Chapter 11 — The Trial Beneath Two Moons
The second moon hung low over the charred ruins of Halbrecht Keep, casting a sickly red hue over broken stone and scorched banners. Wind swept through the blackened corridors, whispering like voices from the past.
Seris stirred in the infirmary, her palm still burning from the sigil's awakening. Her dreams had been violent, drenched in fire and screams. But something more—she remembered eyes watching her. A golden eye… and one clouded in white.
"Kael," she murmured, and the swordsman was at her side in an instant.
"You've slept too long," he said gently. "And the sky's changed."
Seris sat up, disoriented. Her body ached, the mark still throbbing like it lived. "What happened?"
Kael handed her a blade. Not hers. This one was old. Ritualistic. Forged in blacksteel, its edge etched with glyphs she didn't recognize.
"The Blood Hounds left this," he said. "On the eastern wall. No message. Just… this."
Seris's throat dried.
Kael added, "They want a trial. Tonight."
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Hours Later — The Ruins Stir
The makeshift battleground lay in the outer courtyard, where weeds had claimed the bones of the keep. Shadows lengthened, stretching like claws as the twin moons aligned.
And then she saw them.
Figures emerged from the tree line—grotesque silhouettes, stitched from flesh and bone, their eyes glowing with emberlight. Revenants. Twisted husks resurrected from ancient soldiers and war beasts, bound by blood-sorcery.
Kael stepped forward, but Seris held him back. "This is for me."
The revenants circled her in silence, some crawling, others dragging jagged weapons. Their leader—twice her size, with a shattered helmet fused to its skull—growled low, a language of pain and command.
The first lunged.
Seris moved.
She danced between them, her blade carving arcs of black light as the sigil pulsed, reacting not just to her will, but to her rage.
With every strike, a memory flashed—distant voices, foreign ruins, a man in chains beneath a mountain.
One revenant shattered. Another fell shrieking, ignited by blue fire from her mark.
Kael watched, stunned. "She's not just fighting," he murmured. "She's… remembering."
The last revenant reached her, a blade swinging low—until Seris caught it mid-strike, her palm glowing, and unmade the creature in a single scream of light.
Silence returned.
And then, from beyond the trees, a slow clap echoed.
A figure stepped into view, wreathed in wolfskins and shadow. Gold eye. White eye.
"Impressive," said Drennir, leader of the Blood Hounds. "But the real trial is yet to come."