Dawn broke over Solvaris, a thin gold thread piercing the barracks' slits. Tomas woke to the Etherstone chunk's hum, its glow steady against his hip, a heartbeat he couldn't shake. His shoulder ached, Lira's lightning a dull burn beneath the bandage, but he rolled off his cot, splashing water from a basin onto his face. The paired fight's echoes lingered—cheers, blood, Gavric's threat—next one's a slaughter. Hard work beats talent, he told himself, grabbing his pickaxe. Today, he'd dig deeper.
The yard buzzed with trainees, their chatter hushed, eyes darting. Elara met him at the dummies, her Spark swirling a breeze. "Something's off," she said, voice low. "No horn, no call—council's silent."
"Too silent," he said, swinging at the dummy, wood splintering. "Toren's brewing something. Gavric knows."
A shadow fell—Sereth, her council badge glinting, her green eyes sharp. "Kael," she said, beckoning. "With me."
He followed, pickaxe in hand, Elara a step behind. She led them past the arena, down a winding stair into Solvaris's underbelly—a forge, its air thick with coal and Etherstone dust. Constructs lay half-built, their frames humming, workers silent under Gifted overseers' gazes.
"Next trial," Sereth said, stopping at a massive construct—ten feet tall, Etherstone veins pulsing, steel claws gleaming. "This. Alone. Tomorrow."
Tomas stared, the chunk's hum matching its pulse. "Bigger than the Gauntlet," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. I'll break it."
Sereth's smirk flickered. "It's a forge beast—built to kill, not test. Toren's losing patience."
"Let him," he said, stepping closer, the hum loud in his ears. "Hard work beats their toys."
She nodded, a crack in her mask. "Prove it, Kael. I'm still betting." She left, her footsteps fading into the forge's hum.
Elara grabbed his arm. "This isn't a trial—it's an execution."
"Maybe," he said, grinning faintly. "Won't work." He swung at a nearby dummy, wood flying, the chunk's hum a call to fight on. The forge beast loomed, a silent promise of blood, but he'd shatter it—one strike at a time.