Noah slipped away from the commotion before anyone could stop him.
His thoughts collided like crashing waves. If this trial was about survival, then knowing the layout of the fortress was the first step.
He needed high ground… somewhere to see beyond these thick stone walls.
His path took him past the training grounds, where the earlier fight took place
Blood dried dark against the packed dirt, and a few climbers loitered near the edges, muttering among themselves.
Their eyes flicked toward him as he passed, but no one spoke. They were too busy seething, plotting. Kairos had made an enemy of too many.
The air shifted as he stepped under a towering stone archway, its surface cracked and weathered by time.
The noise of the training grounds faded, swallowed by the silence of the fortress interior. Beyond it, a long corridor stretched endlessly, dim torches casting flickering shadows against damp stone.
The air was thick here, heavy with the scent of dust and something older—something forgotten. The floor was uneven beneath his boots, worn by years, maybe centuries, of footsteps.
He quickened his pace, pushing forward until the corridor opened into a courtyard. The sky above was a smothering grey, dull and lifeless.
A broken fountain stood at the centre, its statue eroded beyond recognition.
The cobblestones beneath his feet were cracked, withered grass pushing through the gaps. A few climbers lingered here, their voices hushed, and their glances were wary. Noah ignored them. He had no time for more pointless conflict.
His eyes found what he was looking for—a narrow stone staircase winding up the fortress wall. He took it without hesitation.
The climb was steep, each step uneven, the cold of the stone biting through his boots. The wind howled through the narrow passage, carrying the distant echo of voices from below. He kept his hand against the wall, steadying himself as he ascended.
The stairs ended at a small watchtower landing, barely more than a platform with an old iron door standing sentinel.
Noah pushed it open, the hinges groaned. Beyond it, the ramparts stretched in both directions, their stone slick with age and damp from the mist that clung to the fortress. The wind was stronger here, carrying the distant scent of earth and greenery.
At last, he reached the battlements.
Noah exhaled, stepping forward, his hands gripped the cold stone as he looked beyond the fortress walls.
And there it was.
The jungle.
The same jungle they had fought through in the previous floor.
Towering trees loomed in the distance, their canopies were thick. Mist curled through the undergrowth, shifting and rolling like a living thing. Beyond that, mountains speared into the sky, their peaks lost to the haze. It was the same.
The same oppressive, endless wilderness.
The wind howled around Noah, tugging at his dark brown hair, whipping it around his face. He leaned against the cold stone, eyes squinting into the horizon, thoughts churning through his mind like a storm.
This is going to be difficult, he thought, his breath steadying as he let the moment of silence settle in. A week. Survival for a week.
The challenges were endless—food, water, hygiene. He shook his head, half-amused at his own list. Insurance. Yeah, not in this place.
His gaze drifted back to the fortress walls, his mind running through the team dynamics. With our number, we're like a small tribe. His eyes lingered on the faint silhouettes below—the climbers still scattered throughout the courtyard. Which means we need to establish order. And sooner than anything.
He knew Cedric was the oldest here. The man was capable, but far too kind. Cedric had the heart, but not the steel required to command. He'd be a terrible elder for a tribe. Too soft.
Noah let his thoughts drift, wishing Adam were awake. If only Adam was in good health... The ache of that thought gnawed at him, but he shoved it aside. I could have vouched for him. He's the smartest, the most logical one here. And his knowledge-based abilities would be invaluable. But he's in no condition to lead, let alone fight.
Damn it.
He stared ahead, watching the shifting shadows in the jungle. A distant hum of wind rattled the branches, and the leaves danced in its wake, casting long, strange shadows against the ground.
Noah was lost in his thoughts, until something caught his eye—a shadow on the watchtower.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the light, but the longer he looked, the more certain he became. On the ramparts, perched perfectly still, was a bird. A raven or a crow—he couldn't tell which.
It sat at the very top of the watchtower, staring at Noah. No turning away.
Just staring.
The unease crawled up his spine. The bird's eyes were dark. He could feel its gaze like a pressure, heavy, intrusive.
It sent a shiver through him, a nagging sense that something was terribly wrong. He didn't know why—it was just a bird—but that stare... that stillness. It unsettled him, as if it could see something beyond him.
Noah swallowed, the bad feeling gnawing at the edges of his mind. He forced himself to look away, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of it. No, this is just my nerves. I'm imagining things.
He turned and started to make his way down the ramparts.
He shoved the thought away, telling himself it was nothing.
But the unease lingered, curling around his thoughts as he descended the narrow staircase, his mind racing toward more immediate concerns.
By the time Noah returned to the courtyard, the tension in the air was palpable.
A group of about fifteen climbers had gathered in a loose circle, assessing. Among them, Cedric and Elara stood slightly off-centre, their postures guarded as if they weren't entirely comfortable with the situation. The moment Noah stepped forward; all eyes turned to him.
"Ah, there he is," someone said.
The voice was steady, serious, yet carried a certain calmness. The speaker—a tall man with an easy, practiced demeanor—took a step forward, extending his hand in a gesture that seemed both diplomatic and deliberate.
His movements were measured, his tone smooth, the kind of person who knew how to handle people.
Noah hesitated for half a breath, caught off guard. His body moved before his mind caught up, his own hand reaching out instinctively. He never refused a handshake—it was automatic, muscle memory. Their hands clasped briefly, firm but not aggressive.
"Thank you for earlier," the man said, his voice carrying a note of genuine appreciation.
Noah kept his expression neutral, though internally, he was screaming. If only they knew how close I was to fainting back there... The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. Almost.
Instead, he gave a small nod, keeping his usual poker face intact.
The man continued. "We're gathering everyone for a meeting—to decide on a leader."
Noah blinked. So someone else is thinking ahead too.
He was impressed. Not just by the initiative, but by how perfectly it aligned with his own thoughts. This guy knows how to move things along.
"That sounds good," Noah said evenly. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in quiet curiosity. "Mr. ...?"
The man smiled, the kind that was practiced but not insincere. " Jonas," he said.
"Nice to meet you," Noah replied.
And just like that, he had a seat at the table.
…
The long table stretched between them. At either end sat Sigurd and Kairos, facing each other but refusing to acknowledge the other's presence. The tension between them was annoying.
Jonas took the reins. "Thank you for accepting my invitation to this meeting," he began, his voice steady, commanding attention without force. "First of all, I'd like to thank Noah for playing a big role in bringing us together."
Noah didn't react outwardly, maintaining his usual composed expression. But inside? Hohoho…you're embarassing me, Jonas. If his real emotions ever leaked out, his face would be glowing red right now.
Jonas continued, "Now, we must decide on a leader among us. I'd like to remind everyone that in the trial floors, there are no nobles or commoners. And Leadership does not require physical strength."
Noah immediately caught the subtle jab. Ah… so that's a warning shot at Sigurd and Kairos. He's telling them they have no claim to lead just because of their strength.
Jonas leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping the table in a slow rhythm. "Despite how I may sound, I have no desire to lead. I could be of help to the leader, but I will not take that position myself."
Then, after a measured pause, he let the question hang in the air.
"Who would like to lead us?"