The academy bled silence.
Dawn never truly reached this part of the mountains. Even in the early hours, a thick haze clung to the narrow stone paths, and the blackened trees curled like clawed fingers over the buildings of the Way of the Mage. Light was not welcome here. Shadow ruled.
Kalen and Raelith stood shirtless in the frost-laced courtyard, steam rising from their flesh as they performed body-forging routines in silence. Their muscles tensed with every movement, scarred from whip strikes and ritual burns. Their serpents, now the length of whips, coiled lazily around their shoulders—Kalen's bone-white serpent flicked its tongue, sensing the cold. Raelith's black-scaled serpent hissed once, red eyes gleaming with silent malice.
Nearby, dozens of other disciples groaned through similar routines. Some were older, many were weaker. A few watched the twins with hollow-eyed suspicion.
"Faster," barked Instructor Vell. Her voice cracked like a blade on stone. "If you move like sheep, you'll die like sheep."
She wore crimson robes soaked at the hem, her face wrapped in veils except for her sunken, tattooed eyes. "Pain is the price for presence. Scream, and I'll carve silence into your throats."
One boy did. His legs buckled during a flaming staff exercise. His scream echoed.
Without pause, Vell lifted her hand. Shadow tendrils burst from her sleeves and crushed his throat. He twitched once, then stilled.
Nobody stopped. Not even the corpse bled for long. The darkness drank it.
—
Later that night, the twins sat cross-legged within their chamber. A single black lantern lit the room, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Around them were scraps of dried blood, serpent scales, and torn parchment filled with runes and incantations.
Raelith's eyes were closed, lips moving in a slow chant as his serpent coiled tightly around his arm, tightening with each breath.
Kalen watched his brother for a moment before returning to his own cultivation. The dark mist in his lungs spiraled and twisted, trying to form the First Circle. But it resisted—violent and alive.
"Too slow," he muttered, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
The door creaked open.
Kalen rose instinctively, but the figure that entered wore the black mask of the inner instructors. Behind the mask, nothing could be seen—no eyes, no mouth. Only shadow.
"The Test of Black Flame begins at dusk tomorrow," the instructor said, voice hollow and layered. "All disciples must attend. No refusals. No excuses."
Raelith's eyes opened, calm but cold. "What is the prize?"
The instructor tilted its head. "For the top five—bathing rights in the Pool of Darkness. For the first place… the Dark Core of Master Level."
The door closed.
Neither twin spoke for a long while.
Then Kalen whispered, "We take it."
Raelith nodded. "We take everything."
—
By noon the next day, the academy grounds swarmed with activity.
Word of the Test of Black Flame had spread like a storm. Whispers and theories churned in every hall.
Some claimed the test was simple—a sparring challenge under illusionary pressure.
Others swore students would be thrown into the Mirror Depths, a realm of living shadow, where one faced their worst thoughts in flesh.
A few said the test didn't choose the strongest... but the most ruthless.
Kalen and Raelith walked through it all, silent, serpents slithering under their robes. Their path parted lesser disciples. A group of three older cultivators glared as they passed, but none stepped forward.
One girl, pale and wiry, stepped into their path.
"You think you'll win?" she said, her voice carrying the sharpness of broken glass. "You're Mortal level. The favorites are already at Low Knight. You'll die screaming."
Kalen didn't respond. He met her gaze.
A moment later, the girl stepped back, swallowing hard.
The shadows behind Raelith's eyes were not normal.
—
The Obsidian Arena was a carved-out pit beneath the academy's heart. No natural light reached it—only torchlight and the black lanterns of the instructors, floating like ghostly eyes.
Hundreds of disciples stood in uneven rows. Most were younger than twenty. Some had skeletal familiars. Others bore glowing tattoos or burning eyes.
Kalen and Raelith stood near the front.
The High Instructor appeared from above. His black robes flowed like smoke, and his voice carried through the arena without sound escaping his lips.
"You stand before the Trial of the Black Flame. This test will reveal your truth—not just strength, but will, cruelty, endurance, and silence under pain."
A silence fell. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
"In the mirror realm below, illusions become real. You will be isolated—each of you. No allies. No teachers. You will face enemies born from your own soul. Your time inside will be measured. If you die, you die. If you lose control, you die. If you scream, the realm will devour your essence."
He raised a single black coin.
"The top five who emerge with the longest time survived and highest mental score will be granted the Pool of Darkness. The one who emerges with the Dark Flame Mark… will receive the Dark Core of Master Level."
Gasps echoed.
The Dark Core was a legend—something normally given to Saints.
"No questions," the High Instructor said. "Enter."
A giant circle beneath their feet lit up, inscribed with runes of pain and shadow. One by one, the disciples stepped in and vanished into a black mist.
Some screamed before disappearing.
Others were calm.
When Raelith stepped forward, his serpent hissed and coiled tightly, fangs exposed. Kalen followed right after, wordless.
The mist swallowed them whole.
—
Kalen opened his eyes in complete silence.
No sky. No ground.
He stood on a platform made of bones floating in a black void. All around him, echoes of laughter and pain crept in from the dark.
A figure emerged. A reflection of himself—but disfigured. Its face was stitched, its serpent dead and nailed through its chest.
"You will never ascend," it whispered. "You are only wrath in disguise. Father never saw you."
Kalen did not reply. He drew his dagger and moved.
—
Raelith found himself in a ruined temple. Fires burned in his hands. Dozens of corpses whispered around him—faces of people he hadn't yet killed. One wore the face of the girl from the merchant's caravan. Another wore his father's.
"You are already a monster," the corpses whispered.
"I know," Raelith said, and the fire surged.
—
Above, in the Obsidian Arena, the High Instructors watched floating black discs that showed blurred shadows of each disciple's trial.
Some were screaming already. A few had vanished entirely.
But two discs burned brighter than all the rest—deep red and violent. The instructors exchanged glances.
"Those twins," one said. "They should not be Mortal level. Their minds are… unbreakable."
"Let's see if the Flame can consume them."
—
Kalen killed his reflection seventeen times. Every time it returned, it changed.
Sometimes it wore his brother's face.
Sometimes his father's.
Eventually, it asked him, "What are you without rage?"
Kalen didn't answer. He stabbed it in the heart, and this time, it didn't rise.
A black flame sparked on the platform.
The shadows whispered: Claim it.
—
Raelith's trial bled deeper. He was walking a staircase that never ended, each step weighed by guilt.
At the top, a door pulsed. Behind it, a version of him waited—one that had accepted peace.
"You can stop here," it said. "No more death. No more silence."
Raelith answered, "Peace is for the dead."
He stepped through. The door burned to ash.
The black flame was waiting for him too.
—
One by one, disciples began to emerge from the circle above.
Some stumbled out half-conscious, shaking, vomiting black bile.
Others collapsed and didn't rise again.
Of the hundred who entered, only thirty made it back.
Then the circle cracked with a loud hum.
Raelith stepped out, eyes burning faintly, serpent coiled tightly around his neck like a crown. Blood stained his sleeves, but none of it was his.
Seconds later, Kalen emerged, calm, cold, eyes dead.
They stood side by side. Neither spoke.
The instructors watched silently.
Then the High Instructor descended.
He raised his hand, and five dark sigils appeared above the disciples.
One floated above each of the top five.
When the fifth appeared, gasps spread.
The fourth.
The third.
The second—
Then came the final sigil.
It burned in the air like a black star.
And it descended… on Kalen.
He said nothing.
The High Instructor smiled behind his mask.
"You have claimed the first place. The Dark Core of Master Level shall be yours."
Then, to all: "You five will bathe in the Pool of Darkness tonight. The rest of you… survive. If you can."
The chapter closed in silence, except for the slow dripping of black mist from the cracked trial stone, and the soft hiss of two serpents… coiled, waiting, hungry.