The Flame’s Judgement

The Circle was not finished with them.

Flames twisted skyward, writhing into shapes too vast to belong to wolves or soldiers. The arena floor shook, runes flaring brighter, as if the stone itself strained to contain what was being born.

Lucien staggered back, sword raised instinctively. “What now—”

The answer tore free with a roar.

A colossus erupted from the fire: half molten titan, half armored beast. Its torso was broad as a watchtower, its limbs ending in hooked blades that dripped fire. A helm of shadow masked its face, ember eyes glaring from within. Each step shook the Circle like thunder.

The surviving groups froze, scattered and bloodied. Whispers spread like cracks in glass.

“They expect us to—”

“Together, maybe—”

“This is madness—”

“Form up!” the examiner’s voice boomed from outside the flames. “The Circle reveals not enemies, but truth. Survive it, or vanish.”

Lucien swallowed hard. Truth?

The colossus lifted one blade-arm and swept it across the floor. Stone shattered. Aspirants screamed as three figures were caught in the blast, erased in fire and smoke.

“No!” someone cried.

Lucien forced air into his lungs. “We can’t take that thing alone. We need the others!”

Toren barked a laugh even as blood dripped down his chin. “Finally, something big enough to hit.”

Seraine spun on him, eyes flashing. “Idiot—if we rush in like that, we’ll join the ash.” She glanced at Lucien. “You want alliances? Convince them. Fast.”

Lucien’s pulse hammered. He turned toward the closest group still standing—Marian, Kalen, and Caelith. Marian already barked orders, spear glittering with heat. Caelith clutched his journal to his chest, blue eyes blazing despite the tremor in his hands.

Lucien caught his gaze across the chaos. For a heartbeat, the noise fell away.

“Together!” Lucien shouted. His voice rang raw, carrying across the arena. “We fall alone, or we fight as one!”

For a moment, hesitation. The other groups weighed the words against their fear.

Then Marian gave a curt nod. “Circle them in!”

Kalen echoed the command, blade raised. Even the scarred boy’s remaining allies gritted their teeth and angled toward the giant.

The beast roared again, sweeping its blade-arm downward. Fire exploded where it struck.

Lucien dove aside, heat singeing his cheek. He rolled to his feet, vision swimming. “Toren! Hit low!”

“Gladly!” The brawler slammed into the titan’s leg with bone-cracking force. Flame sprayed, but the colossus actually staggered a step.

Seraine darted past, blades flashing to carve into the weakened joint. “Move!” she barked.

Lucien followed, his sword striking deep. Sparks and molten ichor rained as their blows landed in quick succession. The beast howled, staggering further.

Across the arena, Marian and Kalen pressed another flank, coordinated strikes hammering at its knees.

And at the rear, Caelith lifted his journal.
His voice rose, steady despite the strain: ancient syllables ringing clear. Frost flared across the beast’s molten skin, smoke hissing as fire met ice. The colossus jerked, slowed, giving the others their chance.

Lucien’s chest tightened at the sight. “That’s it—hold it!”

But the titan was not so easily bound. It reared back, flames spiraling, then slammed both arms down at once.

The shockwave ripped through the arena.

Lucien’s team was flung like ragdolls. His sword flew from his grip, his back hit stone, breath crushed from his lungs. For a moment, everything blurred into firelight and ringing ears.

“Lucien!” A voice—distant, sharp. Seraine.
He gasped, forcing himself up. His arm burned where molten spray had seared him, but he staggered to his feet.

Around them, bodies lay scattered—some aspirants not moving at all.

The titan loomed, unshaken, ember eyes burning brighter.

Lucien’s breath came ragged. “It won’t fall… not unless…” He looked around. The groups were scattered, weakened, distrust gnawing at the edges of their unity. The Circle was testing them—forcing them past pride, past fear.

Not strength alone. Cohesion. Rowan’s voice echoed in memory.

Lucien tightened his jaw. He couldn’t let it fracture now.

“Toren!” he shouted. “You’re the hammer. Don’t stop hitting.”“Ha! Thought you’d never ask!” Toren charged, reckless but relentless.

“Seraine—cut where he cracks it. You see the weakness before anyone.”Her eyes flickered, but she gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Don’t waste it.”

Lucien turned, voice raw. “Marian, Kalen—pin its legs! Caelith—freeze the joints!”

Marian’s spear spun once, a signal. “We move!”

The arena erupted into motion.

Toren’s blows thundered into molten flesh. Seraine slipped between its strikes, her daggers biting deep where fire weakened. Marian and Kalen drove their weapons into its knees, staggering it further.

And then Caelith’s voice rose again. Frost coiled over the titan’s chest, its limbs stiffening. His pale hair clung to sweat-damp skin, his blue eyes like shards of ice.

Lucien’s chest clenched—pride, fear, something sharper.

“Now!” he roared.

All at once, their strikes converged. Steel, frost, and fury.

The titan bellowed, a sound like a collapsing mountain. It reeled back, cracked through the center. Flames roared out, engulfing the arena in blinding light—

—and then it shattered.

The colossus burst apart in a storm of fire and smoke. Heat washed over the survivors, knocking them to their knees. When the light dimmed, only scorched stone and silence remained.

---

Breathing ragged, Lucien pushed himself upright. The arena was littered with ash where others had stood. Of the twelve groups, fewer than a dozen aspirants still breathed.

Beside him, Seraine leaned on one dagger, blood trailing down her arm. Toren collapsed to one knee, grinning through crimson teeth. “Told you I’d crack it.”

Lucien managed a shaky laugh, then turned—searching.

Caelith stood with Marian and Kalen, his journal clutched tight, chest heaving. His frost still clung to the stone at his feet. Their eyes met across the battered arena.

Blue to gold.

Neither spoke, but the look was enough: We endured.

The fire around the Circle guttered, dimming. The examiner’s voice rang out, cold and final.
“Enough.”

The flames vanished. The arena dissolved, leaving only stone floor and ruin. The survivors stood exposed in the sudden silence, their bodies bloodied, their spirits raw.

The examiner’s eyes swept them, merciless. “The Circle has judged. Many entered. Few remain. You who stand—remember this: it was not strength that saved you, but the chain between you. Break that, and no flame will need to strike you down. You’ll destroy yourselves.”

His staff struck stone. Sparks flared, sealing the trial’s end.

Lucien stood swaying, exhaustion tugging at every limb. But inside, something burned brighter.

They had endured. Together.

And in Caelith’s icy gaze across the hall, he found not just survival, but a promise.
The trials were only beginning.

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