At the top of the tower, a flame burned.
The flame was platinum-white, exceptionally pure and bright.
Its light pierced through the deep shadows flowing down around the tower, like a living thing, becoming the only clear light source in this dead silent world, like a distant lighthouse.
And the floating rock where that pillar stood was the center of all the floating rocks.
He understood.
This was the Pillar of Divine Flame, His palace, and the dwelling place of the deity they revered as "Dragonfather" Obsidian.
A Dragon, a God, and moreover, a Protector.
His consciousness slowly sank into tranquility, and the coldness deep in his soul gradually dissipated.
There was no longer fear, nor the slightest doubt.
"My Lord…" he whispered softly in his heart, "I… have entered."
He was moving towards it, no, not flying.
It was more like being guided by some force.
He felt no push from the wind, no inertia of taking flight, yet his consciousness and body naturally moved towards the palace.
The surrounding scenery slowly receded beside him.
The floating rock layers undulated, some surfaces smooth as mirrors, reflecting his image.
It was the broken body of a troll who had just died in battle, blood still fresh, yet without pain.
Finally, the divine palace was close at hand.
It stood silently in the center of the floating platform.
Discarding dazzling gold, it presented another kind of sacredness— understated and profound.
The Pillar of Divine Flame pierced the sky, its surface covered with complex carvings he could not comprehend.
Every line seemed to carry some profound decree, faintly emitting a faint glow under the illumination of the flowing light layer.
The palace itself was constructed from a fusion of some black metal and rock, neither reflective nor dim, exuding a tension and gravitas unique to a "Dragon."
Before the gate, there were no guards, nor souls lining up, only numerous stone platforms, semi-floating in the air, arranged in an orderly fashion to form a staircase leading into the divine palace.
He lightly landed on the stone platform, and as soon as his feet were steady, he heard a deep, clear voice from within the inner hall:
"You are the thirteenth."
The voice was like thunder, yet it resounded directly in his heart.
He instinctively knelt on one knee, the divine emblem hanging on his chest flickering slightly.
Before he could speak, a light pattern emerged from his body.
The light pattern was not aggressive; it seemed to be performing some kind of "scan" or "retrieval."
"Interesting, you retained your self from before death."
"Your consciousness has not collapsed, your faith is pure, your divine spell adaptability is excellent… and you still retain a clear will to fight."
He heard the voice again.
"I hope you can pass the trial."
The deep voice, like a final judgment, stirred ripples deep within the troll's soul, yet it gave him no room for thought or question.
The moment the voice fell, the floating platform beneath his feet, along with the entire scene of the suspended divine palace, twisted, shattered, and finally completely disappeared, like a disturbed reflection in still water.
The biting cold, that chill reaching the very core of his soul, suddenly returned with a vengeance, more surging and purer than when he first awoke.
Hum—
Not a sound, but a sensation of spatial tremor.
He found himself in absolute, nihilistic darkness, with no up or down, no direction, only the omnipresent cold current that seemed to freeze his soul.
But then, a faint light ignited on his chest—it was his divine emblem, engraved with the Dragon's Eye crest.
The faint light stubbornly resisted the darkness and cold, like a flickering candle in the wind, yet exceptionally resolute.
However, darkness was not the only thing.
Ice crystals began to condense in the void, not natural snowflakes, but composed of pure, frozen energy of will.
These ice crystals drifted silently towards him, and wherever they passed, even thought seemed to be on the verge of freezing and stripping away.
He understood instantly.
This was not battle, not slaughter. This was tempering, refining, this was… a trial.
The ice crystals touched the edge of his consciousness, and a strong sensation of "stripping away" assailed him.
It wasn't physical pain, but something more fundamental being dissolved, being questioned.
About faith, about whether his trust in "Dragonfather" Obsidian was pure enough, resilient enough.
That was the only thing that could protect him, that could allow him to continue to "exist."
"Lord…" he roared, not with his throat, but with the full power of his soul to call that name, to grasp that sole source of light.
"Please bless me."
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