the bronze trial: rise of the forgotten

The thick jungle canopy above blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving Sylas in a dim, humid haze. The air was suffocating, filled with the scent of damp earth and vegetation. The ground beneath him was uneven, tangled with roots and moss, and every step sent insects scurrying.

Sylas turned in a slow circle, his breaths shallow as he took in his surroundings. This place felt alive, but not in the comforting way of a thriving forest. It was hostile, the kind of alive that watched, waited, and hunted.

"Ana?" he called out, his voice cracking. The jungle swallowed the sound. "Mom? Dad?"

There was no answer.

His heart hammered in his chest as the reality of his situation set in. He was alone, dropped into an alien environment without any explanation. The mark on his hand pulsed faintly, a soft bronze glow that seemed almost reassuring in the gloom.

He stared at it, his mind racing. The Stele had marked him. Nathaniel's words echoed in his head: "The Trial begins now."

"What is this place?" Sylas muttered, clenching his fist.

Before he could think further, a distant roar cut through the jungle. The sound was deep and guttural, vibrating through the air and into his chest. It wasn't human.

Sylas froze, every instinct screaming at him to move, but his legs refused to obey. The roar came again, closer this time. Leaves rustled, and the ground trembled faintly beneath his feet.

"Move," he whispered to himself. "Move!"

Finally, his body obeyed. He bolted in the opposite direction, crashing through the underbrush. Branches scraped his arms, and his feet slipped on the damp ground, but he didn't stop. The roar came again, followed by a sound like heavy footfalls.

Something was chasing him.

The jungle blurred around him as he ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could hear the creature behind him now, crashing through the foliage with terrifying force. Sylas didn't dare look back.

His foot caught on a root, and he went sprawling, hitting the ground hard. Pain shot through his palms as he scrambled to get up, his vision swimming.

The creature burst through the underbrush, and Sylas's heart nearly stopped.

It was massive, easily three times his height, with scaled skin that gleamed like polished stone. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and its jaws—lined with jagged, glistening teeth—opened in a bone-chilling snarl.

Sylas scrambled backward, his hands scraping against the rough ground. He could feel the beast's hot breath on his face, smell the metallic tang of its saliva.

This was it. He was going to die.

The creature lunged, and Sylas threw his arms up instinctively. He braced for the impact—but it never came.

Instead, the mark on his hand flared to life, its bronze light exploding outward in a brilliant flash. The creature let out a deafening roar, rearing back as if struck.

Sylas stared in disbelief as the light from his hand grew brighter, forming a faint, glowing barrier between him and the beast. The creature hesitated, its glowing eyes narrowing, before it turned and vanished back into the jungle.

The light faded, and Sylas collapsed onto the ground, trembling.

Minutes passed as Sylas struggled to catch his breath, his mind racing.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered, staring at the mark on his hand.

The whispering returned, faint but distinct, brushing against the edges of his consciousness. This time, it carried a single word: "Survive."

Sylas swallowed hard, his pulse still racing. He didn't know what the mark was or how it had saved him, but one thing was clear: this Trial wasn't going to give him any second chances.

He forced himself to his feet, wincing at the soreness in his muscles. His clothes were torn, and his arms were covered in scratches, but he was alive. For now.

"Survive," he muttered, glancing around. The jungle seemed even more oppressive now, its shadows deeper, its sounds sharper.

He needed a plan. If this was part of the Trial, then sitting around waiting for another monster to find him wasn't an option.

Sylas moved cautiously through the jungle, his senses on high alert. Every rustle of leaves, every distant call, sent a spike of adrenaline through his system. He kept his eyes peeled for anything useful—a weapon, food, water—but the jungle offered nothing but its suffocating hostility.

As he walked, the mark on his hand pulsed faintly, almost as if it were guiding him. He didn't know if he could trust it, but it was the only lead he had.

Hours passed, or at least it felt that way. The dense canopy above made it impossible to tell time. Sylas's stomach growled, and his throat was parched, but he pushed forward.

Finally, he stumbled upon a small clearing. In the center was a shallow pool of water, its surface glimmering faintly in the dim light.

Sylas hesitated, his instincts warning him that this was too good to be true. But his thirst won out. He approached the pool cautiously, kneeling at its edge.

The water was cool and clear, and he drank deeply, the relief immediate.

Then he saw it.

Reflected in the water's surface was a pair of glowing eyes.

Sylas spun around just as the creature leaped from the shadows, its claws slashing through the air.

The fight was over in seconds. Sylas's instincts took over, his body moving faster than he thought possible. The mark on his hand flared again, the bronze light forming a shield that deflected the creature's attack.

Without thinking, Sylas lashed out, his fist connecting with the creature's side. The light from his mark surged, and the creature let out a shriek before collapsing into the underbrush.

Sylas stood there, panting, his heart pounding in his ears. The creature was dead, its body lying still at his feet.

He stared at his glowing hand, the realization hitting him like a thunderclap.

The mark wasn't just a symbol. It was a weapon.

And if he was going to survive this Trial, he'd need to learn how to use it.

The jungle was alive with dangers, but Sylas was starting to understand the rules. The Stele had marked him for a reason—and if he wanted answers, he'd have to earn them.