Amidst all this emotional talk, the group didn't realize that they were much closer to Mount Drogr' Volen. In front of them was a forest that looked vast and deep. The golden halo of the black hole was positioned like a crown atop the mountain in the sky.
The boys couldn't help but be surprised by the sheer size of Mount Drogr' Volen.
Everyone's eyes widened except for Zykarith's, because she was used to seeing the mountain regularly.
Samar gasped, "Whoa, it's so massive that I can't even see the peak of this mountain."
Roumit, who had regained his composure, pressed the temple of his glasses and said, "Is this where the rest of our trials are supposed to be conducted?"
Zykarith looked at him and said with an unreadable expression, "Not 'our,' only Armaan's."
Samar's eyes narrowed, and so did Roumit's. "What do you mean?" Samar asked, getting serious.
Then Zykarith sighed and said, "Listen, it's Armaan who is here to awaken his powers, not you. So he is supposed to be taking the trials, not you..."
Then Armaan asked with an indifferent expression, "Then why were they included in the previous three trials?"
"That was a mistake, but they won't be allowed to interfere anymore," Zykarith said.
Then Samar frowned and started walking towards Zykarith. "What is this rubbish? If we were allowed to be in the first three trials, then why not now?"
Zykarith stayed where she was with the same demeanor and said coldly, "That was because of the fraction of powers Xarthos gave you and Roumit. Moreover, you both were only allowed to be with Armaan because I was with him. But even I'm not allowed to accompany him in the next stages, so you both have to come with me."
Samar grew furious and tried to grab Zykarith's collar. She was ready to knock him out, but Armaan's hand grasped Samar's wrist firmly.
"Who told you that you could raise a hand against a woman?" Armaan said in his cold, dominant tone.
Samar pulled his hand back with a gulp.
Then Zykarith, who was now confused, started thinking, Isn't he the one who beat me to a pulp the first time we met? But she didn't say anything.
Then Armaan continued, "She's right, this is my trial. And apart from that, you both came here to accompany me, but you didn't intend to break any rules, did you?" he asked both Samar and Roumit.
Roumit nodded and said, "Yeah, this is Armaan's awakening, not ours. We will only get in his way, so let's just go with Zykarith."
Armaan smiled at Roumit and then said, "Alright then, it's decided. I'll meet you guys at the top." Then he turned to Zykarith. "But remember, if anything happens to them, the consequences will not be good," he said coldly, his eyes expressionless.
Zykarith frowned and asked, "Are you threatening me?"
Armaan's expression didn't change at all. "You could say that," he said.
Seeing the tension grow, Roumit interfered, "Stop fighting. Zykarith, let's go."
Zykarith just looked at Armaan and said, "Their safety is my responsibility. You should focus on your next stage."
Armaan smirked faintly and waved goodbye before entering the dense forest.
Then Samar turned to Zykarith after Armaan left. "I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. I had just lost my mind."
Zykarith smiled and said, "It's fine, I can understand how you were feeling."
Then Samar and Roumit smiled back.
After a while, Samar asked, "By the way, is there any kind of TV to watch Armaan?"
Zykarith gave him a comical look, as if to say, "What kind of ancient word is that?"
So Samar and Roumit chuckled and said, "Forget it. Let's go for now."
Then Roumit asked, "By the way, what is gonna be Armaan's next trial?"
Zykarith hesitated but then spoke, "Since you all, including him, faced the merciless third trial, the fourth trial is a lot easier..."
Samar jumped in, "What's that!?"
Zykarith continued, a little irritated, "He has to survive in that dense forest and reach three-quarters of the way up the mountain. As far as I have seen and noticed his speed... it may take him more than 15 days even if he goes at his top speed..."
Just then, she got a message from Rogan, his voice ancient and deep: "Armaan has crossed the forest and reached the destination of the 5th trial..."
Zykarith's eyes widened to the extent that her eyeballs threatened to drop out. "What!? How so fast!? It's record-breaking..."
Meanwhile, Armaan, who had used 60% of his prana in his legs to reach the destination, seemed a little exhausted, so he sat down leaning against a rock, taking in the view of the scenery around him.
Samar asked Zykarith, "What happened? Is it related to Armaan?"
Zykarith, who was still shocked, managed to say, "Yes, h-he has cleared the fourth stage already, and because of that, even the Draconic Eightfold Court is not fully prepared for the final stage of the trial."
Samar grinned while Roumit smirked. "As expected of that guy," Samar said.
Then Roumit asked, "What's the Draconic Eightfold Court, by the way?"
Zykarith, who had increased her pace, said, "They are the highest-ranking rulers of the realm. The court consists of a total of 8 rulers who are called Thanes, and they rule over different regions of the Draconic Realm.
And amongst them is the Draconic King, whom we call the 'Thane of Inferno', Zor'kyrell..."
The scene shifts, the previous environment dissolving into the overwhelming expanse of a colossal hall. The sheer scale of the room makes the air feel heavy, but it is the oppressive aura of the fifteen individuals present that truly suffocates the space.
They are arranged with the terrifying symmetry of a pantheon, seated upon thrones that seem to manifest their very natures.
The Left Flank
At the first position on the left, an encroaching darkness swallows the light around a massive throne. Within this unnatural shadow sits a man with flowing white hair. His expression is an unreadable mask, detached and observing. Standing like a ghost behind him is a lean man with stark gray hair, his posture rigid and ever-watchful.
A little further down, the atmosphere shifts drastically. The second throne gleams with the blinding, pristine light of a captured star. Resting upon it is a boy who appears no older than fourteen, yet his silver hair frames a face devoid of any childlike innocence. His stoic, lifeless expression betrays a terrifying maturity. A woman with midnight-black hair stands silently at his back, a grounding shadow to his blinding light.
Next to the star is a throne completely swallowed by the void. No shape or material can be discerned—it is simply an absence of light. From the pitch-black depths, a pair of piercing purple eyes glares outward, intelligent and predatory. The only sign that this entity is not alone is the sinister glow of crimson eyes hovering in the darkness just behind the seat.
The Right Flank
Directly opposite the void, the third throne on the right is a grotesque monument of terror. It pulses with an erratic, dark aura, thick purple veins creeping across its surface like living roots. Seated upon it is a hooded figure, their face entirely obscured. The being wears nothing on their upper torso save for a tattered cape, revealing flesh that pulses with the exact same sickening purple veins as the throne. Behind this aberration stands a hulking, muscular man with blond hair, a brutal scar cutting across his hardened face.
To the left of this terrifying seat rests a throne carved from jagged, unyielding rock. It holds a massive, heavily armored man. His dark gray hair matches the rugged stone, and deep, fiery cracks run across both his armor and his face, hinting at a volatile, explosive temper just waiting to detonate. A bald brute of a man stands behind him, a colossal broadsword strapped to his broad back.
To the right of the pulsing throne sits its antithesis: a seat radiating corruption. Vile, venomous gases in shades of sickly green and violent violet coil around it. The man upon it sports a wicked, unhinged grin, his green hair fading into a dead, inky black at the tips. Glass vials filled with mysterious, sloshing liquids line his garments. Guarding his back is a small girl with bright orange hair; despite her age, her eyes hold the cold, calculated seriousness of a seasoned veteran.
At the very front of the right side, occupying the first position, is a throne that defies gravity, gently floating above the grand floor. Upon it lounges a woman with vibrant lime-green hair, her expression utterly neutral and unbothered. In a hall defined by masters and servants, she is the sole anomaly—she sits alone, with no one standing behind her.
The Apex
Finally, anchoring the entire room at the center—placed just before the first positions of the left and right flanks—is the grandest throne of all. It is a terrifying monolith of jagged, pointed rocks, wreathed in roaring, eternal flames.
Seated amidst the blaze is a man with long, cascading black hair. Where his eyebrows should be, two distinct orange horns protrude, marking his inhuman lineage. A faint, knowing smile plays on his lips. Without a single word spoken or a weapon drawn, his presence crushes the room; it is an undeniable, instinctual fact that he is the absolute strongest being in the hall. A solitary man with deep blue hair stands faithfully behind the roaring flames, his eyes fixed forward.
Fifteen souls. Eight thrones. An assembly that looks ready to either conquer the world or tear it apart.