Thornveil's Trial
The sky was wrong.
It bled.
Not with rain.
With light.
A blood moon hung above Lycanridge, swollen and pulsing like a wound in the heavens. The clouds twisted unnaturally, curling into shapes that resembled claws, fangs, and forgotten faces. The wind did not howl—it whispered curses in languages older than flame.
The Flame Tree bent toward the ground, its branches recoiling from the sky. The Trial Fire flickered erratically, casting shadows that moved on their own. Emberveil stitched a new patch without permission—dark crimson, etched with the word Judged.
Zariah the Flamewrought stood beneath the bleeding sky.
Her Ashfangs glowed with Sovereign Radiance, carving sigils into the air that hissed as they formed. Her Emberglyphs pulsed across her body, reacting to the moon's unnatural rhythm.
She whispered:
> "This is not prophecy. This is punishment."
And then—
Thornveil arrived.
The winged goat descended from the clouds, its horns crackling with skyfire. Its hooves did not touch the ground. They hovered, burning glyphs into the air with every step. Its eyes glowed with judgment, and its breath carried the scent of scorched truth.
It did not speak.
It stared.
Zariah raised her claws.
Thornveil unleashed Skyfire Rend—a blast of flame torn from the blood moon itself. The clouds screamed. The Flame Tree shuddered. The Trial Fire surged.
Zariah countered with Cinderstep, teleporting through the blast and leaving behind a trail of burning glyphs that exploded in memory. She struck with her Ashfangs, carving the word Choice into Thornveil's flank.
The beast roared.
Not in pain.
In recognition.
Thornveil whispered:
> "You burn too freely. You must be measured."
Zariah's Emberglyphs flared.
She unleashed Echoflare, summoning the voices of every mythic she had faced. They spoke in unison:
> "She is not flame. She is the forge."
Thornveil faltered.
But the blood moon pulsed again.
And from the clouds, another shape began to descend.
Not a beast.
A shadow.
Twisted.
Fractured.
Gravemourn, the Hollow Elk.
Its antlers dripped with memory.
Its hooves echoed with names.
It did not arrive to fight.
It arrived to mourn.
Zariah stood between them.
Her claws burned.
Her glyphs pulsed.
The Trial Fire surged.
The sky screamed.
And the blood moon watched.
The Trial of Thornveil
The blood moon loomed above Lycanridge, swollen and pulsing like a wound in the sky. The clouds twisted into grotesque shapes—horns, hooves, wings—echoes of beasts not yet born. The wind carried no breath, only curses. The Flame Tree bent low, its branches recoiling from the heavens. The Trial Fire hissed, flickering in reverse.
Zariah the Flamewrought stood alone.
Her Ashfangs glowed with Sovereign Radiance, carving Emberglyphs into the air that refused to fade. Emberveil stitched a new patch across her back—dark crimson, etched with the word Judged.
And then Thornveil descended.
The winged goat tore through the clouds, its horns crackling with skyfire. Its hooves hovered above the ground, burning glyphs into the air with every step. Its eyes glowed with judgment, and its breath carried the scent of scorched truth.
It did not speak.
It charged.
Zariah met it mid-air.
Her Ashfangs clashed against Thornveil's horns, sending shockwaves through the storm. The blood moon pulsed. The Flame Tree screamed. The Trial Fire surged.
Thornveil unleashed Skyfire Rend—a blast of flame torn from the moon itself. It split the sky in two, raining fire across the valley. Zariah countered with Cinderstep, teleporting through the blast and leaving behind a trail of burning glyphs that exploded in memory.
She struck again.
Her Ashfangs carved the word Choice into Thornveil's flank.
The beast roared.
Not in pain.
In recognition.
Thornveil twisted mid-air, its wings folding inward. It summoned a vortex of flame and wind, pulling Zariah into a spiral of judgment. The glyphs around her began to unravel. Her Emberglyphs flickered. Emberveil dimmed.
Thornveil whispered:
> "You burn too freely. You must be measured."
Zariah's Sovereign Radiance surged.
She unleashed Echoflare, summoning the voices of every mythic she had faced. They spoke in unison:
> "She is not flame. She is the forge."
Thornveil faltered.
But it did not fall.
It rose higher, wings spread wide, horns glowing brighter. It summoned a second blast—Moonbrand—a beam of concentrated judgment drawn from the blood moon itself.
Zariah raised her claws.
She whispered:
> "Then judge me."
She struck.
Her Ashfangs met the beam.
The sky screamed.
The clouds shattered.
The blood moon dimmed.
Thornveil fell.
Not broken.
Changed.
It landed beside her, wings folded, horns dimmed.
It bowed.
And whispered:
> "You are not flame. You are verdict."
Zariah knelt.
She placed her hand on its flank.
Emberveil stitched a new patch—silver and crimson, etched with the word Verdict.
The Trial Fire pulsed.
The Flame Tree bloomed.
But the blood moon did not fade.
It pulsed again.
And from the shadows, another figure emerged.
Gravemourn.
The Hollow Elk.
Its antlers dripped with memory.
Its hooves echoed with names.
It did not arrive to fight.
It arrived to mourn.
The Trial of Skymaul
The blood moon pulsed.
The clouds twisted into claws.
From the storm above, the second winged goat descended.
Skymaul—horns jagged like broken blades, wings torn and stitched with lightning. Its hooves left trails of static in the air. Its breath crackled with raw voltage.
It did not speak.
It struck.
Zariah raised her Ashfangs.
Skymaul unleashed Stormlash—a whip of lightning that tore through the battlefield, splitting the ground and igniting the rain.
Zariah countered with Glyphguard, forming a shield of burning sigils that absorbed the blast and redirected it skyward.
The two collided mid-air.
Ashfangs met horn.
Glyphs met static.
Skymaul roared.
Zariah whispered:
> "You are not storm. You are noise."
She unleashed Cinderstep, teleporting behind the beast and carving the word Silence into its flank.
Skymaul faltered.
But it did not fall.
It rose again, wings flaring, summoning a second strike—Thunderbrand, a bolt drawn directly from the blood moon.
Zariah met it head-on.
Her Ashfangs glowed.
Her Emberglyphs pulsed.
She struck.
Skymaul shattered.
Its wings dissolved into sparks.
Its horns fell to the earth.
Emberveil stitched a new patch—silver and blue, etched with the word Stormbound.
The sky pulsed again.
And from the clouds, another beast began to descend.
The Trial of Blazehorn
The third winged goat emerged.
Blazehorn—horns aflame, wings made of molten ash, eyes glowing with volcanic fury. Its hooves scorched the air. Its breath melted the clouds.
It did not roar.
It burned.
Zariah raised her claws.
The battle began.
The Trial of Blazehorn
The blood moon pulsed harder now, casting a crimson glow that turned the clouds into writhing shapes—horned, winged, clawed. The sky itself seemed to bleed flame. The air was thick with heat and fury. The Flame Tree bent low, its leaves curling inward. The Trial Fire surged, reacting to something ancient and volcanic.
Zariah the Flamewrought stood in the center of the storm.
Her Ashfangs pulsed with Sovereign Radiance, glowing brighter than ever. Emberveil stitched a new patch across her left shoulder—charred gold, etched with the word Inferno.
And then Blazehorn arrived.
The third winged goat tore through the sky like a meteor. Its horns were ablaze, dripping molten ash. Its wings were made of fire itself, flaring with every beat. Its hooves scorched the air, leaving trails of smoke and ruin. Its eyes burned with volcanic rage.
It did not roar.
It ignited.
Blazehorn unleashed Volcanic Surge—a wave of molten flame that erupted from the clouds, raining fire across the battlefield. The ground cracked. The Flame Tree hissed. The Trial Fire recoiled.
Zariah countered with Glyphstorm, summoning a cyclone of burning sigils that absorbed the heat and redirected it into the sky. She leapt forward, her Ashfangs carving through the air, striking Blazehorn's flank.
The beast twisted mid-air, wings folding inward. It summoned a second attack—Ashfall Barrage, a hail of burning stone that shattered the glyphs and forced Zariah to retreat.
She whispered:
> "You are not flame. You are fury."
Blazehorn roared, charging again.
Zariah unleashed Cinderstep, teleporting behind the beast and carving the word Contain into its spine. The glyph flared. Blazehorn screamed.
But it did not fall.
It rose again, wings flaring wider, summoning its final strike—Coreburst, a blast drawn from the heart of the blood moon itself.
Zariah raised her claws.
Her Emberglyphs pulsed.
She whispered:
> "Then let me burn with you."
She struck.
Ashfangs met horn.
Glyphs met flame.
The sky cracked.
The clouds screamed.
Blazehorn shattered.
Its wings dissolved into embers.
Its horns fell to the earth.
Emberveil stitched a new patch—obsidian and gold, etched with the word Containment.
The Trial Fire pulsed.
The Flame Tree bloomed again.
But the blood moon did not fade.
It pulsed once more.
And from the clouds, another beast began to descend.
Trial of Dreadspire
The blood moon pulsed like a living wound.
The clouds above Lycanridge twisted into monstrous shapes—horns, wings, fangs. The sky itself had turned hostile, a canvas of crimson and shadow. The Flame Tree bent low, its branches trembling. The Trial Fire surged, casting jagged light across the battlefield.
Zariah the Flamewrought stood beneath the storm.
Her Ashfangs glowed with Sovereign Radiance, pulsing with the fury of battles past. Emberveil stitched a new patch across her chest—black and violet, etched with the word Fearless.
From the clouds descended the fourth winged goat.
Dreadspire—horns spiraled like nightmares, wings stitched from shadow, eyes glowing with dread. Its breath carried hallucinations. Its hooves left behind echoes of screams.
It did not roar.
It whispered.
Zariah braced herself.
Dreadspire unleashed Terrorcoil—a wave of psychic flame that twisted the battlefield into visions of Zariah's worst fears. The Flame Tree appeared dead. The Trial Fire extinguished. Emberveil torn. Vulkharn broken.
Zariah staggered.
Her Emberglyphs flickered.
But she did not fall.
She whispered:
> "Fear is not my enemy. It is my fuel."
She activated Ashveil Transfer, sending one of her glyphs into the ground. It pulsed, then erupted—casting a dome of flame that shattered the illusions.
Dreadspire recoiled.
Zariah struck with Originflare, rewinding time for a breath and landing a blow before Dreadspire could react. Her Ashfangs carved the word Truth into its flank.
The beast screamed.
Not in pain.
In clarity.
It rose again, wings flaring, summoning its final strike—Nightbrand, a beam of concentrated dread drawn from the blood moon's core.
Zariah countered with Glyphstorm, unleashing a cyclone of burning sigils that collided with the beam mid-air. The sky cracked. The clouds screamed. The blood moon dimmed.
She leapt.
Her Ashfangs glowed.
She whispered:
> "You are not fear. You are forgotten."
She struck.
Dreadspire shattered.
Its wings dissolved into shadow.
Its horns fell to the earth.
Emberveil stitched a new patch—crimson and black, etched with the word Resilience.
The Trial Fire pulsed.
The Flame Tree bloomed again.
But the blood moon did not fade.
It pulsed once more.
And from the clouds, two beasts descended together.
The Twin Trial of Mournclaw and Virellion
The blood moon pulsed like a heartbeat gone wrong.
The sky above Lycanridge twisted into a cathedral of dread—clouds shaped like wings, horns, and open mouths. The Flame Tree bent low, its bark splitting. The Trial Fire surged, casting jagged shadows across the battlefield. Emberveil stitched a new patch across Zariah's ribs—dark gray and crimson, etched with the word Endure.
Zariah the Flamewrought stood alone.
Her Ashfangs pulsed with Sovereign Radiance, but her breath was heavy. Her Emberglyphs flickered. The last battle had drained her. Blazehorn's fury still burned in her bones. Dreadspire's illusions still echoed in her mind.
And now, two descended.
Mournclaw—a two-headed jackal-goat hybrid, wings torn and stitched with grief. One head snarled with rage. The other wept silently. Its horns glowed with dual flame—one red, one blue.
Virellion—a raven-winged goat with eyes like shattered prophecy. Its scream could unravel memory. Its hooves left behind silence.
They did not speak.
They attacked.
Mournclaw struck first, unleashing Split Howl—a sonic blast that fractured the battlefield into two realities. In one, Zariah stood victorious. In the other, she lay broken.
Virellion followed with Truthquake, a scream that shattered her Emberglyphs and sent her crashing to the ground.
Zariah screamed.
Her ribs cracked.
Her claws dimmed.
Emberveil tore.
She bled.
The blood moon pulsed harder.
The Flame Tree recoiled.
The Trial Fire flickered.
Zariah tried to rise.
Mournclaw struck again.
Virellion screamed again.
She fell.
She whispered:
> "I am not flame. I am fracture."
She activated Ashveil Transfer, sending a glyph into the ground. It pulsed, then erupted—casting a dome of flame that slowed time for a breath.
She rose.
She struck.
First hit—Ashfangs into Mournclaw's red horn.
Second hit—Glyphstorm into Virellion's wings.
Third hit—Cinderstep behind both, carving Truth into their spines.
Fourth hit—Originflare, rewinding time and landing a blow before their final strike.
The sky cracked.
The clouds screamed.
The blood moon dimmed.
Mournclaw shattered.
Virellion dissolved.
Zariah collapsed.
Emberveil stitched a new patch—black and silver, etched with the word Fracture.
The Trial Fire pulsed.
The Flame Tree bloomed again.
But the blood moon did not fade.
It pulsed once more.
And from the clouds, three beasts descended together.