The courtyard became a storm of motion. The shadows spilling from the broken hall twisted into half-formed figures—limbs of smoke, faces blurred as if drawn from nightmares. They circled Kaelen and the feathered guardian, hissing in a language older than the stones beneath his boots.
The guardian's ember eyes never left Kaelen.
"Prove it," it breathed.
Kaelen didn't understand—prove what? His claim? His bloodline? His worth? There was no time to ask. One of the shadow-creatures lunged, a clawed arm slicing the air where Kaelen's head had been moments before. He rolled aside, the edge of his sword catching a wisp of the thing's body. It shrieked, pulling back, its form unraveling into drifting soot.
More came.
Kaelen fought, but each strike left his muscles screaming, his lungs burning as the air seemed to grow heavier with every breath. The ash was inside him now—he could feel it, seeping into his skin, weighing down his bones.
The guardian did not help. It stood still, watching. Judging.
This is the trial, Kaelen realized. It's not the shadows I have to defeat—it's the ash itself.
Gritting his teeth, he stopped swinging wildly and forced himself to focus. Instead of resisting the ash, he tried to move with it, letting its strange pull guide his strikes. When the next shadow lunged, he stepped into it, driving his blade through its center in a single, clean motion. It dissolved into nothing.
One by one, the others followed—each attack met not with desperation, but precision. With every creature that fell, the air grew lighter. The last shadow let out a wailing hiss before it unraveled, scattering across the stones.
Silence returned.
The guardian approached. It reached out one gloved hand, pressing its palm to Kaelen's chest. A sudden heat bloomed there—not burning, but warm, alive.
"You carry the ember," the voice said, softer now. "The Heart may hear you."
Then, without another word, it stepped aside, revealing a doorway behind it. Through it glowed a light the color of dawn.
Kaelen exhaled, and stepped forward.