Date: February 12, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The radiance enveloping Iskon finally absorbed into his body, leaving only a scorched mark in the shape of enormous wings on the obsidian tiles. The youth slowly lowered his head, and when he opened his eyes, a cold amber gleam had settled in their blue depths — the only external sign that the Shadow of Balance had now become part of his being.
The boundaries of his Vessel had been restructured. Iskon felt his inner power, previously reminiscent of a sharp but narrow blade, now acquire volume and density. He had officially crossed the threshold and become a Pillar. His presence in the hall became weighty; he no longer faded against the backdrop of the Harbingers, although the chasm between his new power and their might was still vast. He had become a "confident Pillar" — one who stands at the peak of his rank, yet remains merely a student in the eyes of true masters.
Kaedan, standing apart, watched his friend through a haze of pain and dust. His left arm hung limply, and his shattered Armor now seemed to him not a protection, but a pile of useless junk.
"He did it..." Kaedan's thought was saturated with the bitterness of self-recrimination. "We started together. We trained in the same halls. But now he is the Temple's chosen, a Pillar whose radiance blinds. And me? I am just a beaten Warrior who couldn't even hold onto his own vambrace. I am the weak link in this squad."
The feeling of his own insignificance weighed on him more heavily than the stones of the Temple. Kaedan watched Iskon grip his sword hilt, and in each of his movements now read a new, frightening confidence.
Meanwhile, Master Magnus, standing at the edge of the platform, closed his wooden box with a habitual snap. He cast a glance over the hall and, seeing that the Temple's power had found an owner, shrugged indifferently. "The game is over," the old man rasped. "Balance has found itself a new toy. There's nothing more for us here."
Magnus walked over to the unconscious Legate Valerius, easily, like a sack of grain, slung the Alvost Harbinger over his shoulder, and headed for the exit. "Grak, give my regards to Raphael," he called over his shoulder. "Tell him the Agrim Family is satisfied with the result."
Following him, maintaining gloomy silence, the others began to retreat. Baron Kaellen, his face a mask of icy rage, signaled his "hawks" to withdraw with a gesture. He had lost this round, and staying in the hall would mean admitting his defeat before everyone. Arannis, supported by his Sylvan companions, cast one last, hate-filled glance at Iskon and dissolved into the shadows of the corridor.
Only the knights of the Order and the Orc's detachment remained in the Central Nexus. Mirza was in no hurry to leave. He slowly raised his massive cleaver, and his amber eyes met Iskon's. The Orc Harbinger felt the qualitative change in the youth, but it only spurred him on.
"A Pillar..." Mirza boomed, genuine curiosity in his voice. "The Temple poured quite a bit into you, boy. But rank is just a form. Let's see how strong your new foundation is."
Mirza lunged forward. He did not use his Spirit, relying solely on his monstrous physical power and body reinforcement. Iskon instantly raised his shield. The Scaling Spirit responded to his will with new strength — now the youth could alter the size of objects almost instantly, without the previous agonizing pain in his joints.
The cleaver's impact struck the center of the shield. Iskon was pushed back, his boots carving deep furrows in the obsidian, but he held his ground. Taking advantage of Mirza not taking him seriously, Iskon delivered a lightning-fast counterstrike, extending his blade at the very last moment.
Steel grazed the Orc's shoulder, leaving a thin red scratch. Mirza froze, looking at the drop of blood welling on his skin. "Ha!" The Orc grinned. "You finally got me. Your speed has become worthy. But you are still a child playing with his father's sword."
Grak Axe, seeing Mirza beginning to swell with battle fury, instantly appeared beside Iskon. His axe flared with the white haze of "Sundering Strike." "He is not alone, Mirza," Grak growled. "If you want to test his strength — you will have to go through me."
"Two against one?" Mirza roared joyfully, his ritual scars beginning to pulse with golden light. "Now that looks like a real test! Show me what the Seventh Squad is worth!"
Two Harbingers and one newly-minted Pillar clashed in the center of the hall. Kaedan, standing aside, could only see blurred trails of their attacks. He understood that Grak and Iskon, combining their efforts, were barely holding back the Orc's onslaught. Mirza was at the peak of his rank, and his power overwhelmed them both.
Kaedan clenched his teeth so hard they ground together. He hated his weakness. He hated this shattered stone on his arms. Deep inside him, beneath the layers of despair and pain, something new began to stir — cold and hard, like the very heart of the mountain.