The Hollow Spire

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the cracked stone tiles of the training yard. Tension crackled in the air like a thunderstorm yet to break.

Zalthor stood with arms crossed, his dark eyes focused on the obstacle course ahead. "We've got less than twenty-four hours," he muttered, glancing at his teammates. "We're not going in there to win. We're going in to survive."

Lucien, his gauntlets coated with newly hardened earth, slammed his fists together. "I'll shape the ground itself if I have to," he said calmly. "The Dungeon Trial isn't about elegance. It's a battlefield."

Zyra stretched her arms overhead, flames curling gently off her fingertips. "I say we burn our way through. That dungeon won't know what hit it."

Elowyn, the quietest of the squad, stood off to the side, her staff gently glowing with soft blue light. She was reading a scroll on rare dungeon toxins. "We'll need to be cautious. The deeper levels are said to warp Aether. It could affect our healing and combat flow…"

Zalthor glanced at them all, but he couldn't ignore the empty fifth space in their circle.

No Nizara.

He hadn't shown up since the surveillance incident. They had all heard rumors—whispers of what happened beyond the tournament grounds in the Forest of Death. The clash with the Obsidian Reign cult. The fact that Nizara was being watched 24/7. And now… his silence.

"He should be with us," Zyra muttered.

"No," Zalthor replied. "He can't be. Not after what happened. They've practically declared him a wildcard. A threat."

Lucien lowered his voice. "Do you think he's alright?"

Zalthor didn't answer. He couldn't.

MEANWHILE…

The room was cold. Stone walls, no windows, and only a single Aether lamp glowing dimly from above.

Nizara sat alone, his coat hung beside him, bare-chested, covered in scars—new and old. The fight with the Obsidian Reign cult had left him bruised. His ribs still ached. His left hand trembled faintly when he tightened it into a fist.

He had no allies here.

The guards outside barely said a word. Just watched. Waited. As if daring him to snap again.

A paper had been delivered hours ago—sealed with the royal crest.

Dungeon Trial — Round Two.

Location: The Hollow Spire.

Objective: Descend to the final floor and retrieve the artifact of light.

Teams may form alliances. Any betrayal will not be punished. Survive.

He scoffed under his breath. "Survive. That's what I've always done."

Nizara moved to the center of the room. He dropped into a stance and began to train. One step. Then another. Aether surged through him, crackling blue like a lightning storm trapped in skin. His body screamed in protest, but his mind remained cold.

The voice that once haunted him—the corrupted entity—was silent now. But he knew it watched. Waited. Always waiting for the next moment of weakness.

Not today.

Not ever again.

Later that night, they sat in silence beneath the stars.

"Kairo's scouting already," Zalthor said. "He'll be entering through a secondary route. The tunnels beneath the dungeon."

Zyra scoffed. "Always slipping through the back door, huh?"

"He's not wrong to do it," Elowyn said softly. "The front entrance will be watched. And the artifact—whatever it is—isn't going to be unguarded."

Lucien leaned forward. "What about Nizara?"

Zalthor shook his head. "He'll find a way."

"I'm worried about him," Elowyn whispered

Zalthor stared at the moon. "So am I."

The next morning, High Commander Seraphina adjusted her uniform as she walked into the command deck. Elara stood at the holographic map, her face bathed in a pale blue glow.

"Anything unusual during the night?" Seraphina asked, her voice sharp.

Elara nodded. "No contact from the Squad Z members or Kairo. Their mana signatures are masked. As expected."

"And Nizara?"

"Still being monitored," Elara replied. "He hasn't slept."

Seraphina sighed. "He's more dangerous now than before."

Elara raised an eyebrow. "You still think he's compromised?"

"I think he's unpredictable. That makes him a threat. Or… an asset."

At the same time, Nizara stood before the gate of the Hollow Spire alone.

The other teams gathered in groups—laughing, discussing strategy, whispering about the terrain ahead. They glanced at him. Eyes filled with fear. Curiosity. Disgust.

He ignored them all.

The gate pulsed with ancient magic.

He reached toward the hilt of his blade.

One day… maybe he'd be free of this tournament. Free of the eyes. The expectations. The gods and monsters chasing him in his sleep.

But for now, he had a dungeon to conquer.

And shadows to carve his path through.