The Trial of Embers
The Hall of Echoes trembled as High Sentinel Alaric slammed his staff against the obsidian floor. Jacob Reed stood among twenty initiates, his obsidian pendant cold against his chest. Above them loomed a stained-glass window depicting the Cataclysm—a jagged shard splitting a continent into floating isles.
"Survive the Elements, or Perish in Silence."
Alaric's gaze swept over the recruits, lingering on Jacob. "The Trials begin with Fire. Those who falter…" He gestured to a grate in the floor, where molten rock glowed far below. "…will feed the Forge."
Lysandra Crowne, her blonde hair woven with light-emitting crystals, sneered at Jacob. "How long before the peasant faints? Ten seconds? Five?" Her golden staff ignited, casting shadows across her sharp features.
Flames and Fury
The initiates were herded into the Forge Sanctum—a cavernous chamber crisscrossed by stone bridges over magma rivers. Tara Flint, the blacksmith apprentice, tossed Jacob a heat-resistant gauntlet. "Don't die. I hate scrubbing ash off the floor."
Fire sigils flared to life. Lysandra danced across her bridge, flames curling obediently around her. Jacob's first step sent sparks recoiling. The pendant burned, and a violet surge erupted, freezing the magma beneath him into glassy veins.
"Stop choking the fire!" Tara barked from a neighboring bridge. "Let it flow through you, idiot!"
Jacob closed his eyes. The world narrowed to the crackling rhythm. This time, when he reached, the flames resonated—not with warmth, but with the pendant's icy hunger.
Whispers in the Dark
That night, Jacob awoke to a knife at his throat. Silas Vorne, the storm-eyed mage, leaned close. "The Order wants your Shard to repeat the Sundering. Run, boy."
Before Jacob could respond, shouts erupted outside. They found Lysandra convulsing in the courtyard, her once-golden magic now inky tendrils devouring a training dummy. Alaric arrived, his face unreadable. "Contain her. The Shard's corruption spreads faster than anticipated."
Winds of Deceit
At dawn, Tara dragged Jacob to a wind-scoured cliff. "Skystriding's simple. Jump, and don't die." She shoved him off the edge.
Wind roared in his ears. The pendant flared, and Jacob strode—not flew—across the chasm. Tara's laughter followed. "Told you it's easy!"
Yet as they landed, Jacob spotted Alaric watching from a tower, a map glowing in his hands. Four islands pulsed on it, three silver… and one, faintly violet, where Stormspire shouldn't be.
"Next trial's Water," Tara said, oblivious. "Try not to drown."
But Jacob's eyes stayed locked on the tower. What else is the Order hiding?