the bronze trial: rise of the forgotten

Sylas knelt beside the creature's lifeless body, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was fading, leaving behind the dull ache of exhaustion and the sting of scratches from the jungle's unforgiving terrain.

The creature was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its hide was dark, almost obsidian, with ridges running along its spine. Its glowing eyes, now dimmed, had been its most unnerving feature. Up close, he could see its claws—sharp, serrated, and designed for killing.

He swallowed hard, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. Whatever this Trial was, it wasn't just a test of intellect or endurance. It was survival in its most brutal form.

The mark on his hand still glowed faintly, its warmth a strange comfort in the oppressive jungle. Sylas flexed his fingers, staring at the intricate patterns. This mark was the only thing keeping him alive, but he had no idea how it worked—or why it had chosen him.

He rose to his feet, wincing as he stretched his aching limbs. The faint whispers in his mind returned, their meaning elusive but insistent. He could almost feel the Stele's presence, distant yet ever-watchful.

"Why me?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

There was no answer.

Sylas scanned the jungle around him, his senses sharper now. The clearing felt too exposed, too vulnerable. He needed to move, to find shelter or a defensible position.

As he prepared to leave, his gaze fell on the creature's body once more. A thought struck him: Tools. Weapons.

The creature's claws and teeth could be useful, but the idea of cutting into its flesh made his stomach churn. Still, survival didn't leave room for hesitation.

Gritting his teeth, Sylas grabbed a sharp rock from the ground and began his grim work. The process was slow and messy, but he managed to pry loose a few claws and a jagged piece of bone. They weren't ideal weapons, but they were better than nothing.

With his makeshift tools in hand, Sylas turned his attention to the jungle. The mark on his hand pulsed again, faint but steady, as if guiding him.

"Alright," he said under his breath. "Let's see where this leads."

The jungle seemed to shift around him as he walked, its dense foliage pressing in closer. Sylas kept his movements deliberate, his eyes scanning for threats. The sounds of the jungle—chirping insects, rustling leaves, distant roars—kept him on edge.

After what felt like hours, he stumbled upon something that made him stop in his tracks.

A structure.

It was ancient, overgrown with moss and vines, but unmistakably man-made. The stones were massive, arranged in a circular formation, with symbols etched into their surfaces. The air around the structure felt different—heavier, charged with an energy that made the hairs on the back of Sylas's neck stand on end.

"What is this place?" he murmured, stepping closer.

The mark on his hand flared as he approached, the light intensifying with each step. The whispers in his mind grew louder, more coherent.

"Step forward."

Sylas hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. But curiosity—and desperation—pushed him onward.

As he entered the circle, the symbols on the stones began to glow, their light matching the bronze hue of his mark. The air vibrated, and a deep hum filled the clearing.

Then, a voice spoke—not in whispers, but clear and resonant, echoing in his mind.

"Welcome, Initiate. You have been chosen to partake in the Trial of Ascension."

Sylas's breath caught. "Who's there? What is this Trial?"

The voice ignored his questions. "The Trial is a test of worthiness, of strength, and of resolve. Each step will push you closer to the truth—or to your end."

The symbols on the stones shifted, forming a map-like pattern. At its center was a glowing point, pulsing with light.

"Follow the path. Prove your worth. Succeed, and you will ascend. Fail, and you will be forgotten."

The light dimmed, and the voice faded, leaving Sylas alone once more.

Sylas stared at the map, his mind racing. The glowing point on the map was clear—a destination—but what waited for him there was anyone's guess.

"This just keeps getting better," he muttered, shaking his head.

He studied the map for a few more moments, committing its details to memory. The jungle around him was vast and unforgiving, but the map gave him a direction—a purpose.

Clenching his makeshift weapons, Sylas set off toward the marked location.

The journey was grueling. The jungle seemed to resist his progress, its terrain growing steeper and more treacherous with every step. He encountered more creatures—some small and skittish, others large and menacing—but he managed to avoid most of them.

His mark pulsed occasionally, its light guiding him through the dense foliage. It was a strange sensation, like an invisible hand steering him away from danger and toward the path he needed to take.

Hours passed, or perhaps longer. Time had become meaningless in this endless maze of green.

Finally, Sylas reached the base of a massive tree. Its trunk was wider than any building he'd ever seen, and its branches stretched high into the canopy, disappearing from view. At its base was an opening, carved into the wood and lined with glowing symbols.

The mark on his hand flared brightly, and the whispers returned.

"Enter."

Sylas hesitated. The opening was dark, its depths impossible to see. But turning back wasn't an option.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The air inside the tree was cool and dry, a stark contrast to the humid jungle. The glow from the symbols illuminated a narrow path, leading deeper into the hollow trunk.

As Sylas walked, he felt a presence—a weight pressing down on him. He wasn't alone here.

The path ended abruptly, opening into a circular chamber. At its center was a pedestal, and atop the pedestal was a small, glowing crystal.

The mark on Sylas's hand pulsed violently, the whispers in his mind turning into a cacophony.

"Take it. Prove your resolve."

Sylas stepped forward cautiously, his hand reaching out toward the crystal. The air around it shimmered, and he could feel its energy radiating outward.

The moment his fingers touched the crystal, the chamber erupted in light.

Pain lanced through Sylas's body as the light engulfed him, and the whispers became a roar. Images flashed through his mind—memories, visions, fragments of something larger.

He saw himself standing atop a massive structure, the Stele hovering above him. He saw the jungle in flames, creatures fleeing as the ground cracked and split. He saw… Ana, her face pale and frightened, reaching out for him.

Then, darkness.

When Sylas opened his eyes, he was lying on the ground, the crystal clutched in his hand. The mark on his hand was glowing brighter than ever, its warmth spreading through his body.

He didn't know what had just happened, but one thing was clear.

The Trial was far from over.