The sky began to change. Clouds darkened as if they sensed something coming.

  The crowd, excited until then, now whispered nervously. The final trial was about to begin. The most feared one. The one that separated fools from true warriors.

  The Lone Hunt

  Each competitor would enter alone through the gates of the Dawn Forest — an enchanted, immense, shifting, and dangerous land.

  There, among living trees and roots that watched, dwelled creatures whose very names were enough to chill the blood:

  Gonlis, the gray crawler, treacherous as a shadow.

  Brakan, the night predator that devoured bones.

  Krotalus, the armored reptile that crushed shields.

  Egrun, the gray bear with black claws.

  And there were also rumors of older presences. Forgotten guardians. Beings that were no longer alive… yet not truly dead.

  The competitors entered the forest one by one.

  Outside, the crowd could see the swallows of light conjured by TinBell, each representing a participant’s life force. If a swallow flickered… it meant injury. If it went out… death.

  In the Patriarchs’ wing, the tension rose.

  TinBell bit her lower lip, her wings shimmering.

  — Something is wrong…

  Kotan Aspen rested his hand on the hilt of the frozen katana, Soul of Frost.

  — The mana… it pulses as if something is breathing. As if the forest doesn’t want them to leave.

  Rubya, the White Tigress, said nothing. But her tail arched, every hair bristling with predatory instinct.

  Inside the Forest

  Lukas breathed heavily as he pushed through twisted trees and blue moss. Roots shifted under his feet. The light was weak, filtered through black leaves.

  “Everything feels… too quiet.”

  A roar.

  Brakans leapt from the shadows, red eyes glowing, fangs bared.

  Lukas raised his training sword on reflex. The impact hurled him against a trunk.

  — AHHH! — he screamed, shoulder throbbing.

  Another Brakan closed in.

  But then…

  — LUKAS! — a voice he would recognize even in hell.

  Adriele.

  She burst through the trees, aura blazing, rapier in hand. The spiritual power inherited from the Valkyries wrapped her in a silver mantle.

  — Stay away from him! — she shouted, firm.

  The Brakans lunged. She moved with lethal precision. Three fell before they understood what happened.

  The fourth leapt at her — but Lukas, though injured, charged forward.

  With a roar, he used his body as a shield, knocking the beast aside with a desperate slash. Both crashed to the ground.

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  — I told you to run! — Adriele cried, breathless.

  — I… wouldn’t leave you alone, he answered, trembling.

  Around them, more red eyes lit the shadows. Dozens of Brakans.

  Adriele raised her rapier with both hands. Lukas knelt at her side, bloodied.

  — Even if this is the end… he muttered.

  — It’s not yet, she answered, planting her feet. — As long as we’re together… it’s not over.

  On the city walls

  Rubya sprinted along the Capital’s walls, sniffing the air. Suddenly, she stopped.

  — I know this scent… she murmured.

  From the shadows, a voice rose:

  — I missed you, White Tigress.

  Langris Beika. One of the exiled generals. An eyepatch gleamed. A deep scar cut across his abdomen — a gift from their last duel.

  — I should’ve killed you in that war, Rubya growled.

  — And I should’ve carved you to pieces, he sneered. — But today… we fix that mistake.

  They hurled themselves at each other. The impact cracked the stone beneath their feet.

  In the high city

  The sky darkened. But it wasn’t night. It was an omen.

  A sound split the heavens.

  A roar. One single roar.

  The black dragon flew above the Castle of the Seasons.

  The walls shook. Houses collapsed. Fire rained from the skies like a living curse.

  Panic spread.

  — PROTECT THE PEOPLE! — Kyros thundered, his aura exploding like a storm.

  At his side, Kotan raised Soul of Frost. When the dragon dove, he carved an arc through the air.

  A wave of frozen steel soared upward, slashing one of the beast’s wings.

  The dragon shrieked, its tail smashing into the walls.

  Part of the castle collapsed.

  — You won’t pass! — Kyros roared. — Even if I have to kill you all by myself!

  Across the Capital

  Portals ripped open like cracks in the fabric of the world.

  Monsters spilled out: orcs, ogres, snow beasts. Northern troops. Ancient ferals. Nameless abominations.

  And among them, a man walked.

  Fabrísio Scadia.

  Long hair. Eyes as dark as a thinking abyss. He held a longsword, fresh blood dripping from its edge.

  His destination: the emperor’s improvised throne.

  — Your Majesty… he said, stopping a few steps away. — It’s time to pay for the Empire’s sins.

  Six of Kyros’s captains stood before the emperor. Catarina, Naira, Lancelot, Gerald, Draken, Elena.

  None stepped back.

  The emperor’s voice stayed firm:

  — You will never win.

  Fabrísio only smiled.

  — Today… history dies with you.

  The clash began. Blood. Fire. Chaos.

  The Night of Despair had begun.

  End of Chapter 9