A New Master

'I won,' Max thought, his chest rising and falling slowly as he stared at the cloud of mist drifting through the air—the remnants of the opponent he had just defeated.

The mist warrior, the original master of the temple, had crumbled under the force of his Dragon Scales-enhanced strike, and the battlefield was finally quiet.

But just as he allowed his muscles to relax and his breath to slow, a strange ripple passed through the air. The cloud of mist, which had been dispersing freely, began to tremble. Slowly, unnaturally, it began to swirl inward, condensing again—reforming.

Max's eyes widened as the upper half of the mist warrior—head, shoulders, and chest—took shape once more, rising from the haze like a memory refusing to fade.

"No wonder you've made it this far in the test," the figure said, its voice calm, deep, and unmistakably sentient.