I have watched rituals end not with revelation, but with slaughter. The closer a trial comes to its conclusion, the more desperate its contenders become, and desperation sharpens cruelty faster than any blade.
The final days of the first three months crept through the forest like a held breath.
Somewhere deeper within the woods, the masked man moved.
Ten bodies lay scattered in a rough circle, blood soaking into the roots and leaves. None had seen him coming. Some had weapons raised. Others had been pleading. It had made no difference. He stood among them now, mask streaked with red. His breathing was steady. Calm.
He tilted his head slightly.
He could feel Erias.
Not the way one senses prey, but the way a storm senses another storm on the horizon. Close. Growing. Dangerous.
"Soon," he murmured, and stepped back into the trees.
Erias moved through the forest with a rhythm that would have been unthinkable weeks earlier.
Beasts that once demanded full focus now fell quickly. Their attacks were predictable, their movements easy to read. Where once Erias had fought to survive, now he fought to clear a path.
Lira and Shylis moved with him.
They had become a unit.
Lira struck first, fast and decisive. Shylis had grown more confident, his movements cleaner, his fear tempered by experience. Erias remained at the center, watching, calculating, guiding them deeper into the forest with quiet gestures rather than words.
A beast lunged from the underbrush.
Erias stepped aside, caught it under the jaw with a short upward strike, and drove his dagger through its skull before it hit the ground.
"Too easy," Shylis muttered, wiping his blade.
Erias didn't answer.
Something itched at the back of his mind.
A pressure.
The sensation of being watched.
He slowed, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. The forest looked the same as always ancient, tangled, alive but his instincts refused to settle.
Someone is close, he thought.
Not a beast.
Not a frightened participant.
Something deliberate.
His thoughts were interrupted by movement ahead.
Figures stepped into view, blocking the narrow path between two massive trees. Six of them. All wearing dark cloaks embroidered with a symbol Erias recognized instantly: a twisted sigil of laughter and broken mirrors.
The trickster god.
A god whose followers despised Torvas and everything he represented.
Erias' grip tightened on his dagger.
"Stay alert," he said quietly.
The men did not draw weapons. Instead, the leader stepped forward, his posture relaxed, his smile thin and knowing.
"Well," the man said, "looks like we found him."
Erias kept his stance low and ready. "How did you enter the ritual?"
The leader laughed softly.
"I knew where the ritual would be held long before the High Priest ever lit the flames," he said. "My god sees paths others don't. I hid here, cloaked by his blessing, before your priests ever sent you scurrying into the woods."
He tilted his head slightly. "I've killed many of your fellow participants already."
The words landed like poison.
Anger flared through Erias, hot and immediate.
He moved.
Erias charged forward, blade flashing, intent focused entirely on ending the man in front of him. But the leader was already gone.
The man slipped past Erias' strike with unnatural speed, reappearing behind him in the same heartbeat. A fist slammed into Erias' side, hard enough to lift him off his feet.
Pain exploded through his ribs.
He hit the ground and rolled, breath knocked from his lungs.
"Erias!" Lira shouted.
Shylis moved to his side. "Are you okay?"
Erias pushed himself up, teeth clenched. "I'm fine."
The leader watched them with amused eyes.
"Interesting," he said. "You're stronger than most. But not strong enough."
His gaze shifted to Lira and Shylis.
Something dark flickered behind his smile.
Both of them raised their guards instantly.
They could feel it now.
The intent.
Not hunger.
Not survival.
Cruelty.
The leader's companions began to spread out, forming a loose semicircle.
Erias forced himself to his feet, pain radiating through his side. His eyes never left the leader.
This was no desperate contender.
This was something else.
And the forest held its breath once more.