The combat trial announced itself with silence as Dante emerged from the living corridor into a circular arena of ancient stone, its walls marked with symbols that glowed faintly. The floor was smooth and worn, polished by centuries of footsteps from challengers who stood where he now stood, and in the center of the arena, eleven figures waited.
He recognized them immediately.
His old team. His original timeline family. They stood in formation as if preparing for battle, their forms made solid by whatever magic powered this place.
"THE FIRST TEST," the dungeon announced. "FACE YOUR FALLEN. PROVE YOUR WORTH THROUGH COMBAT."
His hand moved to his sword without conscious thought. "You want me to fight them?"
"DEFEAT THEM. MOVE FORWARD. OR FALL TO THOSE YOU ALREADY FAILED."
Drayven drew his weapon first. The motion was exactly as Dante remembered: smooth, practiced, the result of years of training. The blade gleamed in the dim light as he settled into a fighting stance.
