Chapter 3: The City of Trials

Elias had long since left the ruins of Athalos behind, but the weight of what he had lost pressed on him like an iron chain around his chest. His grief followed him, no matter where he went. The world around him seemed so full of life—too full. As he walked into the sprawling city, a place where the Trial was said to be located, it only made his pain worse. This city—this hive of activity—was a far cry from the silent, broken land he'd left behind. But what did it matter? His family was gone. Everything he had once known was reduced to ash. And the gods? They had taken it all.

The city itself seemed to hum with a strange energy. Towering buildings rose around him, reaching for the sky, while the streets below teemed with life. Merchants shouted their wares, children ran through the cobblestone streets, and soldiers moved like shadows in the crowd. It was so different from the quiet, peaceful village of Athalos, yet it felt foreign to him. The people here had everything he no longer had: families, homes, lives. He had nothing left but his anger and a burning need for revenge.

As Elias walked, he couldn't help but notice the way people looked at him—distantly, with curiosity, or worse, with pity. He hadn't even realized until now how much he had changed. His clothes were ragged from the journey, his face worn with exhaustion and grief. The city's warmth, its sounds, its bustle, all served to remind him of what he no longer had: a family. A home. He could feel the sharp edge of his grief biting deeper with every step.

He passed by families sitting together in the shade, laughing and talking. His stomach twisted at the sight, the memories of his own family filling his mind. His mother's gentle smile, his father's firm hand on his shoulder, Liora's bright, innocent eyes as she had once looked at him with hope and admiration. They were gone. And the gods—those cruel, uncaring gods—had taken them from him.

Without realizing it, his steps quickened, almost as though he were running from the pain, from the memories that threatened to drown him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the weight of his loss growing heavier with every moment. His heart ached with the realization that he was nothing more than a ghost in this city, a stranger to everything that was once so dear to him.

In his daze, Elias accidentally bumped into a group of rough-looking men, jarring him out of his thoughts. They turned to face him, their expressions darkening as they took in his disheveled appearance.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" one of them sneered. The man was tall and burly, with a scar running down his cheek. "Looks like someone who's lost more than his way."

Elias tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side, but his body was too tired, too beaten by grief, to move swiftly. The man stepped forward, blocking his path.

"You look like you don't belong here, friend," the man said, his voice dripping with menace. "Not with your kind."

"I'm not looking for trouble," Elias muttered, his voice hollow, tired from the weight of his grief.

The man's laugh was harsh, mocking. "No one's asking, kid. You're in trouble whether you want it or not."

Before Elias could even react, one of the men grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him back with surprising force. The others closed in, their presence menacing. But Elias barely felt the fear anymore. His heart was empty, numb. The rage that surged within him was the only thing that felt real.

"Leave me alone," Elias growled through clenched teeth. His hand curled around the hilt of his dagger, his fingers stiff with tension.

But then, just as the situation seemed to spiral out of control, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Leave him alone."

The men turned, and Elias followed their gaze to see a young woman stepping forward from the shadows. She was small, but there was a cold, commanding presence to her that made the men hesitate. Her eyes were dark, calculating, and she moved with the confidence of someone who knew how to handle themselves in dangerous situations.

"Who are you?" one of the men demanded, his voice sharp.

"I'm someone who doesn't like bullies," the woman said, her tone unwavering. "Now, back off, or I'll make you regret it."

There was a long pause, the alley silent but for the distant noise of the city. Finally, with a grunt of frustration, the leader waved his hand, signaling for his group to retreat.

"Fine. But you're lucky," the man spat, glaring at Elias one last time before disappearing into the crowd.

Elias stood still for a moment, his breath ragged, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or just too numb to care. The woman didn't wait for a thank you. She simply turned on her heel and began to walk away, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Wait," Elias called out, his voice hoarse. "Why did you help me?"

The woman didn't stop or turn around. "I don't like to see people get picked on," she said, her voice steady and unbothered. "And you look like you've had enough."

Elias watched her walk away, a strange mix of gratitude and confusion swirling inside him. He was angry. He was broken. And he was still lost. But somehow, he felt like he wasn't completely alone in this strange city.

But that would change. He didn't belong here. He didn't belong anywhere, not without his family. And he wouldn't rest until the gods paid for what they had done to him, to them.

As Elias continued down the bustling streets, he could feel the eyes of the city upon him, but it didn't matter. The Trial was ahead. The gods awaited. And vengeance—vengeance would be his.

The city may have seemed full of life, but all he saw was death.