The sanctuary seemed to pulse with life the next morning. Not the comforting warmth of sunlight, but a heartbeat—low, constant, and ancient. Azael could feel it in his bones. It was as though the stone walls themselves were watching him, testing him, judging whether he was worthy of the legacy carved into their surface.
Selene greeted him in the training hall—a massive circular room lit by floating crimson lanterns. The floor was made of obsidian, cracked with glowing veins of red. At its center stood a dais with five pillars, each carved with a different beast: a serpent, a lion, a raven, a hound, and a dragon.
"You said you wanted to train," Selene said, her voice sharp as the dagger at her belt. "Then today, you face the Blood Trials."
"What are they?" Azael asked, eyeing the pillars.
"A test of your body, mind, and soul. Every Virex heir has undergone them. Most failed. The trials will reach into your blood and tear out the truth of who you are."
"Sounds dramatic."
"Good. It should."
She moved to a carved panel and placed her palm against it. The pillars came alive—runes igniting, beasts roaring to life. Shadows spilled from the dais, spreading across the obsidian floor until it resembled the night sky. Azael felt a pull at his chest, like something inside him was being summoned forward.
Selene turned to him, her eyes glowing faintly. "Step into the circle. And remember: the trials don't just test strength. They test will."
Azael took a breath and stepped forward.
The world shifted.
---
He stood in darkness. Not empty, but alive. Voices whispered in tongues he didn't understand, yet felt carved into his bones. A red moon hung above him, bathing the land in an eerie glow. He stood on a bridge made of bone, stretching across an endless chasm.
A figure awaited him at the far end—tall, cloaked in shadows. Its face was obscured by a mask of obsidian, etched with Virex runes.
"Who are you?" Azael asked.
"I am the Mirror," it replied. "I show what you deny."
The Mirror raised a hand. A clone of Azael appeared before him—but not the boy who'd just awakened. This version wore black armor, eyes glowing red, blood coiling around his arms like serpents.
"Do you fear what you'll become?" the Mirror asked.
Azael hesitated. "No."
"Liar."
The armored Azael attacked. Their blades clashed—one made of steel, the other of blood. Every movement mirrored, every blow matched. It was like fighting himself—his rage, his fears, his desire for power.
He fought not to win, but to understand.
Finally, he disarmed the clone and pinned him.
The Mirror spoke again. "Power without purpose is ruin."
The clone vanished.
---
Azael stumbled back into the real world, drenched in sweat. The first pillar—marked by the raven—dimmed.
Selene handed him water. "You survived the Trial of the Mind."
"Barely."
She smirked. "Then it's time for the next."
Over the next hours—or days, he couldn't tell—Azael faced trial after trial. Each one forced him to confront pieces of himself he'd buried. In the Trial of the Beast, he faced his primal instincts and nearly lost control. In the Trial of Blood, he had to navigate a maze made of his memories, twisted and poisoned by guilt.
The final trial—the Trial of Fire—brought him face-to-face with the past. A burning house. Screams. A woman's voice calling his name. And flames devouring everything.
"My mother," he whispered.
The vision blurred. He reached for her, but she turned to ash.
He screamed.
And the fire consumed him.
But when it cleared, he stood tall—scarred, but not broken.
---
When Azael awoke again, all five pillars had gone dark.
Selene kneeled beside him, her hand on his chest.
"You passed."
"I saw her," he murmured. "My mother. She… she tried to protect me."
"She died sealing your bloodline. Her sacrifice kept the Court from finding you."
Azael sat up. "Then I owe her everything."
"You owe her vengeance."
His eyes burned crimson.
"Then I'll burn the Court to the ground."
Stay tuned!