The Rising Storm: Dominion Trials Finale

Chapter 15 – The Rising Storm: Dominion Trials Finale

Scene One: Return to the Surface

The blinding light of the exit portal faded as Evan and his team stepped into the ceremonial platform overlooking Aflety Academy's vast eastern coliseum. Above them, banners of elemental beasts flapped in the wind. Below, thousands of spectators—nobles, professors, and students alike—rose to their feet in thunderous applause.

But Evan's gaze didn't rise to the crowd.

He looked only at the massive crystalline display suspended above the arena.

DOMINION TRIALS FINAL RANKINGS

Evan Rochel – 4837 Points

Gareth Duran – 4700 Points

Silva Wren – 4680 Points

Lilith Vioré – 4611 Points

Orivian Elentar – 4599 Points

…

A tremor passed through the coliseum.

In a world of beast tamers, where strength and status ruled, a first-year had shattered precedent.

The announcer's voice rang out:

"Evan Rochel—Son of House Rochel, wielder of the Basilisk Divine Beast, is the Champion of the Dominion Trials!"

A golden ring of magic burst above him, cascading confetti in the shape of ancient beasts. Nex coiled at his feet, calm but imposing.

But Evan didn't smile.

He could feel it—the weight of eyes not clapping, not cheering… but calculating.

Scene Two: The Emperor's Flame

After the ceremony, the top five were summoned to the Imperial Pavilion—a white-marble chamber etched with dragons and phoenixes, surrounded by guards of the Imperial Beast Guard.

There, they met the Imperial Envoy—a man cloaked in silks of black and red, his eyes hidden behind silver lenses.

He carried a sealed letter bound by a phoenix wax crest.

Without a word, he extended it to Evan.

The others looked on in silent tension.

Evan broke the seal.

The letter was handwritten. The script was smooth, confident.

"Evan Rochel. You have exceeded all measures of strength, intelligence, and potential.

As of this moment, you are named the* Crown Heir of the Imperial Beast Guard**, with all rights and obligations therein.*

You shall report to the capital during the Season of Twin Moons.

Do not falter. The world is watching.

—Signed: Emperor Caelus of House Valtherian."

Silva let out a low gasp. Gareth muttered a curse. Lilith… smiled—small, unreadable.

Orivian, bruised but regal, bowed. "The Empire chooses well."

But not everyone approved.

Scene Three: The Murmurs of Rebellion

That night, within the luxurious halls of the noble dormitories, a secret meeting was held. Twelve students—scions of the Empire's grandest houses—gathered in silence.

Among them: Fenric Aschard, Sariah Greymoor, and a veiled prince from the northern isles.

They had one goal.

"Evan Rochel cannot be allowed to rise unchallenged," Fenric said coldly. "We strike before he ascends."

"He defeated the Nexus," Sariah argued. "He bonded with a Divine Beast. You'd declare war on a legend?"

"I'd rather kill a rising god than kneel to him," Fenric snarled.

From the shadows, another voice whispered.

"Then perhaps it's time we offered him a new kind of test…"

The Black Nest had already arrived.

Scene Four: Lilith's Secret Visit

Deep into the night, Evan sat in the academy's greenhouse, the moonlight falling over Nex's resting form. He traced the Emperor's words again and again in his mind.

"Crown Heir…"

"Not what you wanted?" a voice asked from the ivy-lined arch.

Lilith stepped into view, her white coat draped over her shoulders, her silver hair loose.

Evan didn't respond immediately. Instead, he asked, "You knew about the assassin in the second trial."

She nodded.

"I didn't warn you because I wanted to see how far they'd go," she said. "Now I know. The Black Nest isn't after points or glory. They're trying to collapse the academies from the inside."

He looked up. "And what do you want, Lilith?"

She smiled, but there was no joy in it.

"I want to survive what's coming."

"And maybe… help you survive too."

Scene Five: A Storm Not Yet Named

Far from Aflety, in the ruined jungles of Ortheos, a beast slumbered beneath a broken altar. Its body was coiled like a mountain, its scales marked with divine glyphs.

A whisper stirred the wind.

A presence brushed against its soul.

"Awaken, child of dreams."

"He bears the Basilisk, and the world stirs again."

The great serpent opened one eye—shimmering violet—and let out a soundless hiss.

The Dream Serpent was coming.

___

Scene One: The Arrival of the Elven Prince

Aflety's central plaza had rarely seen such splendor.

At dawn, a procession of silver-clad warriors bearing banners of gold-leafed branches marched through the southern gate. Behind them came carriages of living wood, drawn by horned moon-deer whose steps left glowing flowers in their wake.

At the head of it all rode a single figure—tall, graceful, and radiating an aura so refined it silenced even the most arrogant nobles.

Prince Virelen Thalorion of the Holy Elven Empire.

The youngest son of the Elven Empress.

One of the most powerful Spirit Archers alive.

And once, briefly… a student of Aflety.

Evan stood with the other Dominion Trial finalists at the welcoming dais. He felt the ripple in the atmosphere as Virelen dismounted and strode forward, robes embroidered with runes older than kingdoms.

"So," Virelen said, eyes the color of carved emerald. "You're the one who awakened the Basilisk."

His gaze cut through Evan like a blade—but not with malice. It was… curiosity. Caution.

"Evan Rochel," Evan replied, voice calm. "And you're the prince who refused the human throne."

A flicker of amusement passed through Virelen's expression.

"I see your reputation wasn't exaggerated."

He offered a hand—not to shake, but a warrior's grasp.

Evan met it, firm and unyielding.

The prince leaned in. "They're watching you, human. Even in Elven lands, the dreams are stirring. The seals are weakening."

"What dreams?"

"You'll see."

Scene Two: Beneath the Dream

That night, Evan dreamed of a forest bathed in silver light. Trees taller than mountains bled starlight. Above, a serpent with wings of mist and eyes of galaxies coiled through a shattered sky.

He stood alone, barefoot, the earth whispering underfoot.

A voice echoed—not from the serpent, but from something deeper.

"Why do you carry the scale of death?"

"Why do you dream of peace while war blooms in your shadow?"

The ground cracked. Flames surged. He saw glimpses—a burning empire, Lilith in chains, Nex wounded, and a voice—his own—screaming a name he didn't recognize.

He turned—there was a mirror.

And in it stood not Evan… but his past self.

Earth clothes. Human eyes. That helpless, bitter boy from a different world.

"You're not ready," the reflection said.

Then the Dream Serpent coiled behind him.

And whispered, "You will become the devourer or the devoured."

Evan awoke gasping, sweat clinging to him. Nex stirred beside him, eyes alert.

"…You saw it too?"

The Basilisk didn't speak, but Evan could feel it: the bond had deepened again.

And something ancient now watched them both.

Scene Three: Fractures in the Academy

By the next morning, unrest bloomed like rot behind marble walls.

Rumors surged:

—That Evan had corrupted the Nexus Core.

—That a Divine Beast was too dangerous to be kept among students.

—That House Rochel planned a coup using Aflety as its springboard.

Headmistress Renna called an emergency assembly. Professors lined the coliseum balcony, expressions tense.

Before them all, she spoke:

"Aflety Magic Academy does not bow to fear. We do not cower before talent. We raise legends. And we will not be divided by lies."

But even her voice could not fully stem the tide.

In the crowd, several elite students began walking out.

One among them paused—Fenric Aschard.

He looked up at Evan, standing at the topmost tier beside the other top rankers.

"I challenge you," Fenric declared, voice cold. "Not in secret. Not in shadows. In the Tournament Grounds. One week."

The crowd gasped.

Evan's eyes narrowed. "You sure you want that?"

Fenric didn't smile. "The world wants to see if you're worthy of the Crown… or just wearing it."

Scene Four: The Gathering Winds

Later, in the courtyard, Lilith, Gareth, and Silva gathered around Evan as he replayed the dream in his mind.

"You've seen it before," he said to Lilith.

She hesitated, then nodded. "All heirs of god-bound beasts eventually do. The Dream Serpent is real. A primordial being, older than the Beast Gods. It visits those on the path to becoming… something more."

"Something more?"

"Not human. Not beast tamer. But a third path. One feared even by gods."

Gareth let out a low whistle. "And here I was thinking midterms were scary."

Evan looked down at his hand. The scale from the Nexus Core still shimmered faintly. "I think we've got less than a week before this becomes a war."

Silva grinned. "Good. I fight better when I'm pissed off."

Scene Five: Infiltration

As Aflety braced for the coming duel, in the deeper vaults beneath the Academy, a professor walked alone.

The golden-eyed man from before. His footsteps made no sound.

He passed wards without pause. Entered the restricted archives. Stood before an ancient tapestry woven with divine beasts and alien symbols.

Then he touched a hidden rune.

A dark tunnel opened.

He descended.

And there, kneeling before him, were three masked students cloaked in Black Nest robes.

"Begin the fracture."

"Yes, Professor Verryn."

Scene One: Preparation Begins

Evan stood beneath the cascading falls of the Eastern Ridge, his bare hands pressed together, letting the icy torrent crash over him.

Nex coiled in meditation, radiating silent power.

Beside him, Gareth swung a weighted spear through practiced arcs.

Silva paced with a lit orb, muttering runic invocations between every breath.

And Lilith… simply watched.

They had five days.

Five days to prepare for a duel not just of strength—but of symbolism. If Fenric won, the rumors would spread like wildfire: that the Basilisk-bearer was nothing more than a lucky upstart.

If Evan won…

The power balance at Aflety would shift permanently.

"You're focusing too much on control," Lilith said finally. "Let the basilisk bleed through more. Let it show why the gods feared it."

Evan opened his eyes, the water beading on his skin. "If I do that, I might lose myself."

"You won't," she said. "Not with us here."

Behind them, Gareth grunted. "You're flirting again, Lilith."

"I don't flirt," she replied coolly.

"Right. You just train and smolder."

Silva snorted. "Can we get back to the part where Evan's about to unlock something terrifying?"

Scene Two: The Basilisk's Gaze

That night, Evan entered his soulscape once more.

A wasteland of petrified stone stretched endlessly, lit only by a swirling black sun above.

Nex hovered in the center, its golden eyes blazing.

"You walk the line, master," the basilisk whispered.

"To fight Fenric, you must open the second gate."

"The second?"

"The Basilisk's true weapon is not its fangs. Not its coil. But its gaze."

"Unseal the Stare of Mortis."

A thousand memories flickered in Evan's mind. Petrified beasts. Gods crumbling before ancient serpents. A world once brought to stillness.

"If I unlock it…"

"You will never be the same."

Evan hesitated—then stepped forward.

And accepted.

Scene Three: Messages and Meddling

The next morning, a small metallic hawk landed on Evan's windowsill. A noble sigil glowed on its chest—House Rochel's.

The message was short, burned into the metal:

"Your duel will be watched not just by Aflety, but by foreign princes, allied Beast Courts, and imperial officials. Victory is not optional."

He crushed the hawk in his hand.

Moments later, another visitor arrived—this time, a figure cloaked in traveling robes and shadow magic.

Professor Veyla, the rogue trainer of the hidden division known only as 'The Unseen.'

She sat on his desk and dropped a small stone orb.

"Black Nest has agents in the audience. Possibly even judges. Don't hold back."

"You knew?"

"I've known since you awakened Nex."

She stood to leave. "When you win… we'll talk about your next trial."

"And if I lose?"

"You won't."

Scene Four: Fenric's Edge

Meanwhile, Fenric stood alone in the obsidian chamber beneath the old cathedral ruins.

There, three figures in masks completed the last of the ritual. A beast—not divine, not mortal—crawled from the darkness.

It was stitched from shadows and bones, pulsing with death magic.

"What is this?" Fenric demanded.

"A gift," one of the masked ones said. "To ensure your victory. It is not alive… but it remembers death."

Fenric reached out. The beast bowed to him.

And deep in his soul, a voice whispered:

"You are not the heir of light, Fenric Aschard. You are the sword of oblivion."

He smiled.

Scene Five: Final Night

On the final night, Evan stood atop the northern tower, overlooking the moonlit coliseum where the duel would be held.

Lilith joined him, her eyes distant.

"I've fought beasts, assassins, even corrupted spirits," Evan said. "But this duel… it's different."

"Because it's public. Political. Binding."

"Because it's personal."

Lilith looked at him. "Then make it personal. Show them why you were chosen. Not just by Nex. But by this world."

He looked at her, the moonlight catching the silver in her eyes.

Then down at his hands—one now faintly marked with a black sigil. The Basilisk's Stare.

Tomorrow, the world would see it.

____

Scene One: The Roar of the Colosseum

The moment Evan stepped into the arena, the atmosphere thickened.

The crowd roared like a storm—cheering for the spectacle, for the drama, for the bloodshed.

The Dominion Trials had come to a head, and this duel—between the Basilisk and the Beast of Light, between the human and the Elven heir—was to decide not just a victor, but a legend.

Fenric stood opposite him, his stance serene, an eerie calm enveloping him like a shroud. The golden-haired warrior's eyes flashed with an unreadable glint as his hand brushed against his ornate dagger—an heirloom from his Elven family.

Evan could feel it—the weight of the future—pressing down on him.

Across the arena, Fenric spoke, his voice rich with confidence. "Let's see if you're worthy of the title, Basilisk-bearer. Or if you're merely a puppet of a beast."

Evan met his gaze, unflinching. "I am the master. Not the servant."

With a thundering roar, the signal for the duel was given.

Scene Two: Unleashing the Serpent

The battle began.

Fenric's first move was swift, the air rippling with the precision of his spear's arc. A flash of steel sliced through the air toward Evan's heart.

But Evan was ready. His body shifted, his footwork a blur, avoiding Fenric's strike by mere inches. He moved with an unnatural fluidity, guided by the Basilisk's instinct.

The crowd gasped.

"Impossible…"

A chilling hiss filled the air, and for a split second, the temperature in the coliseum dropped as Evan's serpent-like aura rippled outward.

Fenric faltered. For just a moment, the pressure of Evan's presence seemed to overwhelm him. But then, with a grunt, he leaped back, his eyes narrowing. This wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

"You're fast, human. But speed is meaningless if you can't control power," Fenric taunted, flipping his dagger and raising his hand in a complex gesture.

Suddenly, the very earth beneath them shuddered. A crack opened between the stone, and from it erupted shadows—creatures woven from the night itself, dark and jagged.

Evan's instincts flared.

"Nex?"

The Basilisk's presence pulsed through him like a heartbeat, answering his unspoken call. The energy surged within him, and he shifted again—more ferocious, more untamed.

"Stare of Mortis!"

His eyes blazed with the Basilisk's gaze.

The shadow-creatures stopped in their tracks. Their forms began to petrify, stone overtaking the dark, their bodies frozen in time.

Fenric's eyes widened, but he gritted his teeth.

He was no longer in control of the battlefield.

The serpent's gaze had shattered the equilibrium.

Scene Three: The Beast's Wrath

"Impossible!"

Fenric's voice was a growl as he sprang forward, not to retreat, but to strike with everything he had.

He moved like a storm, his spear slicing through the air in a series of devastating arcs. Yet with each movement, the distance between him and Evan grew wider.

Evan's body responded without hesitation—an intricate dance of fluid motion, dodging and countering, the serpent's will now a part of him.

In the crowd, there were whispers:

—"This is not human!"

—"The Basilisk has taken him."

But Evan's mind remained sharp. He was no longer simply fighting; he was testing the limits of his true potential.

Fenric advanced once more, his spear striking in a deadly thrust, aimed directly at Evan's chest.

Evan's eyes flashed. In that instant, he opened his mouth and spoke a single word:

"Nex."

From the ground, the Basilisk's tail erupted, crashing into Fenric's spear, knocking it from his hand and sending him sprawling back into the earth.

The arena trembled.

For a split second, there was a collective silence—a pause in time. The entire coliseum waited for the inevitable outcome.

Fenric staggered to his feet, his breath ragged. He reached for his dagger, but his hand trembled.

"You're beaten," Evan said, his voice steady. His figure was no longer a man, but something darker, older—the very essence of the Basilisk. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light.

"Yield, Fenric."

Scene Four: The Final Strike

Fenric's gaze darkened, his lips curling in a sneer. His chest rose and fell as he gripped the dagger tighter.

"You think you've won? You are nothing but a puppet!"

He flung himself toward Evan, dagger raised high, but Evan was already faster, already anticipating.

With a thundering hiss, Nex's tail lashed out again, this time catching Fenric mid-strike and sending him flying through the air.

He crashed into the arena's stone wall, leaving a massive crater in his wake.

The arena fell into dead silence.

Fenric's body lay still, motionless.

Scene Five: Victory and Prophecy

Evan stood over him, breathing heavily. His body still hummed with power, his senses sharpened to an almost terrifying level. Nex's energy roiled beneath his skin, and for a moment, Evan could feel the faintest hint of something else—an ancient force just beneath the surface.

Professor Renna stepped forward, the atmosphere heavy with tension. She spoke, her voice unwavering:

"The victor of the Dominion Trials… Evan Rochel of House Rochel."

The crowd erupted in wild applause, but Evan's mind was elsewhere. He could feel the eyes upon him—the gods, the Black Nest, and something far darker, something ancient, stirring in the depths of his soul.

As the cheers washed over him, a final whisper—low and distant—echoed in his mind:

"This is only the beginning, Evan Rochel."

[End of Chapter 15]