The Hall of Heroes breathed silence.
Built into the heart of the mountain, it stood like a sanctum untouched by time, its cold stone walls echoing with whispers of past titans. Twelve towering statues lined either side of the corridor, each carved from black obsidian and gilded with faint traces of aura residue that shimmered in low light. Nine bore golden plaques. Three stood blank waiting.
Thalen stepped forward slowly, his boots clicking softly on the polished floor. Every footfall felt sacrilegious.
"These are the Nine," Velis said behind him, his voice quiet but steady. "Living wielders of the Tyrant Spirit."
Thalen's eyes swept across them. Each statue bore the likeness of its respective legend: warriors, sages, assassins, commanders. One statue loomed with a heavy shield and hammer, its massive form scarred with old aura burns; another stood cloaked in flowing robes, eyes closed, hands held in a silent prayer.
But one held his gaze longer than the rest.
She stood with twin curved blades on her back, her sculpted form caught mid-step, cloak caught in an unseen wind. Her plaque read:
Veyra — The Wind of Severance.
Thalen's throat tightened.
"She trained in Blade Aura," Velis offered, stepping beside him. "Fastest swordswoman ever recorded. It's said she once severed a warship in half before anyone noticed she moved."
"What happened to her?" Thalen asked.
"Vanished after the Frost Rebellion. Twelve years ago. No body. No remains. Just gone. Some think she died. Others… believe she ascended to something higher."
Thalen reached out, brushing fingers across the statue's cold stone hand. He could feel it residual aura. Like a ripple through reality, long since calmed but not forgotten.
"This hall… it feels like it's watching me."
"It is," Velis said. "Not the statues. The will of those who passed the trial. When you awaken your Tyrant Spirit, if you survive long enough, you'll return here. You'll see your statue among them."
"And the empty pedestal?" Thalen asked, pointing toward the center of the hall, where a solitary block of obsidian stood. Unmarked. Unnamed.
"That one's for the one who surpasses all nine. The Tenth."
Thalen swallowed. "Is that possible?"
"No one knows."
A long pause followed.
Then Velis turned to him fully. "You've been summoned. The Circle has taken notice of you. The Seven active members of the Nine want to meet."
Thalen blinked. "Now?"
Velis offered a slight smile. "Now."
The Circle Chamber was nothing like Thalen had imagined.
Suspended high above the Citadel, open to the wind and stars, it resembled an arena more than a council room. Nine thrones stood in a semicircle beneath a glass dome veined with gold. Each seat radiated power so dense it distorted the air.
Seven were filled.
Seven legends.
Seven wielders of the Tyrant Spirit.
Velis led him to the center platform. "Don't speak unless spoken to," he whispered. "And don't try to measure their power. It'll crush your lungs."
Thalen stood still, hands at his sides, heartbeat loud in his ears.
The man in the central throne leaned forward. He had a thick grey beard braided in two strands and eyes like molten steel.
"You are the one called Thalen," he said.
"Yes, sir," Thalen replied, voice steady despite the weight around him.
"You passed the preliminary stage of the Tyrant Spirit Exam," another voice said this one from a woman seated to the left, garbed in crimson robes and surrounded by a gentle haze of flame. "Impressive. Only fifty-seven candidates even survive the entrance trial. Only twelve have made it to the Circle in the past five years."
The youngest-looking among them snorted. He wore silver gauntlets and a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So, we're doing this again? Another kid who thinks training hard is enough."
"Silas," the bearded man said, "let him speak."
Thalen took a breath. "I never claimed I was special. I know what I'm not. But I trained. I bled. I pushed past everything I feared, because I didn't want to be a burden to those stronger than me. I don't chase power for the sake of power. I chase it so I can protect the people who once had to protect me."
Silence.
Then the woman in crimson laughed softly. Not mockingly. Approvingly.
"You'll do," she said.
The man with glowing tattoos along his forearms leaned forward next. "Tell me, Thalen what is your primary aura?"
"Blade Aura, sir."
A few raised eyebrows.
Silas actually laughed. "So you're not just weak you started with a scrap aura."
The flame woman raised a hand, and a gust of pressure silenced him.
"The Blade is not weak," she said. "It's sharp. Focused. It cuts through illusion and fear. You should be so lucky to remember what simplicity offers, Silas."
Velis stepped forward. "He will be placed under my supervision. Trained in combat and control. If the second trial is cleared, the Tyrant Spirit may choose him."
The bearded man stood. "Then it is decided. Thalen of the Blade. You may proceed."
And like that, the pressure in the room eased. Slightly.
Thalen bowed. "Thank you. I won't waste this chance."
As Velis led him away, Thalen could feel their eyes following. Measuring. Calculating.
He wasn't just another name anymore.
He was a contender.
That evening, he stood alone on the Citadel's western balcony, the stars like scattered embers above him. His sword rested against the railing. Not special. Just steel. It had carried him through battles, but he could already feel it falling behind.
He whispered to it, "Not yet. You'll rise with me. Or not at all."
Velis joined him silently, two cups of steam rising from the tea he carried.
"They'll train you. Test you. Break you."
"I'm ready."
"No, you're not," Velis said. "But you will be."
A beat.
"Why did you really take me on, Velis?"
"Because the last time I saw someone with your eyes," the Warden murmured, "they changed the world. And because I've waited a long time to see the blade sharpen itself."
Thalen said nothing.
The wind carried the scent of snow and steel.
Tomorrow, the trial would begin.