The journey back to the capital should have taken four days.
Ari made it in two.
His wounds were barely healed. His leg still throbbed with every step, and dried blood cracked beneath his armor. But there was no time to waste—not with what he'd seen. The corrupted soldeirs. The black sun sigil. The voice in the mine that knew his name.
This wasn't just about Derath.
This was a message.
And he would not let it be ignored.
---
The sun hadn't yet risen when Ari passed through the obsidian gates of Valderra, the trial capital, its towers glinting in the early light. The guards recognized him immediately but said nothing. Their eyes widened at his bruises. They parted without question.
As he approached the Trial Keep, a young knight intercepted him.
"Prince Ari," the knight said stiffly. "You are summoned. Immediately. The royal court has requested your presence."
Ari's eyes narrowed. "The court?"
The knight didn't elaborate. Just pointed toward the southern tower.
Not the throne hall.
---
Ari was escorted into a stone chamber deep beneath the keep—where no light touched and no titles mattered. There, sitting behind a wide table of black marble, were five individuals cloaked in royal and military garb.
At the center sat King Caedryn Calvarin himself, robed in deep red. His eyes sharp as iron. His presence, thunder held back by restraint.
To his right was Lord Veydran, the magic knight who had once freed Ari from a prison cell.
And at the edges, three others—one a noblewoman from the Royal Circle, one a spymaster whose name was never spoken, and the last... A masked figure in white.
Not like the skull-faced one from the mine.
This mask was royal.
Ceremonial.
Ari stood tall despite the fatigue.
"You called me."
King Caedryn studied him.
"You arrived early. And alone. I assume your mission in Derath is complete?"
"No. It's just begun."
That earned the attention of everyone at the table.
Ari tossed a bloodied cloth onto the marble—a torn piece of a tunic with the black sun symbol faintly visible.
Veydran leaned forward. "Where did you get this?"
"From a corrupted soldier. One of ours. From House Veltrin. He and others were taken, twisted, used like puppets. I fought six in total—none of them human anymore. Something... someone... is turning peoples into weapons."
Silence fell over the room.
Then the masked figure on the end spoke. A deep, gravelly voice:
"You're sure they were people?"
"I recognized two. Others wore pieces of uniforms."
The spymaster tapped his fingers on the stone.
"This is the third report of missing soldiers near border villages. The first was dismissed. The second... buried."
"And the third?" Ari asked.
"Still deciding."
Ari stepped forward, fire in his voice. "There's nothing to decide. Someone is orchestrating this. A cult. A group. They knew I was coming. They even said my name."
The noblewoman leaned back. "Why you?"
"I don't know."
King Caedryn's voice rumbled, low and powerful. "I do."
Everyone turned.
The King locked eyes with Ari.
"Because you're the one the nobles fear."
Ari blinked.
"Because you are magicless. And yet you survived. And if you rise—if you claim the crown—every tradition, every noble bloodline that holds this kingdom together... will be threatened."
Ari's throat tightened.
"You sent me to that village," he said slowly. "You knew there was something darker waiting there."
"No," the King replied. "But I suspected something was moving. You confirmed it."
Veydran stood, placing a scroll on the table.
"Three other heirs were sent to rural zones this week. None have reported back. Two left trails of magical residue near similar symbols. All connected to the same sigil."
"The black sun," Ari said.
"Yes," Veydran nodded grimly. "A forgotten sect. We believe they are a splinter group from the Old Faith of the Nether Arks—a cult that was extinguished a century ago during the Mage Purge. But it seems their roots never died."
The spymaster added, "They may have infiltrated the Trial Board."
The room grew cold.
Ari's voice cut through it. "So what happens now? You hide this too?"
The King shook his head.
"We prepare."
He stood slowly.
"And you, Ari Calvarin, will be the first to strike back."
---
Later that evening, Ari sat alone atop the battlement wall of the southern keep, overlooking the gardens far below. The city shimmered under starlight, and torches danced along cobbled paths.
His hands were still stained with black blood.
Footsteps approached from behind.
He didn't turn.
"I was told you'd be here," Veydran said, his voice steady.
"I'm not in the mood for flattery."
"Good. I wasn't planning on it."
Ari finally glanced back.
Veydran walked forward, something in his hand. A long black scabbard. Elegant, plain. No jewels. No crest.
"This belonged to my brother," Veydran said, offering it.
"He died fighting the cults thirty years ago. I watched him burn two of them alive before they dragged him into a gate of shadows. They never found his body. But this was recovered."
Ari took the scabbard. Unsheathed the sword.
It was lighter than his trial weapon, but sharper. Smoother. It hummed with quiet power.
"He believed that power didn't belong to the gifted," Veydran continued. "He believed it belonged to the ones willing to sacrifice."
Ari held the sword against the moonlight.
"I don't want to be a king."
"Good," Veydran said. "Because kings who want crowns are usually the ones who burn the world to keep them."
Ari's jaw tightened. "What do you want from me?"
"To survive," Veydran said simply. "Because I believe the next time you face the black sun... it won't be alone. And it won't be in a mine. It'll be here. In the capital. Among your brothers."
---
The next day, news spread quietly through the camp.
Ari had returned.
He had survived.
But more than that—
He had killed corrupted soldiers.
Some said he fought ten. Others claimed he had met a sorcerer in the woods. Whispers of monsters and heretics began spreading.
Ari ignored them.
He returned to the training ground not for glory—but to keep moving.
To prepare.
The instructors, unusually respectful now, didn't call his name. They didn't need to.
He stepped into the sparring circle on his own.
And one by one—
Other heirs began to step back.
Fear was setting in.
Not because Ari was stronger.
But because he was still standing.
---
That night, as he sharpened his new sword under moonlight, a raven landed beside him. A scroll tied to its leg. Royal wax seal.
He broke it open.
> Mission: Classified.
Objective: Pursue trail of corrupted soldiers last seen near the city of Hollowmere. Report only to Commander Veydran.
Codename: "Midnight."
Ari folded the scroll, eyes narrowing.
There would be no more trials.
No more games.
The war had already begun.