The city was different at night.
The crowded markets, the endless noise, the suffocating heat—it all faded once the sun dipped below the horizon. In its place, a quieter, more dangerous world emerged. The streets emptied, the alleys stretched longer, and the shadows clung to the walls like they were alive.
Aarav walked alone.
The invitation's words echoed in his mind.
"Your door opens at midnight."
He wasn't sure what to expect. Would someone come to take him? Would the world shift again, like before? Or was this all a cruel trick, some elaborate game played by the Keepers?
The thought made his fists tighten.
No.
This was real.
The mark on his chest, the vision of the battlefield, the thing inside him—he couldn't ignore it.
He stopped in front of an abandoned temple at the city's edge. A forgotten ruin, its stone pillars cracked and worn by time. Vines coiled around its entrance, and the statue of an ancient deity stood broken, its face lost to the years.
And yet—
The air here was different.
Thicker. Heavier. Like something unseen was pressing against reality itself.
Aarav stepped forward.
The moment his foot crossed the temple's threshold, a deep vibration rumbled through the air.
Then—
The world shifted.
Aarav's breath hitched as the ground beneath him rippled.
For a moment, it felt like he had stepped into water—his surroundings distorting, bending as if reality itself was folding in on itself.
Then—
Everything snapped back into place.
The abandoned temple was gone.
Instead, Aarav stood before an enormous stone gate, covered in carvings of roots and serpents twisting around one another. The air pulsed with unseen energy, a deep hum vibrating through his bones.
His instincts screamed at him to be cautious. But something called to him from the other side of the gate, pulling him forward.
The mark on his chest burned.
Without thinking, Aarav reached out—his fingers brushing against the cold stone.
A sudden roar shook the air.
Not an animal's roar. Not human. Something else.
The carvings on the gate shifted—the roots and serpents moving, twisting into new shapes. A single golden eye emerged in the center of the door, glowing with an unearthly light.
Then, a voice—low, ancient, filled with something beyond human comprehension—whispered into his mind:
"You stand before the path of warriors. Will you walk forward, or will you turn away?"
Aarav clenched his fists.
He had already made his decision.
"I'll walk forward."
The golden eye blinked—and the gate began to open.
A wave of heat and power surged outward, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Aarav stepped through.
And the moment he crossed the threshold—
The door vanished.
He was no longer in his world.
He had entered the Ashvattha Tournament.
Aarav stumbled forward as the weight of unseen energy pressed against him.
The moment he crossed the threshold, his body felt lighter—as if gravity had loosened its grip. The air was different too—thicker, charged with something ancient.
When he looked up, his breath caught in his throat.
He was no longer in the ruins of an abandoned temple.
Before him stretched an impossible landscape.
A sky of swirling gold and violet stretched infinitely above, filled with floating islands—some as small as boulders, others large enough to hold entire cities. Glowing rivers of light ran through the cracks in the ground, pulsing like veins. Trees with silver leaves swayed without wind, their roots entwined with floating chunks of earth.
It was a world that shouldn't exist.
And yet—
Aarav could feel it.
The energy here pulsed in sync with the mark on his chest. It recognized him.
Or worse—it had been waiting for him.
Then, a sound.
A distant war horn—deep, ringing through the air like the voice of a god.
Aarav turned.
Far ahead, at the edge of a floating bridge of stone, stood a massive fortress. Its walls were carved with symbols that flickered with golden fire, its towers piercing the unnatural sky. The entrance was flanked by two enormous statues—warriors, their hands resting on their blades.
And beyond them, standing in silent rows, were hundreds of figures.
Some were human. Others… were not.
Each of them radiated power. Some wore armor, some were draped in cloaks of shadow, and others bore marks similar to Aarav's, glowing on their skin like living brands.
These were the other participants.
The ones chosen.
The ones who would fight in the Ashvattha Tournament.
Aarav exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
Thetension in the air was thick. Every warrior standing before the fortress understood one thing—this was no ordinary test.
It was the first step in proving themselves.
The abyss beyond the gate pulsed with an eerie glow, shifting like a living thing. It wasn't just darkness—it was something more, something that radiated an unnatural presence.
The masked figure raised his hand.
"Step forward."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then, the first warrior strode ahead—a massive man covered in ritual scars, his arms wrapped in heavy iron chains. Without hesitation, he stepped into the abyss.
The moment he vanished beyond the threshold, the darkness rippled.
Then another warrior followed. And another. Some walked forward with confidence, others hesitated, but in the end, they all stepped through.
Aarav inhaled sharply.
This was it.
The moment he crossed that line, there was no turning back.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Well, isn't that exactly what I wanted?
He took a step forward—
And plunged into the abyss.
Aarav's gaze swept across the gathered warriors. Every single one of them carried an aura of danger—some radiating raw physical strength, others shrouded in an unnatural stillness, their very presence distorting the air.
These were not ordinary fighters.
They were chosen—like him.
A low hum of conversation filled the space. Some fighters stood in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. Others eyed the competition in silence, calculating, waiting.
Aarav took a steady breath and stepped forward.
As soon as he did, a deep gong rang through the air.
The gathered warriors stiffened.
From the fortress gates, a figure emerged.
He was tall, draped in robes of deep blue, a golden sash tied around his waist. His face was obscured by a mask—smooth, featureless, save for a single vertical slit where his eyes should be. When he spoke, his voice carried across the entire courtyard, calm yet unshakable.
"Welcome, chosen warriors. You stand at the threshold of the Ashvattha Tournament. Beyond these gates, your fates shall be decided."
A ripple of energy pulsed from him, causing the very air to tremble.
Aarav felt the mark on his chest react—as if answering a silent call.
The masked figure continued.
"From this moment forward, you are no longer common men and women. You are contenders. Chosen by the will of this place. Bound to the rules of the Keepers."
The temperature seemed to drop.
The Keepers.
Aarav had heard their name whispered before—always in caution, always in fear. They were the unseen hands behind the tournament, the ones who decided who fought, who lived… and who disappeared without a trace.
The masked figure raised a hand.
"Your first trial begins now."
The ground shook.
A sudden rush of wind roared through the courtyard as the fortress gates swung open—revealing an abyss of swirling darkness beyond.
A murmur spread through the gathered warriors.
Some tensed, hands hovering near their weapons. Others smirked, as if they had been waiting for this moment.
Aarav clenched his fists.
Whatever was on the other side of that gate—whatever trial awaited them—he was ready.
No matter what.