The staircase wound ever upward, each step lit by faint veins of violet light snaking through the stone. Thalen's breath echoed in the narrow space, steady and deliberate. His wounds from the trial beneath had closed—healed not by magic, but by his aura itself, now fused with Tyrant Spirit. The blade at his side hummed with silent presence, no longer dormant.
He did not feel stronger.
He felt clearer.
He emerged into a chamber of marble and onyx. Wide and circular, the walls bore ancient murals of warriors clad in aura-fire, raising weapons against titans, dragons, and each other. In the center stood a man—no, a sentinel broad-shouldered and still as a mountain. His armor was simple, but ancient. His aura… unreadable. It didn't blaze or roar it simply existed, as if the world bent around it.
Thalen stepped forward.
The man turned.
His face was weathered stone stern, but not unkind.
"You have endured the Trial Beneath," he said. "And emerged with your spirit intact."
