The trial began at dawn. Not with a speech, but with a fall.
Ash woke to the floor beneath him vanishing—magic consuming it in an instant. No warning. No escape.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He landed hard, knees bent, in a massive underground chamber. It stretched endlessly in all directions, lit only by floating blue flames. The air stank of old blood and arcane residue.
Dozens of other students coughed, screamed, or tried lighting their surroundings. Only a few stood quietly. Ash was one of them.
On the far wall, glowing runes ignited, and a voice boomed—not Veradin's, but older. Cold. Hungry.
> "Welcome to the Labyrinth of Cinders.
Survive. One exit. No maps. Seven days. Magic is limited. Companions are temporary.
Those who die… feed the next generation."*
Panic erupted.
Students started yelling. A few cast light spells. One boy tried teleporting—and was instantly bisected by a hidden blade from the ceiling.
Ash didn't move. His golden eyes studied the walls, reading the language behind the runes. It wasn't just a labyrinth. It was a seal. An ancient prison.
He smirked.
"Velmora has kept this place locked for centuries… and they opened it just for us? How flattering."
---
A shriek echoed from the east tunnel. Something was hunting already.
Ash moved west.
He didn't panic. Didn't sprint. Just walked—slow, deliberate, head low. He passed corpses. He passed a crying girl who begged for help and then tried to stab him when he offered his hand. He burned her blade to ash with a flick of his fingers.
> "No honor. No alliances. Just survival."
Eventually, he found a gate—an ancient arch with crimson inscriptions. A puzzle barrier. Behind it, real power slept.
Ash reached into his coat and pulled out the black parchment from his invitation.
It had changed.
Now, a single crimson symbol pulsed in the center: "KEY."
He pressed it to the gate.
The lock shattered in silence.
Inside, the room pulsed with red light. A single orb floated at its center—shaped like a human heart, bound in arcane chains. The Crimson Core.
Ash stepped forward, breath calm.
"I knew they'd hide one of my old relics in here," he whispered. "But I didn't think they'd feed it students."
He placed his hand on the core.
Power flooded into him. Memories surged. His real magic—Crimson Dominion—awoke. Not all of it. But enough.
Enough to kill again.
---
Somewhere deeper in the Labyrinth, Arin Velestra fought back-to-back with two other nobles, pinned by a magical beast of writhing shadows. She turned just before it struck—and saw a black wave split the air and crush the creature like paper.
Ash stepped into view, red energy swirling at his fingertips.
"Need a hand?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not supposed to be this strong."
He smiled. "I'm not supposed to be alive."
---