The trials were only beginning. The basin lay open beneath the sky, a shallow grassland bowl carved through with circular stone stages set at measured intervals. Low rises and cut terraces ringed the field, forming natural tiers where elders and clan leaders observed from above, the distance close enough to judge footwork but far enough to remain untouched.
By the time the first rotations concluded, names had begun to settle into informal hierarchies, patterns forming without proclamation.
Announcements rolled from the dais in steady cadence, each result folded into the lattice of brackets as names advanced without comment.
Rank-twos fought in parallel along the upper terraces. Their clashes carried heavier weight, stone ringing beneath their steps. Essence pressure moved across the basin in slow waves, drawing glances even from elders long past the age of novelty. Some bouts ended abruptly. Others ground forward on balance and footing, force secondary to who held their ground a heartbeat longer.
A translucent pressure sheath enclosed each active stage, barely visible unless struck, its surface distorting essence fluctuations into dull ripples. Frostyard's formations held steady, isolating misfires.
An Irondusk elder stepped close to Morvus, voice kept low. "Clan leader. These protective barriers are rated to endure no more than low rank-three output. Frostyard's leader said he will speak with you after the bouts conclude."
A Frostyard rank two cultivator named Halren drew quiet attention.
He fought compact and stubborn, refusing to yield even when driven toward the platform's edge. His stance never spread. His strikes never flared.
"He'd rather carve those winged horses figures than fight," someone murmured. "Hard to believe he turned out like this."
Kaelric did not turn toward the voice.
His gaze remained on the basin.
When Doryn of Hollowpine was called, attention followed without needing to be summoned.
He stepped forward without hurry. He did not swell his presence. At a glance, he was forgettable. Black hair tied back. Plain features. No scars announcing history. Nothing demanded notice until the air around him began to warm, gradual as stone left beneath the spring sun.
Not oppressive.
Not urgent.
Simply there.
Across from him stood Talvek of Frostyard.
A-grade.
Broad-shouldered, grounded. His stance carried weight that did not drift. The earth beneath him answered in dull acknowledgment, not rising, not shaping itself yet, but holding firm beneath intent.
Earth path.
Not stone.
The difference mattered.
Stone answered structure. Earth resisted it. Earth demanded command over mass itself, punishing hesitation with collapse.
The signal sounded. Talvek advanced at once.
The ground thickened beneath his first step. Stone did not rise. It yielded, compacting as weight pooled into it, his heel sinking a fraction as mass answered intent. Plates of compressed earth crawled up his shins and forearms, rough and uneven, pressure-bound rather than shaped. Heavy. Imperfect. Dense enough to punish anything that met it head-on.
Doryn moved as Talvek committed.
Fire snapped into being near Doryn's left hand. Sharp. Brief. Not thrown.
Talvek's guard lifted instinctively, earth swelling to meet the threat. More mass. More weight.
The flame vanished.
Heat flared low at Talvek's ankle.
Not forceful. Not wide.
Talvek shifted. The earth lagged.
His heel scraped stone as weight redistributed, cohesion thinning where it should have followed. The armor held, but its answer came late.
Doryn was already elsewhere.
Heat bloomed behind Talvek's lead foot, not striking him, only pressing space closed. Talvek widened his stance to deny the angle. Earth surged upward to compensate, plates thickening along his thighs and hips, locking him in place.
For a breath, it worked. Talvek pressed forward, fists swinging in short, brutal arcs. Each blow carried enough mass to end the bout if it landed cleanly. The handling was crude, weight committing before alignment fully settled, but the pressure forced Doryn to give ground.
Fire snapped at shoulder height.
Talvek read it correctly.
Earth surged upward, plates climbing to meet the strike.
The fire dispersed unevenly as it struck the dense compression, heat bleeding sideways instead of biting through. Doryn felt the resistance in his wrist and adjusted, retreating half a step to avoid being crowded.
Talvek drove in.
He grounded himself fully, drawing weight down through his legs until the earth answered with a dull, stubborn hold. Armor thickened into a rough cuirass across his chest and shoulders. Slow, but decisive.
His next strike carried everything he had committed beneath him.
Doryn did not meet it.
Fire bloomed where Talvek was not guarding.
Not at the ground.
At the seam.
A narrow jet slipped between plates where compressed earth met itself imperfectly, controlled enough not to scatter, precise enough to avoid burning through. Heat bit the fittings beneath the armor, shock traveling through nerve and muscle, breaking rhythm without breaking structure.
Talvek's armor held.
His timing did not.
He tried to answer, drawing earth upward to crush the space Doryn occupied.
Doryn crossed inside the motion.
Fire snapped low and right, faster than Talvek could reallocate mass, striking the thinning edge of the cuirass where cohesion was already failing. The earth cracked. Not shattered. Pressure bled away in a sudden loss of answer.
Talvek's next attack died unfinished.
His stance buckled as the ground beneath him stopped responding.
The signal sounded.
The bout ended cleanly. The earth slumped back into inert stone. Fire vanished without smoke, without scorch marks, as though it had never been allowed to exist long enough to leave a memory.
Approval moved through the gathered clans.
From Irondusk's seats, Morvus exhaled softly, lips barely shifting.
"If only Frostyard had actual talent." He didn't even bother lowering his voice.
Beside him, platinum hair caught torchlight for a breath before settling. The woman's gaze never left the basin.
Hollowpine's elders said nothing.
They did not need to.
Kaelric watched from the sidelines without expression.
That night, Kaelric returned to the pavilion assigned to Stoneheart. As dusk deepened, Relic pylons along the perimeter awakened, their cold light spreading evenly across the basin without flicker or heat.
Canvas walls muted the wind, layered screens dividing sleeping spaces while low braziers kept the air warm without drying it. Bedding had been arranged with quiet efficiency: woven mats beneath, thick quilts above, everything aligned with practiced uniformity. Temporary, but considered.
Kaelric sat cross-legged near the center as the Vitalis Amplifier latched at the base of his neck.
It bit gently.
Essence flowed.
He closed his eyes.
Circulation moved cleanly through his channels, steady and uninterrupted, yet something beneath the surface had shifted. His essence, once faint white, should have been deepening toward cream.
Instead, it dulled. Grey threaded through the flow, muting its brightness.
His stage remained unchanged. Middle stage.
This was the cost. The Amplifier fed him vitality, but it left residue behind.
Kaelric remained seated until the pulse stabilized, posture unmoving.
Beyond the pavilion walls, Frostyard settled into silence.