The Architect’s Trial: A Realm Unwritten
Liam's breath came in slow, measured inhales. The ground beneath him—if it could even be called that—shifted like liquid ink, yet somehow supported his weight.
Everywhere he looked, the world pulsed with something unfinished. Towering structures loomed in the distance, their edges unformed, as if waiting for the final stroke of a brush. The sky was a swirling storm of black and gold, streaks of light cutting through the darkness like cracks in reality itself.
It was overwhelming.
And yet…
It felt familiar.
"What will you create?"
The voice resonated again—not spoken, but felt, carved directly into his mind.
Liam exhaled slowly. He could feel the ink within him responding, pulsing in time with the whispers of this realm.
A test.
He had been in trials before—fights to the death, chases through ruined cities, moments where every breath carried the weight of survival.
This was different.
This wasn't about brute force.
This was about control.
About understanding what it meant to wield the power of an Architect.
The First Stroke
Liam raised his hand. The ink within him stirred, drawn to the pulse of this world.
"What will you create?"
The question wasn't just words—it was a command. A demand.
He clenched his jaw.
What would he create?
A weapon? A fortress? A path forward?
His thoughts churned, and the ink responded. The space before him rippled—a thin, jagged line forming in the air. At first, it was nothing but an incomplete stroke.
Then—it moved.
A shape began to take form, but it was unstable. The lines wavered, flickering like a dying ember.
Liam's brows furrowed.
Not enough.
He focused. Pushed more intent into it.
The ink responded—expanding, shifting, growing into something more defined.
A blade.
Its edges were unfinished, its form still raw, but it was real. It existed.
Liam exhaled. His body felt… lighter. As if something had clicked into place.
"Creation is not just power. It is understanding."
The voice echoed again, reverberating through his very bones.
"You must know what you create. Or it will betray you."
Liam's breath hitched.
The ink in his palm twisted.
Before he could react—the blade shattered.
A force lashed out from the broken construct, striking him square in the chest.
Pain exploded through his ribs as he was thrown backward, crashing into the ink-like ground with a gasp. The liquid beneath him rippled violently, but he did not sink.
Liam gritted his teeth, pushing himself up. His chest burned from the impact.
So this was the test.
Not just creation. Mastery.
If he created something he didn't fully understand—if he forced something into existence without truly knowing its purpose—it would reject him.
And in this place, that rejection could be fatal.
The Trial of Will
Liam pushed himself to his feet. His pulse pounded in his ears, but he forced himself to think.
He had always used his Architect abilities in battle—summoning structures, creating barriers, reinforcing weapons.
But had he ever truly understood them?
No.
He had been reactive. Using what was convenient, what felt instinctual.
Here, that wasn't enough.
He needed to define. To shape.
Not just conjure.
Liam inhaled sharply. Then let's try again.
His fingers twitched, and the ink responded once more.
This time, he didn't think of a weapon.
He thought of something simpler.
A bridge. A connection.
Something stable. Reliable.
The ink stirred.
A ripple spread outward, and from the shifting blackness beneath him, something began to rise.
A platform. A single, solid step.
This time, it did not waver.
Liam exhaled. Progress.
"Creation is choice."
The voice whispered again, but now… it sounded pleased.
Liam stared at the platform beneath his feet.
The First Architect hadn't just built things.
They had decided what deserved to exist.
And for the first time, Liam understood:
This wasn't just about power.
It was about responsibility.
He wasn't just wielding the ink.
He was defining reality itself.
And that… was only the beginning.
To Be Continued…