Dawn broke over Arechi like a wound reopening. Ash and light intertwined, painting the ruins in tones of dusted gold. The city exhaled—slow, weary, ancient. From the shattered terraces to the crooked towers, every brick seemed to whisper the same thing: another night survived.
The bridge loomed before them like a scar across the dead horizon. Mist coiled above the abyss, swallowing sound and color, leaving only the whisper of the wind and the pulse of unease in Midarion's chest.
Each step echoed against the pale stone, hollow and uncertain. Reikika walked close beside him, eyes scanning the fog ahead. Behind them, Elhyra's robes swayed like ghost light—silent, steady, reassuring.
Beyond the bridge, Arechi's ruins sprawled—half-buried towers, crooked arches, and the bones of a civilization that had chosen silence over surrender. And there, at its deepest heart, stood The Black Post.
Smoke rose from lanterns hung on iron poles. Shouts, laughter, and clinking coins merged into a low, living hum. The air smelled of metal, sweat, and sin.
Midarion swallowed hard. "Elhyra… is this the place? "His voice trembled before he could stop it. The place felt alive—and wrong. Like something watching from the dark.
Elhyra nodded once. "We've arrived. The Black Post. It was built by those who walked away from the heavens' mercy. "If they accept you, this is where you'll stay. "Her tone carried a weight that silenced further questions.
Reikika's hands tightened into small fists. "I don't want you to leave us."
Elhyra hesitated—just a heartbeat. Her eyes softened.
"You'll understand soon."
They stepped through a narrow archway, and the noise softened, almost respectfully. A woman waited near a wooden counter, her presence strangely bright amid the gloom.
Warm smile. Chestnut hair tied neatly, a silver pen glinting like a star pinned to her hair. Round glasses that reflected every flicker of lanternlight. She looked so harmless that for a heartbeat, Midarion wondered if they were in the wrong place.
"Welcome to the Black Post," she said softly. Her voice carried warmth like sunlight through old glass. "I've been expecting you."
Reikika blinked. "You… knew we were coming?"
The woman smiled again. "Selina Marrow. Secretary of the Black Post."
Her pen moved before she finished speaking, dancing over a small black book titled Fate in white paint.
No one spoke. The pen scratched, whispering through the silence, drawing strange sigils Midarion couldn't decipher.
After a short silence—snap. She closed the book.
"I'm afraid you can't join the Post yet," she said lightly.
Midarion frowned. "What? Why not?"
"Because," Selina said, eyes glinting behind her glasses, "you haven't been tested. The Black Post requests proof of resolve."
Reikika's breath hitched. "Tested… how?"
Selina smiled again, this time almost kindly. "You'll see soon. There's an old town near the bridge. Wait there. Someone will come for you."
And just like that, she returned to her writing—ink dancing, voices ignored, as if they'd never been there.
Elhyra placed a hand on Midarion's shoulder. "Come. Let's go."
They left without another word. The noise of the Black Post faded behind them, replaced by the hiss of wind through ruins.
The old town was nothing more than cracked stone and collapsed roofs. A hollow bell tower leaned like a tired sentinel. Mist rolled over the broken streets, swallowing their footsteps.
Reikika shivered. "What kind of test is this?"
Elhyra faced them. "The kind that shows whether you're worthy to stand in the shadows of the Black Post." Her voice faltered—barely. "This is where I leave you."
Midarion froze. "You're leaving—now? Elhyra, wait—"
He felt suddenly ten years younger, small again, abandoned.
Her eyes glistened with something like guilt. Or fear.But she said only:
"Whatever comes… face it."
Then she stepped back.
Into the mist.
And was gone.
A voice cut through the fog. Calm. Slightly amused.
"So these are the candidates?"
A man stepped from the mist.
Long black hair tied back. Scarlet eyes like tempered steel. Tattoos crawled down his arms and neck, pulsing faintly with light. He wore dark robes and a red katana slung across his back.
He smiled—lazy and dangerous. "Name's RenTameemon. You'll be fighting me."
Reikika's eyes widened. "We're fighting you?"
"Unless you'd rather run." His tone was teasing, but his presence pressed down on them like a storm about to break.
Midarion's pulse roared. This man's aura felt… different. Controlled. Lethal. Every instinct screamed to step back. But he didn't.
He met Ren's eyes and saw—not an enemy, but a wall he had to climb.
"I'll fight," he said before fear could swallow the words.
Ren's grin widened. "Good answer."
He loosened his robe, reached into it, and tossed two weapons to the ground—one slender dagger, one short katana.
"Pick them up," he said. "Show me your resolve."
They obeyed.
The air shifted.
Ren's fingers brushed his own hilt. "Try not to die."
He moved.
A flicker—too fast. His foot barely touched the ground before the sound came: steel cutting air, precise enough to slice the silence in half.
Midarion barely brought his dagger up in time. Sparks burst. His arm shook.
Reikika leapt in from the side. Ren pivoted, flicked her blade free, and sent her skidding backward.
Effortless. Lethal. He wasn't even trying.
Midarion swung wildly—missed—and the flat of Ren's blade cracked across his shoulder, numbing his arm.
Ren sighed. "Pathetic. Is this really all you've got?"
He twirled his sword lazily. "You know, the contract's simple. If I win, I take the dragon. If I lose, you can then join the Black Post."
Midarion froze. "What did you say?"
Ren smirked. "The little dragon, Keel, right? Never seen one up close. They say their scales shine like stars. I wonder how loud they scream."
Something snapped inside Midarion.
He charged, shouting. "You won't touch him!"
Ren stepped aside, letting him pass, then kicked him hard in the ribs. Midarion hit the ground, breath stolen.
Reikika threw herself at Ren again—faster, lower. He almost seemed surprised when her blade grazed his arm.
He laughed."Not bad."
Then he blurred. Reikika crashed into the dust, wind knocked out, Ren's blade descending—
—but a dagger intercepted it.
Steel met steel with a ringing crack.
Midarion stood between them, blood running from his lip, arms trembling—but unbroken.
"Move, Reikika!"
She rolled aside, weapon reclaimed. Together, they struck. Their movements weren't trained. They weren't skilled.
They were willing.
And that was enough.
Reikika's blade clipped his shoulder. Midarion's dagger forced him to shift. Their timing aligned—not from practice, but from trust and fear and raw instinct.
Ren stepped back, touched the cut on his shoulder… and smiled.
"I see."
Dust swirled around him. His aura sharpened.
"You two…"
His eyes glowed faintly.
"…might actually survive this place."
He then murmured a formula. Seconds later, Ren vanished—no, multiplied. Above, behind, beside—each strike faster than sound. He rode the wind itself, moving like a phantom storm. Midarion felt the blade graze his back, heat and pain blooming—but he twisted, countered, barely dodged a killing strike.
The ground split where he passed. The air screamed. He struck at Reikika again and again—testing, breaking, wearing her down.
Midarion and Reikika's hearts pounded. They couldn't keep up.
Seconds later, they lay bruised, unconscious, weapons fallen.
This time, they did not rise.
Ren stood over them, calm again, sliding his katana into its sheath.
"Well," he said lightly, "that was entertaining."
For a moment, all was still.
Then he turned toward the small cage where Keel whimpered, wings twitching. Each step echoed with quiet menace.
Reikika was the first to move—a twitch, then a push, then a trembling rise to her feet. She could barely stand. Blood streaked her cheek. Her vision wavered.
But she turned.
And placed herself between Ren and the covered cage.
Her small body—a shield.
Even unconsciousness tugging at her.
Midarion also forced his body to move. Pain screamed. He stood in front of the cage, shaking. "Don't," he gasped, staring at Ren
He staggered to Reikika's side.
"Take me instead. Take me as a slave. I'll be useful to you—I promise."
Ren blinked. "You'd offer yourself as a slave? Why would I need you? You're too weak to be of use."
Midarion's fists clenched. "If it keeps them safe… yes. I'll do whatever it takes. I just want them to have a good life."
For a moment, silence. Then Reikika stumbled beside him, tears running freely. "Take me instead," she cried. "I'll be more useful than him and Keel. Just don't hurt them!"
Midarion's voice cracked. "No. I'll do anything. Slave. Test subject. Kill me if you want. Just don't hurt them."
The words hung in the cold air.
Raw. Terrified. Unfiltered.
Ren's expression was unreadable.
Then his eyes softened. "…You're both fools" He said as he stepped closer.
They didn't flinch.
His hand extended—
Then stopped, five meters short of the dragon.
Ren exhaled. "You pass."
They froze. "What…?"
He smiled faintly. "I never cared about winning. The test wasn't about strength—it was about resolve."
Elhyra appeared behind them, robes brushing the dust. Her eyes shimmered with quiet pride. "You did well."
Midarion's legs gave out. Tears fell without warning—anger, exhaustion, relief. He'd wanted to prove his strength, but it was his weakness that saved them. Elhyra knelt beside him. "In the Black Post, strength comes later. What matters first is what burns inside."
Ren adjusted his blade. "You've got that fire. Keep it."
"It is now time to go." as he walked past them
Elhyra helped them stand. "Come. The Black Post waits."
They crossed the bridge again, step by step, until the massive doors of the Black Post loomed ahead—black metal carved with a blue raven, wings spread wide.
The lanterns flared blue.
Midarion looked up, heart pounding, exhaustion melting into something else.
Resolve.
The doors groaned open, swallowing the light.
And for the first time, the children stepped into the shadows of the Black Post.