Chapter 47: Trial of Weights (Part 3)

  Nobody moves.

  The statue has slid aside. The passage beyond beckons with darkness, but none of us can bring ourselves to take a single step toward it.

  We just breathe.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  Minutes pass, maybe five or ten. Time has lost all meaning in this place.

  Eventually, I have to force myself to assess the damage.

  The right shoulder still throbs and I press my claws against it. The rapid cellular regeneration has already closed the wound with fresh scar tissue that will probably fade within a few hours.

  My body feels hollow and my stomach growls, loudly enough that Kor'ik glances over with concern. Empty. Like I've burned through every reserve I had and then kept going.

  Looking at the others, I see the same exhaustion written in every line of their bodies. Gorvash sits with his back against the now-dormant statue, his broken arms cradled carefully across his chest. The splints are holding, but I can see the swelling has gotten worse. Kor'ik has curled into a ball near the edge of the platform. And Thrak'zul simply sits with his straight posture, staring at the passage ahead with an expression I can't quite read.

  We're battered, exhausted and somehow, that shared understanding passes between us without words. A recognition that we've each proven something essential about ourselves in this place.

  Thrak'zul is the first to break the silence. He limps toward me, his movements stiff but purposeful, and extends his massive hand.

  I take it. His grip is firm despite the trembling in his muscles. He hauls me to my feet with surprising gentleness, and for a moment we just stand there.

  "Forward," he says simply.

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  The passage beneath the statue descends at a gentle angle, wide enough for two of us to walk abreast. The air changes immediately as we enter, cooling noticeably and carrying that distinct scent of abandoned places.

  The walls here are different from the trial chamber above. Smoother. More deliberately crafted. And as we descend the spiral stairs carved into the passage, the stone starts to emit a faint light.

  The luminescence spreads across the walls, revealing murals that have waited in darkness for who knows how long.

  "By the ancestors," Gorvash breathes, and even with his injuries, he can't help but step closer to the nearest wall.

  The first mural shows a single figure. Humanoid, but not quite human. Tall and graceful and completely hairless, with proportions that suggest something between elf and man. The artist captured it in profile, walking forward with purpose.

  But as the figure progresses along the wall, it splits. Two identical beings walking side by side. Then four. Then eight. The multiplication continues until the wall shows dozens of these beings.

  And then their paths diverge.

  I move closer, studying the bifurcation point. One path shows these beings becoming… more. Additional limbs sprouting from their torsos. Two arms, four, then six and finally eight. Their bodies elongate, becoming almost spider-like in their proportions. And in the center of each form, a single eye opens. Large and all-seeing.

  As they walk, cities sprout besides them. Towering spires, massive bridges, and intricate machinery are built by their many hands.

  The final figure in this sequence stands at least twelve feet tall, with eight perfectly symmetrical arms and that central eye blazing with inner light. It's unmistakably the same design as the statue above.

  "The Builders of this city," I say, recognizing the pattern. "This is how they came to be."

  But the other path tells a different story.

  Where these builders gained symmetry and order, these primal beings gained chaos. The murals show them sprouting scales, fur, feathers, horns. Their bodies elongating into serpentine forms, or compressing into brutish masses of muscle. Wings unfurling from shoulders. Tails whipping from spines. Claws, fangs, spikes, and venom sacs.

  Every possible mutation is represented.

  And standing as a colossus above them all, the final form in this evolutionary chain.

  A Dragon.

  The mural depicts it with wings that could blot out the sun, scales that shine like polished obsidian, and eyes that burn with terrible intelligence. And in the center of its chest, clearly visible even in the stylized artwork, a huge stone glowing in an intense golden light.

  "Is this… where we came from…?" Kor’ik says, his voice carrying a note of deep reverence. Considering what I know so far from my short but eventful life in this place, I think I agree. Still, the implications are too much for my mind to wrap around for now.

  We descend further, following the murals as they chronicle what came next.

  And inevitably, they show War.

  The final scene sprawls across both walls of the passage, forcing us to turn our heads to take it all in. The Builders and Primals are locked in apocalyptic combat.

  The eight-armed figures wield weapons of impossible complexity and devices that channel different types of energies I can't begin to understand. Their constructs such as the stone guardians, march alongside them.

  But the Primals fight with raw elemental fury. The dragon leads an army of beasts, each one a masterwork of evolved lethality. They breathe fire and ice and lightning. They tear through stone and metal with claws designed for maximum devastation. And each one channels magic through their core stones, the glowing centers providing power to abilities that defy natural law.

  There is a crucial difference in how they channel their powers. The Builders created external tools while the Primal beings evolved internal ones.

  It's a fundamental split in philosophy. Achieving power through craft and artifice, their glowing weapons and machines requiring skill and knowledge to operate. But the Primals channeled everything through their core stones, making their magic an innate part of their being.

  Two paths to evolution. Two ways of answering the question on how to deal with power.

  "Who won?" Kor'ik asks quietly.

  I gesture at the empty ruins around us and the trials designed to test our worth and apparent absence of any living Builders in this world.

  "As you said before, we seem to be descendants of these Primals" I say. "But these greater beings… it seems they destroyed each other."

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  The implications settle over us as we continue descending. This entire complex, these impossible trials, the knowledge contained within. All of it the remnant of civilizations that tore themselves apart.

  And we're the inheritors. The lesser beings who come after, picking through the ruins like scavengers.

  The thought should be humbling. And it is. But it's also electrifying. Because if this is what they left behind, if these are just the scraps of their knowledge…

  What else is waiting to be discovered?

  The spiral staircase finally terminates in a long hallway. The ceiling here is lower, more oppressive, and the walls lack the elaborate murals from above.

  At the end of the hall stands a massive archway. Dark metal frames it, covered in the same intricate runes we've seen throughout the ruins. But unlike the active mechanisms above, this one sits dormant. Silent.

  Until we approach.

  The moment we cross some invisible threshold, the archway responds. A low hum builds from nothing to a resonance that vibrates in my chest.

  "Portal," Gorvash says unnecessarily.

  But it's incomplete. I can see the energy gathering, building toward activation, but it hasn't quite reached critical mass. Like a machine warming up after centuries of disuse.

  "Should we wait?" Kor'ik asks. "Rest more before crossing?"

  It's a reasonable question. We're all exhausted, injured, operating on fumes. A few hours of rest could make the difference between survival and death if whatever waits on the other side is hostile.

  But Thrak'zul shakes his head. "No food. No water. How long can trial exist?"

  He's right. We have no supplies, no way to replenish ourselves in this sealed section of the ruins. And we have no idea how long the portal will remain active once it reaches full power. It could stay open for days or it could collapse in moments.

  "We go through," I say, though the decision sits heavy in my gut. "Now. While we still can."

  Nobody argues. Because what choice do we have? Forward is the only direction that makes sense.

  But before the portal, there's one final detail that demands attention.

  In the center of the hall, directly in our path to the archway, a pedestal rises from the floor. Black stone, perfectly smooth, maybe three feet tall. And floating above it, suspended by some invisible force, is a ring.

  Not ornate or decorated. Just a simple band of dark metal with three grey round-shaped stones set into it at regular intervals. The stones catch the violet light from the portal, reflecting it with an inner luminescence that suggests they're more than simple decoration.

  "The prize," Gorvash breathes.

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  We all stare at it for a long moment. None of us moves to claim it.

  The silence stretches. Uncomfortable. Charged with unspoken politics.

  Finally, I step back. "You should take it," I say to Thrak'zul. "You're the prince. And you fought as hard as any of us."

  But Thrak'zul doesn't move. Instead, Gorvash grunts and uses his shoulder to gently shove me forward.

  "What?" I blink, confused.

  "Without your strength, brother," Gorvash says carefully, each word chosen with deliberation, "we definitely die in trials."

  "You have weird eyes that see what others miss," Kor'ik adds, his throat sac pulsing with what I'm learning to recognize as his version of a smile.

  Even Thrak'zul nods. "Strange Lizard… You lead us through. You earn prize."

  I want to argue. To point out that they all contributed equally, that survival was a team effort and claiming the prize would set a dangerous precedent in our group dynamics.

  “I can’t use magic.” I say in a final attempt to argue.

  But Thrak'zul's expression stops me cold and it's not a suggestion nor a polite offer.

  "Learn," Thrak'zul says simply.

  So I reach for the ring.

  The moment my claws touch the metal, the ring drops into my palm. No longer suspended. Just a physical object responding to normal physics.

  It's surprisingly light. Almost too light, like it's made of aluminum rather than the dense metal it appears to be. The three stones set into it are cool against my scales.

  I slide it onto the middle finger of my right hand. The fit is perfect, as if it was sized for me specifically. Which is impossible, but I've stopped being surprised by impossibilities.

  For a moment, nothing happens.

  Then I feel it. A pull in my gut, like a tether connecting the ring to something deep inside me. My core stone, I realize. The same energy source that fuels my regeneration and other evolved abilities.

  The connection settles into place with an almost audible click of recognition.

  And suddenly I understand the ring's mechanism through some sort of direct intuition. Like muscle memory for something I've never done before.

  Three stones, each with its own activation in two different forms that demand energy from my core.

  A Pull and a Push.

  I focus on the first stone, willing it to activate. This Pull mechanism engages immediately.

  My knees buckle and I nearly collapse as if my weight has doubled instantly and without any warning. A sudden, crushing multiplication of my mass pressing down on my already exhausted legs.

  "Shit!" I gasp, barely catching myself against the pedestal.

  The others tense, ready to intervene, but I wave them back. This is my problem to solve.

  I switch then to its Push setting.

  The crushing weight vanishes. More than vanishes. I feel light. Impossibly light. Like I could jump to the ceiling without effort.

  "Weight manipulation," I say, understanding flooding through me. "The ring increases or decreases my effective mass."

  But there's a cost and I can feel it already. The ring draws power from my core stone. Not much for small adjustments, but maintaining the effect for extended periods would drain me quickly. And in my current state, with my energy reserves already depleted from rapid healing…

  I cycle back to neutral, releasing the magic. My weight returns to normal, and the drain on my core stone stops.

  "Useful," Thrak'zul briefly observes.

  “This is great, brother.” Gorvash also interjects more enthusiastically. “But can also be dangerous.”

  He's right. This isn't some game where magic is a separate resource from health. Everything runs on the same biological engine. Use too much magic, and you compromise your body's ability to heal and to survive.

  But it's also exactly what I need. A tool that forces me to engage with this world's magic system. To learn its costs and benefits through direct experience rather than theoretical observation.

  "Thank you," I say to all of them. And I mean it.

  The portal chooses that moment to complete its activation sequence.

  The hum that had been building in the background suddenly crescendos into a deep, resonant tone. The violet light intensifies, and within the archway's frame, the rippling energy coalesces into something more solid. More real.

  "Now or never," Gorvash says, his usual bravado diminished but not entirely gone.

  Kor'ik stands back in apprehension. "What if the slave brand activates again? What if crossing triggers the binding magic and kills us all?"

  It's a valid concern. The brands burned when we entered the trial complex. Who's to say they won't burn again when we leave?

  "Or maybe orcs wait on other side," Gorvash adds grimly. "Ambush us and take the prize."

  Also possible. I very much doubt the Orc Chief would have expected us to survive the trial. Still maybe he is expecting us to die so he could then try his luck, if it is possible.

  I look at each of them in turn. Battered. Exhausted. But alive. We've come too far to turn back now.

  "Staying isn't an option," I say simply. "We have no food, no water, no way to survive in here. Whatever's on the other side, we face it together."

  Thrak'zul decisively nods once. "Together."

  We form up at the portal's edge. No elaborate plan this time. No careful strategy. Just four beings who once more survived impossible odds, preparing to step into the unknown.

  The ring on my finger catches the violet light, the three stones glinting with promise and threat in equal measure.

  "Ready?" I ask.

  No one answers. Because ready or not, we're going through.

  I take a last look at this ancient hall, surrounded by the remnants of a civilization that destroyed itself in pursuit of transcendence.

  Fiddling with the ring, I can feel the connection to my core stone. The promise of power and the promise of learning how to wield it.

  Kor'ik glances at me, his eyes wide. "See you on the other side?"

  "See you on the other side," I confirm.

  And so I step into the portal.