The Soul of the World's presence wrapped around Marel's consciousness like a protective cocoon. His body became an instrument played by a master musician, weaving, rolling, and jumping with balletic precision.
Yet even in his terror, something nagged at his awareness. Karak's attacks, though devastating, seemed to follow a pattern—not the chaos of a predator, but something deliberate. The dragon's claws carved deep furrows in the sand, always a hand's breadth from where Marel had been. Steam blasts scorched the air beside him, turning sand to glass, but never quite close enough to burn.
"Tell me, young warrior," Karak called out, his courteous tone never wavering, "will you run until exhaustion takes you? Or will you face what terrifies you?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge—or perhaps an invitation. For several breathless minutes, the deadly dance continued. Marel's lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but the Soul of the World kept him moving. He vaulted over dunes, slid beneath sweeping claws, and twisted away from gouts of superheated steam.
Finally, with one last impossible leap, Marel cleared a towering dune and tumbled down its far side, rolling to a stop in a cascade of sand. His chest heaved as he lay there, staring up at the sky. The Soul of the World's presence receded, returning control of his body. Every muscle ached, bruises forming where he'd impacted the sand too hard.
He waited for the dragon to appear, for those terrible jaws to descend. But Karak didn't pursue.
A ghostly silence settled over the desert. Marel slowly pushed himself up on trembling arms, confusion replacing fear. He'd expected the chase to continue until he collapsed, or worse. Yet the dragon had simply stopped.
Then, like a mountain rising from the earth, Karak's massive head appeared over the dune. Every aspect of his presence was different.The predatory tension was gone, replaced by something almost serene. Those ancient eyes held no hunger or hostility—only a warm, knowing gleam.
The dragon descended with surprising gentleness, stopping a few meters from Marel, who instinctively gripped the Aetherblade with shaking hands.
"Peace, young warrior," Karak rumbled, genuine warmth in his voice like a teacher addressing a student who had exceeded expectations. "The trial has ended."
"Trial?" His voice emerged ragged and weak. His mind raced back through the encounter—the measured pursuit, the attacks that had carved the earth but never quite found their mark, the questions Karak had asked. Understanding dawned slowly. "This was a test?"
A sound like distant thunder rolled from the dragon's throat—laughter, warm and approving. "Indeed. Forgive the deception, but one's true character reveals itself only when death draws near. You ran—as the wise do. You did not throw your life away in pointless bravado. Yet when cornered, you turned to face me—as the brave must. You have passed, Marel of the Aetherblade."
"You were never going to kill me?"
"Oh, I was quite serious about devouring you—should you have failed. Had you begged for mercy, collapsed in despair, or attacked me in blind rage, I would have ended you swiftly. Ardaron has no use for cowards or fools." He tilted his great head. "But you surprised me. Most newly arrived choose poorly."
"I didn't choose anything," Marel protested. "I was terrified. I ran because I didn't know what else to do."
"Precisely." Karak's eyes gleamed with approval. "You accepted your fear without letting it consume you. You trusted in powers greater than yourself—the Soul of the World guided you, but you did not resist. And when the moment came, despite having every reason to keep running, you chose to stand. That is wisdom."
Marel felt something shift inside him—not the physical transformation from receiving his name, but something deeper. A recognition of what he'd just experienced.
The dragon shifted, extending a single claw toward his own chest. There was a sound like metal scraping stone, and then Karak held out a single scale—no larger than Marel's palm, yet pulsing with inner light that seemed to contain storms and fire and ancient power.
"This is yours by right of passage. Few reach Ardaron and encounter one of the Old Guard. Fewer still earn our respect. This is not a gift—it is recognition. An acknowledgment of your potential, and a blessing for the trials ahead."
Marel stared at the copper scale, his heart still pounding, but no longer from fear. Slowly, reverently, he reached out. The moment his fingers touched the surface, it dissolved into pure light.
Light like molten starlight seeped into his hand, threading through his arm in streams of radiant energy. Warmth flooded through his body—overwhelming in its intensity. The energy coursed through his veins, settled into his bones, fused with the very fabric of his being. Something fundamental was changing within him, as if the scale was writing itself into his essence.
It was like what happened when he received his name, but different—more focused and tangible. Where receiving his name had sharpened his senses, this felt like armor being forged around his soul. Heat, strength and something wild and ancient.
Blue text flashed before his eyes:
[Dragon Scale Absorbed]
[Trial of Character: PASSED]
[New Ability Unlocked: Steam Affinity]
[Heat Resistance +50]
[Agility +10]
[Title Earned: "Acknowledged by the Old Guard"]
When the light faded, Marel stood trembling, staring at his hands in wonder. They looked the same, yet he could feel the difference—a reservoir of power waiting to be tapped. The oppressive desert heat, which had been draining him, now felt merely warm. Comfortable, even.
He looked up at Karak, finding the dragon watching him with something that might have been pride.
"I don't understand. Why test me at all? Why give me this?"
The dragon lowered his massive head until his eyes were level with Marel's, seeming to look into the very depths of his soul—past the fear and confusion, to something Marel himself hadn't yet recognized.
"Because Ardaron is not kind to the unprepared. The Soul of the World brought you here for a reason, but potential alone is worthless without the will to pursue it. You will face greater trials than a courteous dragon playing at being a predator. You will encounter true malice and despair. The scale I have given you is more than power—it is proof that you have already begun walking the path of a warrior. When doubt finds you in the dark times ahead, remember: you faced your first trial with wisdom and courage."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The desert wind whispered around them, carrying away sand and heat. Marel felt the weight of those words settling into his chest, alongside the warmth of the absorbed scale.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Karak nodded—a single, dignified acknowledgment passing between them. Warrior to warrior. Teacher to student. Ancient guardian to newly acknowledged soul. It was a gesture of respect that transcended words, and Marel understood. This was both an ending and a beginning.
Without another word, Karak began to rise. His wings—vast membranes of brass and copper—unfurled with a sound like a ship's sails catching wind. Steam vented from his neck, and the air shimmered with heat. The dragon's full magnificence was revealed, breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure.
With one powerful downstroke, Karak launched himself skyward. Sand exploded outward, and Marel shielded his face. When he looked up, the dragon was already high above, his brass scales catching the sunlight like a second sun.
Karak circled once, twice, his shadow passing over Marel like a benediction. Then, with a final beat of those magnificent wings, he turned east and soared away across the desert. His form grew smaller and smaller, becoming a glinting speck before finally disappearing into the shimmering haze.
Marel stood alone once more in the vast emptiness, but he no longer felt quite so small or lost. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, feeling the new power that hummed beneath his skin. The Aetherblade seemed to pulse in response, acknowledging the change in its wielder.
"What just happened?" he whispered, wonder replacing confusion.
[You have been acknowledged by one of Ardaron's ancient guardians,] the Soul of the World replied with unmistakable pride. [Karak the Steam Dragon is one of the Old Guards—the first beings to walk this world. They serve as judges of character for those chosen by the System. Not all who arrive encounter them. Those who do… well, most do not receive scales. They not survive at all.]
Marel swallowed hard, the full weight of what had transpired settling over him. He'd been tested by an ancient being and found worthy. The scale pulsed gently within him, a constant reminder of that judgment.
[The path ahead will be treacherous, Marel. But you have taken your first true step as a warrior of this world. You have been weighed and measured. Remember this moment when darkness finds you.]
Marel watched the empty sky where Karak had disappeared. Then he turned his gaze toward the horizon stretching endlessly before him. Somewhere out there, beyond the dunes and emptiness, his real adventure awaited. Challenges that would make a courteous dragon seem kind.
But Marel felt ready. Not confident—he was still terrified of what lay ahead. But ready. There was a difference.
"Alright then," he said, adjusting his grip on the Aetherblade. His voice was steadier now, carrying determination that hadn't been there before. "Let's see what else this world has in store."
He began walking, his shadow stretching long across the sand. Behind him, the wind began to erase his footprints and the massive claw marks—the desert reclaiming all evidence of the trial.
But Marel carried the proof with him, woven into his very being: a dragon's scale, a title of acknowledgment, and the knowledge that when tested, he had not been found wanting.
His journey had truly begun. And somewhere high above the clouds, a dragon circled once more before continuing his eternal patrol. Karak's eyes gleamed with approval, certain that a worthy soul had proven itself in Ardaron.
The world would need warriors like Marel in the days to come.