The Trial Of The Forgotten

The cavern swallowed him whole.

Ronan stepped into the darkness, his senses straining. The air was thick with something ancient—a presence that pressed against his skin like unseen hands.

Behind him, Doomfang hesitated at the entrance. The wyvern's golden eyes glowed in the dim light, his tail flicking with unease. Be careful, he rumbled.

Ronan nodded but did not turn back. His path led forward.

The glow of the massive eyes deep within the cavern remained motionless, watching. Studying.

Then the voice returned, a whisper and a growl intertwined.

You seek power, yet you walk with hesitation.

Ronan swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I came here to grow stronger."

The air shifted. The shadows deepened.

Strength is earned, not given.

The cavern trembled.

The mist swirled violently, and in an instant, the world changed.

A World of Beasts

Ronan staggered as the ground beneath him twisted. One moment, he stood in the cavern. The next, he was somewhere else.

The sky above was a swirling void, neither day nor night. Towering structures of bone and stone jutted from the ground like the remains of long-forgotten titans. The air thrummed with something primal, something untamed.

Doomfang was gone.

Ronan clenched his fists. He had been pulled into a trial.

And he wasn't alone.

Across the jagged landscape, figures began to emerge from the shadows. Some were humanoid, others grotesque—twisted amalgamations of beast and man. Their eyes burned with hunger, with the same familiar thirst that lurked beneath Ronan's own skin.

Forsaken.

The ones who came before me.

The realization hit like a blade to the gut. These were the Forsaken who had failed their trials, consumed by their own power.

And now, they turned their gazes to him.

A low growl rumbled through the air. One of them—a towering creature with the head of a stag and the body of a man—stepped forward. Its voice was like gravel grinding against stone.

"Only the worthy may stand before the Forgotten."

The others growled in agreement, forming a loose circle around him. Their claws flexed. Their fangs gleamed.

Ronan understood.

This was the trial.

He had to prove himself—or be devoured.

The Forsaken's Test

The first attack came without warning.

The stag-headed beast lunged, its massive claws swiping for Ronan's throat. He barely had time to duck before another came from behind—a beast with the body of a wolf and the eyes of a man.

Instinct took over.

Ronan twisted, avoiding the strike by a hair's breadth. His body moved differently now, his senses sharper, his reactions faster. He lashed out, striking the wolf-beast across the jaw.

It barely flinched.

The others rushed him all at once.

Ronan's world became a blur of claws and teeth, of movement and pain. He fought back, but there were too many. They were faster, stronger, relentless.

He hit the ground hard, blood dripping from his lip. The circle tightened.

Too weak.

Not enough.

The whispers grew louder, crawling beneath his skin.

And then, deep within him, the hunger stirred.

It whispered a different truth.

Take.

Ronan gritted his teeth.

He had spent his life resisting this thing inside him, this beast that clawed at his soul. But now—now he was outmatched. Outnumbered.

And if he did not embrace it…

He would die.

Slowly, he let go.

The hunger surged.

Becoming the Beast

The change was instant.

Ronan felt his body shift. His muscles coiled with new strength. His fingers tingled, his nails sharpening into something not human.

When he lifted his head, his vision had changed. The world was sharper, clearer.

And the Forsaken hesitated.

They had seen this before.

A low, guttural growl built in Ronan's chest. His lips curled, revealing teeth that were too sharp.

Then he moved.

Faster than before. Faster than humanly possible.

The first beast barely had time to react before Ronan slammed into it, sending it crashing to the ground. His hands—claws—sank into its flesh. He felt its strength, its very essence, writhing beneath his grip.

And the hunger whispered.

Consume.

For a split second, Ronan hesitated.

And in that moment, he understood.

He didn't have to resist the hunger. He didn't have to let it control him.

He could take its power without losing himself.

Gritting his teeth, Ronan willed the energy to flow into him—but on his terms. He did not devour mindlessly. He absorbed.

The stag-headed beast convulsed, its form flickering—then it was gone.

And Ronan changed again.

His muscles burned, his veins alight with power. The other Forsaken stepped back, their eyes wide.

They had tested him.

And he had proven himself.

The void trembled. The whispers roared in approval.

And the golden eyes in the darkness moved closer.

The Forgotten's Choice

The trial was over.

The Forsaken had been defeated.

And now, Ronan stood before the true test.

The golden eyes, massive and ancient, gazed down at him.

Then, from the shadows, it emerged.

A beast unlike any he had seen before. Its body was a shifting mass of scales and fur, its form constantly changing, shifting between creatures lost to time.

It was no single beast.

It was all of them.

The voice returned, deep and final.

"You have proven your will. But strength is more than hunger. More than survival."

The beast's many eyes gleamed.

"What will you do with this power, Forsaken?"

The question struck something deep within Ronan.

He had spent his life being hunted, fearing what he was becoming. Now, standing before this entity, he had a choice.

He could take.

Or he could become something more.

The answer came to him, clear and certain.

"I will not be prey." His voice was steady, unwavering. "I will fight. Not just for survival, but for control."

The air crackled with energy.

The beast regarded him for a long moment.

Then, finally, it spoke.

"Then you shall have my power."

The world shattered.

And Ronan became something new.