Raen, Nira, and Talin descended through a narrow passage that twisted like a snake, the walls lined with runes that pulsed faintly at their passing. The scroll Raen had claimed from the Nameless Arena now radiated a steady warmth at his side, whispering fragments of sword techniques lost to time. It was more than knowledge—it was memory passed down from souls that had never been laid to rest.
As they reached the bottom, the corridor widened into a great underground vault, vast and domed, yet eerily silent. Towering stone doors loomed at the end—seamless, ancient, and completely devoid of inscriptions.
"This must be the core chamber," Nira said cautiously. "But why no name?"
Raen stepped forward slowly. The door didn't budge. There were no handles, no locks. Just cold stone and a strange feeling, like being watched by something that had no eyes.
"It's not meant to open," Talin murmured, "It's meant to judge."
Raen narrowed his eyes. "Then we'll give it something to judge."
He unsheathed the Silent Edge and stepped to the center of the chamber. As if on cue, the floor beneath him lit up with a slow, rippling glow. The sword vibrated—soft at first, then fiercely, like it was crying out.
Suddenly, the chamber darkened. From the edges of the room, mist slithered in. The temperature dropped. The sound of metal dragging against stone echoed.
"Another trial?" Nira asked, raising her hands.
"No…" Raen said, voice low. "This one's not from the formation."
A figure emerged from the mist. It wore heavy robes embroidered with broken glyphs, and over its face was a shattered mask. Around its neck, a rusted chain. Its blade, crooked and obsidian black, pulsed with corrupted energy.
"Who—" Talin started.
"Not a who," Nira interrupted, "a what. That's a Forgotten Warden. They were swordbearers who failed the trials and were consumed by their own arts."
The Warden stepped forward without a sound. Its movements were jerky, unnatural, as if time itself hesitated to let it exist.
Raen met its gaze—or what was left of it. "Let's finish this."
The Warden moved.
Fast.
Raen blocked the first strike with the Silent Edge, the clash sending cracks through the stone beneath them. The Warden's strength was monstrous, but not mindless—it used techniques Raen had seen in glimpses of the Nameless Arena. Twisted versions of sacred forms.
Talin and Nira didn't interfere. They knew better. This was a battle of sword souls.
Raen circled the Warden, ducking and weaving. With every parry, he learned. The Warden was slow between movements—its corrupted techniques left gaps. But the danger wasn't the sword.
It was the voice.
As Raen fought, a voice wormed into his head. A whisper not from the Silent Edge, but from the Warden.
Give in. Let go of control. Let the blade speak for you. No more burdens. No more choice.
Raen gritted his teeth. "You want me to surrender to instinct?"
The Warden lunged again. Raen twisted to the side, sliding across the runes. He raised his sword and shouted:
"Vīramārga!" (Path of the Brave)
His blade pulsed with blue-white light, and in a single motion, he struck—clean and silent.
The Warden froze. Then slowly crumbled into ash, its mask falling last and shattering into dust.
The mist retreated.
Silence returned.
The great stone door rumbled. Then… it opened, just a crack.
Talin exhaled. "That thing was waiting to see if you'd become like it."
Raen said nothing. He looked at the Silent Edge in his hand—still glowing faintly, still whispering. The door, now open, revealed a spiraling stairway descending even deeper into the earth.
Nira placed a hand on his shoulder. "If that was the gatekeeper… what's waiting down there?"
Raen gave a faint smile.
"Hopefully, answers."
They stepped through the door, into the unknown.
---
To be continued