The stairs led down into the ancient heart of Drakarra—a place untouched by sunlight, where even dragons dared not linger. The air grew thick with heat and memory. Carvings of warrior queens and flaming beasts lined the obsidian walls, eyes glowing faintly as if watching.
The envoys descended in silence, their footsteps echoing like whispers of doom.
At the bottom, a voice greeted them—not Zhalira's, but something older. Wiser. A woman cloaked in red smoke stepped forward. Her face was hidden, but her presence crushed the air like gravity.
"I am Keeper of the Flame," she said. "You have spoken words. Now you must prove their weight."
She pointed to three great archways, each carved with different runes:
The first glowed with golden light—The Trial of Truth.
The second crackled with blue flame—The Trial of Fear.
The third pulsed with crimson shadow—The Trial of Fire.
"You must walk alone through each," she said. "No help. No lies. Only what lives inside you."
One envoy stepped toward the first archway. As he crossed the threshold, light swallowed him whole.
Inside, he stood before a mirror—not of glass, but of memory. He saw himself. Not as he wished to be, but as he truly was—his betrayals, his cowardice, the blood on his hands.
He screamed.
The others waited in growing terror.
The second stepped into the Trial of Fear. Shadows rose around him, taking shape as monsters from his childhood, war beasts from Drakarra legends, and finally—Zhalira herself, her eyes glowing white with power.
He ran. But the path twisted endlessly.
The third entered the Trial of Fire. The ground melted beneath his feet, forcing him to walk barefoot across burning stone. A dragon circled above him, testing his every step. When he fell, flames leapt to catch him—but he rose again.
Not all made it back.
But those who did, stumbled out—charred, broken, changed.
The Keeper nodded slowly.
"You have survived. But survival does not grant favor. Return to the Flameborn Queen… and let her decide if you are worth her time."
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