Abruptly, Siege's mind cleared—as if someone had pulled a veil from his thoughts.
The agony that had racked his body for what felt like an eternity was simply… gone.
No more bleeding cuts, no shattered bones, no searing fire scorching him from within.
In fact, he realized, he couldn't feel his body at all.
He was present, but in a way that felt wrong—like a disembodied thought floating in a dream not entirely his own.
He could only observe his surroundings, passive and powerless.
Warily, Siege surveyed the strange world around him.
The realm stretched endlessly, a plane of shallow, glass-like water that reflected no sky—only a searing white light.
Above him, suspended in the pure white expanse, hung a vast, rotating golden ring. Dwarfing the whole Citadel, larger than even a mountain range.
And the ring… it watched.
Thousands—no, millions—of radiant eyes adorned its surface. They blinked open and closed at random, casting beams of blue fire in every direction.
Each gaze felt like it could pierced time, truth, and memory itself.
This place was not heaven. It was not hell. It was something stranger. A sterile infinity. A divine waiting room.
Siege felt awe.
This place—this entity—had to be the Oracle.
He wasn't anywhere near a scholar, but he remembered fragments of old mythologies, scraps of overheard lectures from his all-too-brief school years.
And after long days hauling steel beams and sweating through twelve-hour shifts on the construction site, he had done his research—just in case he was ever chosen for a Trial.
The Oracle. The final creation of the Old Gods.
Forged from the remains of the serpent of Delphi, fused with the dying essence of Thoth—the Egyptian god of wisdom.
Bound by ancient magics into a soulless vessel of absolute judgment.
Siege stared into the all-seeing construct and steeled himself. For a moment, he thought of everything he had endured.
His thoughts trailed from terror to despair.
He could have died—should have died—a dozen times over.
He'd been hunted by Oberon, the mad king of the Fae, and left maimed.
He'd trained in Ithaca, where sunlight was a rumor and men were little more than animated corpses. He had fought against fear until he could overcome it.
And then there was Fafnir. That damned dwarf-turned-dragon.
Beowulf's fatal blow had opened the door. Siege had merely crawled through it.
There was no way he could have killed the dragon if it wasn't for that still healing wound.
Still—he was the one who ended it. He had killed a dragon. Slain it. That had to count for something.
A mechanical voice echoed directly into his mind, as if it were being broadcast from beyond the veil of existence.
[Aspiring Hero. Your Trial has concluded.]
[A simple orphan farm boy, summoned to slay a dragon.]
[You crossed the Forest of Mortar and matched wits with the King of Faeries, losing only an arm in the process.]
[You trained in the Fortress of Ithaca, where even shadows fear to linger.]
[Where a great king failed, you succeeded. You slew the evil dragon with naught but determination, cunning, and sheer recklessness.]
Siege held his breath, or at least, believed he did. His body was still an abstract concept.
[The evil dragon Fafnir, though dulled by decadence, was a threat ranked 'Goliath'—just barely, but still.]
[This feat has been recorded.]
[You have been appraised.]
A pause.
Then, like a dam breaking, a surge of information washed over him:
[You have acquired the Armament: Gram (Mythical).]
[Your Aspect has evolved to the Titanic level: Farm Boy → Dragon Slayer.]
[You have received the Legacy: Sigurd (Mythical).]
[You have received the Attribute: {Dragon Core}.]
[Congratulations, Warrior.]
Siegfried could have wept—if he still had tear ducts.
He had ascended. Not just passed the Trial, but excelled. He wasn't just alive—he was reborn.
A true Rank 1 Warrior.
*Titanic... It's really Titanic!*
Aspect and Armament rankings went from Forgotten to Valiant, Epic, Legendary, Mythical, Titanic, Exalted, and Primeval in that increasing order.
In the grand scale of aspects, most never moved beyond Valiant. A rare few touched Epic. Fewer still, Legendary.
And Mythical?
That was for dynasty heirs, divine avatars, and the chosen few kissed by fate itself.
But Titanic? That was a whisper. A legend of a legend.
He summoned his status screen, now crisp and glowing like etched glass:
---
[Name: Siegfried]
[Legacy: Sigurd (Mythical)]
[Rank: Warrior]
[Armament: Gram (Mythical)]
[Aspect: Dragon Slayer (Titanic)]
[Attributes: {Stalwart}, {Journeyman}, {Warrior}, {Dragon Core}]
—-
His mind honed in on the entries, one by one.
[Legacy: Sigurd (Mythical)]
[The first human to slay a dragon. Both a man and a myth. But by consuming the beast, he became one…]
*Well, that's not ominous at all*, he muttered in his head.
He moved to the Armament.
---
[Armament: Gram (Mythical)]
[Forged by hate. Created for fratricide. Bathed in blood, both sacred and unholy.]
Siegfried winced.
*Honestly, could've done without the family trauma lore.*
Then came the Aspect.
[Aspect: Dragon Slayer (Titanic)]
[A dragon is might incarnate, wrath given form. To slay such a being is to defy fate itself. To bear this Aspect is to become what the gods once feared.]
He felt it then—a heat in his soul. Something ancient, awakening.
Finally, he examined the Attribute.
{Dragon Core}
[Bathed in dragon's blood. Heart devoured. The line between man and beast begins to blur…]
Siegfried blinked—or thought he did.
*Seriously, can I get one win that doesn't sound like a curse in disguise?*
But he couldn't help the grin—at least mentally. He had done it. He had made it.
Before he could dwell on the implications—of what he was becoming—the white void began to quake.
Not a tremble, but a cosmic upheaval. Ripples spread across the watery ground, and the golden ring above pulsed violently, its eyes closing in unison like a curtain being drawn.
The Trial was over.
It was time to return to the world of the living.
*To toilets and soap.*
To modern day gods and monsters.
Darkness took him once more—but this time, not in fear.
This time, he fell into it smiling.