Chapter 232: The Crucible Passage

“What kind of sorcery is this?”

The outburst came first, followed by an immediate chorus of hisses, clicks, guttural rumbles, and sharp murmurs in at least seven different ancient tongues. Every guardian in the hall shifted, scales scraping or stone bodies creaking, all equally scandalized.

“Is there something wrong with the first trial?” one guardian asked, voice echoing with bewilderment.

But even Thyrran did not answer at once.

The massive serpent narrowed his eyes and slithered forward, gaze flickering with calculation as he replayed the earlier activation of the Crucible Passage in his mind. The mortal had touched the door, the ancient runes had flared, the threshold had accepted his presence, and the mechanism of the Ascension Hall had awakened exactly as it always had.

Nothing had been tampered with.

Nothing had malfunctioned.

And yet this result was… unprecedented.

What in the archives was happening?

How could there be no sanction at all? No backlash, no suppression, no punishment for the use of any magic or magical devices?

Yes. Sanctions.

The Crucible Passage was no gentle introductory test. It was the first of the trials, the beginning of the long and brutal gauntlet within the Ascension Hall meant to determine an individual’s eligibility for maturity. It always began the moment the challenger touched the door.

Upon contact, the hall would choose trials designed solely to target the individual’s weaknesses. Their fears. Their flaws. Their vulnerabilities. The first trial should have reflected exactly that.

And yet here they were.

Every guardian stared into the veil of darkness, shocked and appalled.

What in all the realms was this?

How was a mortal dealing with the first trial like this?

__

Well, by following directions.

For someone like Riley, that shouldn’t be the hardest thing in the world. He was simply doing what Thyrran told him to do.

And honestly? He was grateful to get something. Anything. Because while he certainly adored his golden dragon now, there were definitely many moments when he wanted to gut Kael for giving either zero instructions or the most confusing, ironic, or downright contradictory ones.

Sure, it was “freeing” in a sense because it meant Riley could execute things however he wanted. But at the same time, the poor aide rarely received confirmation that he was doing anything right. His only reassurance was the fact that he remained alive long enough to collect a salary and accidentally become someone’s mate.

So when words flashed through his mind, the panic didn’t devour him whole. Not that he didn’t panic at all because he certainly did, but at least he didn’t simply freeze this time around.

Apparently, he’d had enough practice taking inexplicable commands like “Jump!” or “Run!” or “Don’t breathe near that artifact unless you want to die!”

Compared to those, “Follow me” and “Find me” were practically kindergarten-level instructions.

Besides, humans had a certain pride in following instructions properly.

But more than that, humans also had a deep, primal satisfaction in exploiting loopholes. Strategic loopholes. Especially when they didn’t know they were being graded on it.

So Riley, a rare breed of survivalist dragon aide with a specialization in just winging it, did exactly that.

He used his phone.

Fffshk—click.

A beam of white light blasted into his face.

“Gah—!” he groaned, instantly blinding himself and staggering backward.

His hand shot up. He blinked rapidly, cursing under his breath as tears welled up. For a good three seconds, he had absolutely no idea whether he had just opened his flashlight or vaporized his retinas.

But once the sting faded and his vision returned, he wasn’t complaining.

Being blinded by a flashlight was oddly comforting compared to the suffocating abyss he had been swallowed by earlier. Warm. Familiar. Human.

Safe.

Well, safer.

At least he could see a tiny bit of something now.

Then again, maybe it was a blessing in disguise that his phone’s light was so weak that it barely illuminated a few steps ahead. Because if Riley actually saw too much of what was around him, there was no guarantee he’d still be able to walk in a straight line.

He lifted the phone again, heart thudding, and aimed the beam forward.

This was… not exactly the most serious thing on the outside. Just a man trying to find a path with a phone flashlight.

But it was actually very serious. Intensely serious. Suspense-thriller serious.

The light revealed a stretch of stone beneath his feet.

He took a cautious step.

Another.

He swept the light forward again.

The ground stopped.

Riley’s stomach dropped.

It didn’t slope down. It didn’t crumble. It simply… stopped. Abruptly. Like the world ended right there, and the rest was a black void waiting to eat anyone dumb enough to step into it.

He very nearly tested it by shining the light into the darkness, but halted immediately when the memory of being swallowed whole by the dark earlier flashed through his mind.

Absolutely not.

Not again.

Not this century.

“Nope,” he whispered to himself, backing up slowly.

He angled the light to the right.

Ground.

Okay.

He took that path.

After several steps, he tested again.

Ground ended.

Void.

He backed up again.

Left this time.

Ground again.

Walk.

He continued like this, zigzagging across the area in a strange pattern that, to any observer, looked bizarrely random. But Riley was working with what he had. He kept moving, breathing carefully, mindful of his phone’s battery level because the universe clearly hated him and he did not trust it to perfectly survive the earlier fall.

Who knew how long the phone would last?

And frankly, as long as there was ground in front of him and he wasn’t falling into some storybook hole again, then it should be fine, right?

Probably.

Hopefully.

He kept walking anyway.

__

Unbeknownst to the mortal wandering around with nothing but his phone flashlight and increasingly questionable life choices, a far bigger commotion was erupting behind the veil.

“Can this even be allowed to go on?” one guardian asked, alarm rippling through his voice.

“What kind of magical artifact is that strong when even the ancient relics could not survive the restrictions of the Crucible Passage?!” another hissed, tail lashing.

Then, from the side, an older guardian muttered in disbelief, “So would this be the first passer who passed without even flapping a wing?”

Thyrran looked down through the veil.

Unlike Riley, who saw nothing but a suffocating darkness, the guardians could see everything. Every deadly void. Every trap. Every shimmering rune that made up the first trial of the Ascension Hall.

And from the serpent’s view lay the truth of the maze beneath Riley’s feet.

The Crucible Passage wasn’t a hallway at all.

It was an expansive, sprawling landscape carved into a vast labyrinth—

three narrow, winding paths stretching from one end to the other like rivers of stone cutting through an ocean of bottomless dark.

No walls.

Only darkness.

Endless pitfalls of void beneath each path, deep enough that even a dragon’s wings would not find purchase.

Any creature who fell would disappear outright. The younglings wouldn’t die, but their growth progress would definitely be affected. But what about those that weren’t younglings or mortals?

Then again, considering what was happening, was the outcome something that should also be challenged?

Who knows?

But what was certain was how, normally, the initial fall should’ve marked the start of the trial.

The falling candidates would panic for a breath, then immediately activate their wings the moment they registered the drop. That was the expected reaction. The logical reaction.

And then, once airborne, they would realize the true horror of the trial:

A deadly labyrinth designed to devour the unworthy.

The airspace would appear vast, but the slightest miscalculation would send them spiraling into the abyss.

Runic traps were set to disrupt flight paths.

Exploding air runes, razor-thin slicing wards, and pressure bursts that destabilized flight.

They would have to avoid each trap, staying endlessly vigilant while maintaining flight for as long as their stamina allowed. But what would happen when that becomes impossible? Then, they could only hope to find the rare pockets of solid ground where they could land for even a moment’s reprieve.

Even breathing fire for light—

a desperate and instinctive tactic used by many—

was penalized, consuming exponentially more mana in the hall’s suppressive field.

This trial tested everything.

Endurance.

Instinct.

Spatial awareness.

Mana control.

Courage.

And whether one could stay calm in a sky full of death.

For centuries, countless younglings with a weakness for flight had been weeded out here.

But down in the darkness…

The walking stick was almost halfway across.

Halfway.

And it had only been half an hour.

Thyrran’s tongue flicked out in disbelief as he watched Riley make another slow, cautious turn—

awkwardly shuffling, tapping the ground with his foot to confirm the existence of solid stone before committing to the step.

Sometimes he would pause.

Sometimes he would wobble with nerves.

Sometimes he would mutter under his breath.

But otherwise?

Where was the blood?

Where was the desperation?

Where was the panting, the trembling limbs, the mana-depleted collapse, the clawing at empty air for reprieve?

He wasn’t flying.

He wasn’t dodging air traps.

He wasn’t battling darkness.

He was just…

Walking.

Walking through the supposedly difficult and rare ground that was really meant to be a reprieve to the lucky ones.

The guardians stared in collective disbelief.

How could such a thing ever be explained to the ancestors?

And worse—

Was this level of absurd strength the reason he had been left behind with such inexplicable orders in the first place?

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