The room was circular, wide enough for all six to stand side-by-side with space to spare. The walls were seamless, smooth stone in a pale silver hue, glowing faintly like moonlight. There were no doors—only the arched passage they had come through, which sealed shut with a quiet shhhk once the last person stepped inside.
Then came the voices.
Soft. Whispering. Indistinct murmurs that seemed to crawl out from the walls themselves. Some were low and graveled, others high and hushed—like words spoken under breath, close to the ear, yet always just beyond understanding.
Maren stood at the center, hands behind her back. "This room will test your ability to discern truth from delusion."
The voices flared for a moment—then died down to a whispering buzz, like wind in tall grass.
"You will hear things. Some will sound familiar. Some might even sound right. But none of it is real unless you choose to believe it." Her eyes swept over the group. "To pass, you must each walk the circle once. Simple. But the more you listen, the heavier your steps become."
She turned, walking toward a faint indentation on the floor that marked the starting point. "If you stop moving, the room will assume you believe the lies. It will act accordingly."
"What does that mean?" Soren asked.
Maren didn't answer. Instead, she gestured. "Who's first?"
Rorek stepped forward with a grunt. "Might as well get it over with."
He set off, boots scraping the stone. The voices rose instantly.
"…you could have saved her, if you'd been faster…"
His jaw clenched. His pace slowed for a heartbeat—but only a heartbeat. "Not today," he muttered.
The group watched in tense silence as Rorek completed the circle, breathing hard but intact. He didn't look back when he passed through the endpoint—just leaned against the wall, eyes closed.
Elowen went next. The whispers turned melodic—almost like lullabies.
"You're still that child… lost in the woods…"
She kept walking, one hand brushing her braid like a talisman. Her breath caught once, but she made it. Barely.
Caelindra followed, eyes darting. Her expression grew distant—haunted.
Kael felt the tension twist in his chest as he listened to her whisper back to something only she could hear. But she made it too, stumbling near the end.
Then Soren.
The voices mocked him with laughter.
"They won't take you seriously. They never will."
But Soren chuckled under his breath and kept walking. "Joke's on you. I don't take me seriously either."
He finished with a grin, sweat on his brow.
Kael stepped up next. The second his foot touched the track, the voices knew him.
"It was all pretend, wasn't it? The adventure, the courage—just masks. You'll run again when it matters."
Each step was harder than the last. His arms felt heavier. His breath shallower.
He didn't speak. He just kept walking.
When he reached the end, his legs trembled—but he stood tall.
Allen was last.
The voices waited. Then spoke all at once.
"It was your fault. You should have told her. You let her go. You watched her leave."
He didn't flinch—but his hands balled into fists. For a moment, he was still.
Then he moved.
Slow. Careful. Each step carved through emotion like stone through fog. He didn't try to block the words out. He listened—then let them pass.
By the end, his jaw was tight, but his eyes were clear.
---
When all six stood again in a circle, Maren gave a single nod.
"Well done," she said. "Most first-timers fall here."
A door appeared on the far wall—seamless a moment ago, now open to a passage glowing a soft amber.
"Next station awaits."
Maren led them down a narrow ramp into a sunken arena—an open courtyard encircled by crumbling walls festooned with creeping vines. At its center lay a motionless training mannequin draped in a tattered cloak. Scattered around were wooden barricades, low trenches filled with water, and flagged markers indicating "safe zones." The distant hum of vented machinery reminded them that this place could change in an instant.
Maren's boots clicked on the stone floor as she addressed them:
> "Station 3 is a Rescue Relay. One of you will play 'wounded.' The rest must navigate through obstacles, extract them, and bring them back to the safe zone within two minutes. No carrying like a sack of grain—your 'wounded' teammate must be supported. Communication is your greatest asset. Begin by choosing who'll go first."
She stepped back, folding her arms.
---
Choosing the "Wounded"
Caelindra raised her hand with a chuckle. "I'll go. Gives me a chance to observe tactics."
Rorek frowned. "Fair enough."
Elowen knelt beside the mannequin, checking its simulated "pulse." "Let's do this," she said, adjusting the rag around its shoulder.
Cael climbed onto a small platform. "Okay—I'm vulnerable," she called out. "Ready when you are."
---
Phase A: Pathfinding & Protection
Sequence:
1. Cross the water-filled trench (3 meters wide) using only the stepping stones.
2. Break through two barricades.
3. Evade the "alarms" (tripwires that flash red lights).
4. Reach Cael and support her through the trench and barricades back to safety.
Soren took point, scanning the trench. "Left side is deeper but more stable stones. We'll use those." He guided Kael and Allen across.
Kael paused mid‑step when a plank cracked underfoot. Allen grabbed his arm. "One more, then pivot right." Kael nodded, and they cleared the trench.
Rorek and Elowen moved to the barricades. Rorek wedged his shoulder against the first wooden beam; Elowen handed him a wedge‑shaped tool from her pack. With synchronized pushes, the barricade splintered.
A sudden red flash caught Kael off‑guard—he tripped a hidden wire, sending a buzzer echoing. Allen caught him before he fell, quietly scolding, "Stay aware of your feet."
---
Phase B: Extraction & Return
They reached Cael's platform. Elowen supported her from behind while Kael secured a makeshift sling of braided rope around Cael's torso. Soren and Allen flanked them to guard against tripwires.
As they retraced their steps, the "alarms" grew more frequent—blinding strobe lights simulated laser arrays. Allen shielded Cael's eyes; Soren led them in a crouch beneath a vine‑hung beam.
Rorek held back to clear any unseen obstacles, tapping on the walls to detect hollow sections. "Move—now!" he hissed as a section of floor repeated vibrations beneath their feet.
Once across the trench and second barricade, they dashed for the safe zone—an alcove glowing green. They slid inside just as the timer buzzed.
Time: 1 minute 48 seconds.
---
Debrief & Role Rotation
Maren stepped forward, arms folded. "1:48. Decent. You protected your 'casualty' and adapted on the fly. Key lessons: choose your point person, communicate rapidly, and maintain situational awareness."
She snapped her fingers, and the mannequin's cloak vanished.
Cael climbed down, smiling. "Not bad for a first run."
Allen helped steady her. "You did great leading us."
Kael nodded to Soren. "Good choices on the stepping stones."
Soren shrugged. "Seen worse swamps at home."
Elowen offered Cael a water skin. "You okay?"
Cael accepted it with a grin. "Better than most of us feel right now."
Rorek cracked his knuckles. "What's next?"
Maren then spoke with a crisp voice. "Group up and follow me to the amory."
They followed Maren into the vaulted armory—a cavernous chamber lined with racks of polished steel and rare alloys. Overhead, lanterns cast a pale glow on weapons of every shape and size: gleaming blades, curved sickles, longbows strung taut, and exotic implements that hummed with latent power.
Maren's voice echoed off the stone. "Now that you've tested your bodies and minds, you'll choose your primary weapon. Pick what feels like an extension of yourself. You will carry this into every challenge. Once you've chosen, select a secondary—something different, a tool for when your main fails you. Understood?"
A chorus of nods.
---
Primaries Chosen
Kael strode to the far rack and drew forth his whip‑sword. The blade coiled like liquid silver at his side. He flicked the chain‑hilt experimentally, smiling. "My constant," he murmured.
Allen slipped behind a low shelf and carefully extracted the chain‑dagger—a delicate, wrist‑mounted blade on a fine cable. He tested its retracting snap. "For surprises," he said softly.
Soren approached the bow wall, fingers brushing across longbows and recurves. He selected a wood‑and‑steel repeating crossbow, hefting its mechanical frame with approving ease. "Range and restraint," he noted.
Elowen knelt before a rack of hand‑blades. She picked up twin hook swords, their hooked tips catching the lantern light. She slid them into her belt, expression thoughtful. "Precision and control."
Caelindra spun toward a pedestal of throwing weapons and scooped up a pair of chakrams—circular blades with etched runes. She twirled one on her fingertip. "Grace and distance," she said with a grin.
Rorek moved without fuss to the heavy‑arms rack, where a formidable bastard sword rested. He hefted its weight with a grunt. "Power in the center line," he said quietly.
Maren stepped between them. "Good. You will train with these. But now—your secondary weapons. Choose something that stretches you."
---
Secondaries Chosen
They dispersed again, this time eyeing more unusual implements:
Kael returned to the knife rack and drew two modular daggers, their blades folding and joining on a short chain. He recalled the child from his Rite of Passage, the lesson of fluid adaptation. "These will remind me: sometimes the smallest tool can change everything."
Allen chose a folding blade‑fan, hidden in a case like a delicate artifact. He snapped it open, the metal ribs gleaming. "Subtle," he whispered.
Soren picked up a hidden‑needle launcher—a compact wrist‑mounted device. He smiled faintly. "For the unseen strike."
Elowen selected tonfa‑blades, sliding them onto her forearms. "For when defense is the best offense."
Caelindra grabbed a meteor hammer, its weighted ends connected by a short chain. She swung it experimentally, hair whipping around her. "For chaos… when I need it."
Rorek settled on chain‑knuckles, reinforced brass knuckles with retractable links. He tapped them together. "For up close, no hesitation."
Maren watched each choice with a slow nod. "Balance your strengths with your weaknesses. Learn both. Tomorrow, we begin combat drills."
As they stowed their weapons, the six felt a new unity: each armed for different trials, but all bound by the same forge of steel and will. The armory's lanterns flickered as if in approval.
Outside, the first stars of the Tower's false evening began to glow. Tomorrow, their blades and wits would be tested—together.