins—weakest of all—heard the echoes of Luminus' voice. They remembered the village nights, the laughter, the training, the respect they had begun to feel. One by one, they rose, gripping their spears not as slaves, but as free warriors. The chains in their visions shattered. The illusions screamed and vanished.
---
The grove trembled. The mist receded. One by one, the clans found themselves back at the altar, panting, bruised, but alive.
The voice returned, softer now.
"You were tested. You did not break. You are not yet whole, but you are more than fragments. You may stand."
The roots withdrew, the oppressive weight lifting. For the first time since entering, sunlight broke through the canopy, casting golden light on their faces.
The Ironwood had accepted them.
The goblins cheered, spears raised. The wolves barked and howled, tails wagging. The ogres stood tall, pride in their eyes.
And Luminus… he smiled, exhaustion etched into his face, but his heart steady.
This was only the beginning.
---
Far away, in the human capital, word of the trial's success reached unfriendly ears.
The king slammed his fist into the throne's arm. "He dares. He dares to unite them."
The Cardinal of the Church bowed, eyes gleaming. "Then we shall remind him what happens to those who defy man and God alike."
And so, as Luminus celebrated his first victory, the storm beyond the forest gathered.