The first construct struck like lightning.
A blur of metal limbs and bladed arms, it launched toward Eryon with crushing speed. He met it head-on, flame erupting from his palm to slow its approach, then twisting his body to dodge the spinning blades. Behind him, Alice slid into motion, her dual blades flashing with practiced precision.
The forest clearing erupted into chaos.
The second construct—the one hissing steam—lurched toward the rear of the student group. Its body emitted bursts of heat, melting through the underbrush, and its jagged steps left glowing prints in the dirt.
"Keep formation!" one of the students shouted. "Don't let them divide us!"
But the third construct—the glowing one—moved differently. It stayed at the edge of the fight, its red-lit frame pulsing rhythmically. Its eyes locked on Eryon like it knew him.
Eryon didn't notice.
He was too busy surviving.
He weaved between slashes, using bursts of flame to push the construct back, then struck with his blade across its torso. Sparks flew, but no deep damage. It recovered too quickly.
Alice engaged the steam construct, launching a flurry of cuts at the joints in its arms. Her precision was perfect, but the heat radiating from the creature singed her forearms.
Still, she didn't back down.
Behind them, the rest of the students fought hard—but it was clear the three constructs were more than just sentries. They were guardians. Trained. Programmed.
And evolving.
Suddenly, the glowing construct moved.
It rushed past the others, straight toward Eryon.
Eryon turned just in time to block its strike—but the sheer force of it sent him flying, crashing against the base of the shrine.
He coughed hard, blood rising to his throat.
The construct stepped forward, its body humming with unnatural energy.
Eryon gritted his teeth.
And then—
The shrine responded.
The flame-and-chain emblem behind him pulsed brightly, and heat surged up through Eryon's back like an open furnace. His eyes widened as something ancient stirred in his blood.
The construct reeled backward, screeching.
From Eryon's chest, a faint aura of red light rose, forming the outline of the very mark etched into the shrine.
Alice saw it.
"Eryon… that mark—it's on you."
"I didn't… do anything," he gasped.
The construct screamed again and lunged.
But this time, Eryon stood, sword ablaze.
With a single, flaming strike, he cleaved the construct clean in half.
Silence followed.
Then, the steam-beast collapsed beside Alice, her blades driven deep into its neck.
The final construct twitched—then shut down.
They had won.
But as the smoke settled, the real question remained:
Why did the shrine respond to Eryon?
And what had he awakened?