I was falling through an endless void, the kind of emptiness that made you question whether you still existed at all. There was no wind, no sense of speed—only the constant pressure in my lungs and the raw burn in my throat from screaming for what felt like hours. Eventually, even my voice gave out, replaced by a hoarse rasp and a desperate silence. I lost track of time somewhere in the descent. Seconds or centuries could have passed; I wouldn't have known the difference. All I could see was an infinite pitch of darkness, a void so complete it swallowed my sense of direction.
Just when I began to wonder if there was no end—no bottom, no impact—something flickered below me. A pinpoint of light, weak and almost imaginary. I blinked, worried it was another hallucination brought on by fear, but the light grew. Slowly at first, then rapidly, until it was no longer just a speck, but an entire scene rushing up to meet me. I could make out jagged stone walls, the rough texture of a cavern, and a ground so crimson it took my mind a moment to register that I was looking at blood. My stomach lurched as the realization hit.
I had forgotten I was in free fall until the ground slammed into me.
The world exploded into pain. A sickening thud rang through my bones as every muscle screamed in protest. My limbs sprawled out uselessly, my body refusing to listen. Dazed, I stared up at the dark ceiling of the cavern, my vision fractured into doubled silhouettes and shifting shadows. My ears rang so loudly it drowned out the frantic shuffling around me. Slowly, shapes began to resolve—soldiers, armored and rigid, sprinting toward me with weapons drawn and expressions I could only assume were ones of disdain.
Two of them reached me first. They didn't speak. They simply grabbed me beneath the arms, hoisting me upright like I weighed nothing. My boots dragged across the blood-slick stone as they carried me forward, their armor clinking with mechanical precision. The others stepped aside, forming a grim semicircle. It was only then that I understood—they were making way for someone more important.
As the man approached, my vision sharpened enough to catch the glint of metal. Not armor—no, something more ornate. A gauntlet. The same gauntlet I had seen depicted on the ancient mural. Realization crawled up my spine like ice.
The Blood Dragon Trial.
I hadn't expected to face it so soon—not like this. Panic coiled in my gut as the head soldier closed the distance. He didn't bother with introductions or ritual. His fist drove into my stomach without warning. The air shot out of my lungs in a wet gasp. Warm copper flooded my tongue as I coughed blood. He struck again. And again. Each blow landed in the same spot until I heard a crack—sharp, unmistakable—and agony rippled through my ribs.
He must have decided I was no longer worth the effort, because he ordered the others to drop me. They obeyed without hesitation. I collapsed into the pool of blood, my cheek pressed against the cold, wet stone. My vision blurred again—darker this time, heavy and consuming. The cavern faded. The soldiers vanished. And then everything went black.