Shane woke to an irritating noise, a sharp ping that made his skull throb. He forced his eyes open, and a system screen floated before him.
> [SECOND TRIAL INITIATED]
'Am Still here... And no hints this time... What kind of trial is this supposed to be?'
He shifted, the sound of rattling iron filling his ears. Bars rose around him. He was in a cage. The air stank of sweat, rust, and old blood. Dozens of bodies pressed together in the dim space—men, women, and even children. Their clothes were tattered, collars tight against their necks. Shane spotted different-looking individuals with pointy ears, some with tusks, the furred faces of Beastkin, and others he couldn't even name, people he was unable to see or pay attention to earlier.
"Finally awake."
A voice drew his attention to the corner. The large, fur-covered Beastkin he remembered from earlier sat cross-legged, her amber eyes locked on him. She was the kind of imposing figure that made the cage feel even smaller, with broad shoulders.
"I saw you in the fight," she said. Her tone was calm, but there was a weight to it. "While the others stood and froze like corpses. You had a fire in your eyes. That's good. A man must do whatever it takes to keep his life. That's a saying from my tribe."
Shane held her gaze, taking in the clean and clear features of the Beastkin woman. He felt a flicker of something familiar but couldn't grasp it. As he tried, he was assaulted by a piercing headache, reminiscent of the times he attempted to remember details from his past lives—both as Shane and from his previous world. 'It seems this dream trial is creating characters out of the people I know, just like the Headmaster's resemblance to the warden. Now I have this Beastkin woman before me, though I don't recall her face. If I try to remember... Let's just focus on the trial for now.'
Gathering information about this trial and whatever is happening was key at the moment, and this Beastkin seemed willing to help. He shifted closer, ignoring the cold iron floor. "Where are we?"
The Beastkin's tail flicked lazily, and her ears twitched. "Outside Duskmor," she said. Noting Shane's blank expression, she continued, "The Canyon City. It's built within the canyon system. Everything is made with dried bricks, but the real pride lies in the two skybuildings—floating palaces crafted by Vitreom Enchanters."
Shane couldn't help but imagine the skybuildings floating above the canyon town. 'What kind of gravitational knowledge do those so-called Vitreom Enchanters possess to build something like that?'
"And who are these Vit... Enchanters?" Shane asked, lowering his voice, struggling with the pronunciation of "Vitreom."
The Beastkin's expression softened, almost reverently. "The Vitreom are part of the Xeric race, or as they prefer to be called, the Children of the Scorch. You can simply call them the Desert Folk if you like."
Her amber gaze swept the cage before returning to Shane. "Among the Xeric, the Vitreom are said to be the best when it comes to enchanting. Not much is actually known about them, as the Sundered Xeric, another race, almost wiped out the Vitreom race many years ago."
Shane absorbed her words in silence. 'Even here, in chains, I'm still learning more about this world than I can handle. This is just my second day. Why would the trial place me here? What am I supposed to do? So far, all I've heard revolves around the Vitreom race, which has been mostly wiped out, according to this seemingly kind and informative lady. I think the trial placed her here just for this moment, but I wonder—if I hadn't fought to protect my life in the last trial, would she have spoken to me?'
'Maybe my actions in the last trial led to this interaction. I might be overthinking, but it seems possible. I need to consider hidden events that could influence the next trial, if there is one.' Shane let out a slow breath. His ribs and wounds still ached from the Dune-dogs' attack. 'I don't have the luxury of wasting time; I need to prepare before the next attack.'
Shane sensed that there had to be another reason why this unknown Beastkin woman was willing to provide him information. He wanted to see how much he could learn from her. But before he could begin, the Beastkin leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as if she could read his thoughts. "Are you a Mage? I can smell the familiar scent of magic on you—someone who has touched Magicka, but your scent is a little different."
Shane blinked at her words. "What do you mean? The smell of Magicka? Is that… bad?" His voice dropped lower than he intended.
The Beastkin tilted her head, studying him as though he were a puzzle. Her ears twitched once before settling back. "Bad? No. But the Xeric considers mages dangerous. Being touched by Magicka or Ira isn't the problem; the issue is what those fortunate individuals do with that power and the path they choose."
Shane's throat felt dry. "Path?"
"Yes," she replied. "Every fighter and every mage walks the line of power. Some choose to master Ira, the breath of life, the fire in the blood. Others choose Magicka, bending nature and shaping the elements. Throughout history, the most destructive events have been caused by rogue mages, so it's no surprise that many fear them."
Shane lowered his gaze, pretending to study the floor. 'I didn't think others would have such a negative view of magic, even to the point of fearing it. The old Shane wasn't a mage either, and I don't think anything changed since taking over this body, right? But she thinks she can smell Magicka on me? How does that even work?'
The Beastkin continued, her voice steady but her eyes sharp. "But my people don't fear mages, because what we value most is strength and power. Being a mage is like the world smiling on you."
Her claws tapped lightly on the iron floor, the sound carrying beneath the low murmur of the other captives. "Mages are rare, and they are often hunted, coveted, because they disrupt the order that holds the world together."
Shane swallowed hard. 'Hunted? I don't want to be hunted. I'm not even a mage, hell, I don't even have talent unless my intelligence counts as one.'
He lifted his eyes cautiously to meet hers. "I'm not a mage; I'm talentless."
The Beastkin leaned closer, her presence filling the cage and her gaze unblinking. She sniffed around Shane and said softly, "That is what I am trying to determine. You definitely have the smell of Magicka all around you."
Before they could continue their conversation. "We will soon enter the city, slaves," the warden barked, a wide grin stretching across his face. He tugged on the chain of keys at his belt as if they were trophies. "Some of you will meet your new masters today, and finally make me some good coins." His laughter was low and sharp, a man already savoring his profit. Even with the losses from the ambush, the caravan he had gathered for over a month would still be profitable.
Shane watched the man's back as he walked away. 'Even with the lives he lost in that fight, all he can think about is money.'
The cage lurched forward, wheels grinding against the stone, causing the slaves to shift uncomfortably. The canyon walls opened ahead, revealing Duskmor.
The city rose upward in tiers carved into the canyon face, with dried-brick houses stacked like steps into the red stone. Narrow bridges crossed above the streets, connecting ledges and walkways, while staircases spiraled against the cliffs like veins. The lower levels were shadowy, cramped, and damp from the trickle of underground streams, while the upper levels basked in the desert sun.
And there, above it all, floated the skybuildings—massive blocks of stone structures suspended by glowing runes etched into their foundations. One was marked with the sigil of the Adventurers' Guild, its banners fluttering in the canyon winds. The other bore the crest of Duskmor's ruling house, its windows gleaming like captured stars. The sight made Shane's breath catch.
'Floating fortresses… impossible back home, yet here they are. What kind of runes can support that weight in the sky? If the Vitreom really built this, it's no wonder the world remembers them. During my time at the academy, I didn't see anything like this.'
The cage rolled through the city streets. Locals turned to stare and watched the procession of chained bodies, a sight likely all too familiar over the past three days because of the grand auction happening in the city.
Finally, the caravan stopped at a large building set into the canyon wall. Iron-bound doors swung open to reveal a wide hall, its walls covered in old banners and cracked paint. The air inside was thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of blood.
"This is your pen for now," the warden said, waving to the guards. The slaves were herded out and pushed into rows of holding cages that lined the auction floor. Shane stumbled in with the others as the iron bars slammed shut behind him.
He gripped the cold metal, staring at the raised platform at the far end of the hall, where a man in fine robes was already checking a ledger. Above the platform, a board announced the schedule:
"Grand Auction — Two Days."
Shane exhaled slowly. 'Two days before the auction. A sort of countdown until this trial forces my next move, I guess. Whatever happens, I can't just wait for the hammer to fall.'
Inside the back of the auction house, rows of cages were filled with other slaves. Bassy wasn't the only one who had gathered captives for the grand auction. Shane's eyes scanned the dim hall—humans, beastkin, and others he could not name. Some had thick, curling horns and upper bodies resembling bulls, while their lower halves were shaped like horses. Others looked human at first, but a flicker of lamplight revealed the scales along their arms and necks.
He wanted to ask questions, but he had no position to do so. His own body was shoved into a narrow cage, the stench of rot clinging to the iron bars. He gritted his teeth against it and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal.
Across from him, a beastkin woman had been placed in the opposite cage. Even separated, she was close enough that he could see the faint glint of her amber eyes in the gloom. Shane's thoughts tightened. 'Of course, she's here again, just as I guessed. This isn't random; the trial must have placed her beside me on purpose, which means she's the key. I need to learn as much as I can from her before this auction begins and the second trial truly starts.' First, however, he had to get to know this beast lady better.
He leaned slightly forward. "So, how did you end up here? You don't look like someone who'd be captured easily."
The woman's gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. She was quiet long enough that Shane thought she might ignore him. Then she spoke, her tone flat.
"My name is Plavenin. I am a lion-kin, a former member of the Budhaven Merc group." She paused, her claws dragging lightly along the iron bar. "I was betrayed."
Her jaw tightened, and her ears twitched back. "And you are correct; someone like Bassy couldn't have possibly captured me. But I didn't fight when they sold me to him. Not because I couldn't, but because I didn't know which wound cut deeper: the betrayal from the people I called family, those I spent my whole 120 years with, or the person who dealt it." Although she tried to hide it, the pain was still evident in her voice.
Shane sat back, watching her closely. 'Her name is Plavenin… a former member of the Budhaven Mercs. My instincts tell me there's something in her story that I need to catch before it slips past me, just like the Vitreom race. But how much could a 120-year-old woman know about a race that was nearly killed to extinction?'