Chapter — The Obsidian Chamber
The air changed the moment the doors sealed behind them.
It wasn't just the temperature, though the descent brought a cold that gripped bone. It wasn't just the pressure, though the tunnel pressed inward with weight older than most cities. It was the silence—total, suffocating, ancient. Not absence of sound, but a place where sound feared to exist.
The stairs spiraled downward, each step carved from seamless black obsidian that gleamed with unnatural sheen. Faint veins of silver light pulsed beneath their feet, like something alive trapped inside the stone, reacting to their presence. Magic—old magic. Elemental, perhaps, but corrupted by something more primal. A stillness carved from time itself.
No torches. No lanterns. Only the subtle silver pulsing, guiding them down like the rhythm of a patient heartbeat.
Asher's voice came at last, a whisper in the dark. "I hate this place."
"Good," Ethan muttered. "Means you're still sane."
Nick said nothing, eyes alert. His wind affinity gave him an edge—he could feel the air ahead. But down here, even the breeze trembled.
The spiral ended at a single platform, where obsidian pillars curved upward into a dome that radiated quiet power. No doors marked the walls. The room was round, windowless, and impossibly vast—far larger than the tower should have allowed. Runes glowed faintly along the curved ceiling, forming a great eye-shaped seal.
Seven stone thrones stood around the chamber's perimeter, each elevated on its own platform. Some were occupied. Others weren't. But all held the weight of judgment.
In the center of the room stood a narrow platform, raised slightly, its edges glowing with enchantment—like a trial stage from a theater made of law, power, and secrets. The trio stepped onto it without being told.
From above, one of the thrones pulsed with a subtle violet light. A woman spoke.
"You three stand before the Board of Concord and Silence."
Her voice was like cut crystal—refined, sharp, cold. Her features were veiled in a shifting illusion, but her presence was unmistakable. Lady Vaelra, Archon of Records.
"You were sent on a Class-C escort mission," she continued. "Yet your return brought the collapse of a goblin den, destruction of rare crystal terrain, multiple injuries to students, and the death of a Goblin Shaman—an entity far above expected threat level."
A second voice, this time male and weary, added from another throne. "You returned with wounds that should have killed you. And three unregistered items… wrapped in heat-resistant cloth, doused in protective essence, and heavily warded."
Ethan stiffened.
"They were eggs," another voice confirmed. "Yet not dragon. Nor goblin. Nor fae."
A pause. Then the tone changed. "Why did you not report them?"
Nick's jaw clenched. "We didn't know what they were. We weren't trying to hide them—"
"—But you did," came the interruption, this time from a throne where a silhouette sat draped in armor so black it bent the light. "You wrapped them. Ward them. Secured them in your own quarters instead of reporting immediately. That is concealment."
"Then charge us," Ethan said, his voice low and cold, like a blade just unsheathed. "Charge us with treason, and be done."
The air snapped with tension. Magic rippled faintly through the chamber, subtle but immense.
"No," said Lady Vaelra. "We will not charge you. But we will judge you."
A long silence.
Another Board member—Master Toren, the Spellwright—spoke next. "You disobeyed protocols, yes. But you also survived odds well beyond your station. Your use of your weapons, your elemental control… you adapted beyond curriculum."
He shifted forward slightly in his throne. "And then there is the matter of the crystal. You didn't shatter it."
"The Goblin Shaman did," Asher added quietly.
"But you retrieved it intact," Toren replied. "And did not activate it. Which means you showed restraint."
The seven thrones remained silent for a long moment, each figure lost in thought.
Then the Archon of Records lifted her hand. A silver glyph appeared in the air and shimmered into motion.
"You three are to be elevated in classification. As of this night, your student ranking is suspended, and you will receive provisional field agent titles under supervision. Your success was earned through power and sacrifice. You will be given gear to match it."
From one corner of the room, a second platform opened with a mechanical hum, revealing rows of enchanted artifacts sealed behind protective glass—swords that shimmered with flame, rings that pulsed with protective auras, cloaks that billowed with unseen wind. None of them touched yet. But they glowed, ready.
"As of now," Lady Vaelra said, "you are no longer merely students. You are tools to be tested. And shields we will wield when the deeper wars come."
Another pause. Then—one final voice spoke from a throne shrouded in utter darkness.
"Bring them the one who reforges."
And with that, the room dimmed further. The trial was over.
The boys were escorted out, not by force but by implication. Outside the Obsidian Chamber, the same runner from earlier waited, his eyes wide as if he'd just seen ghosts. He bowed slightly.
"The Forge Master Kael requests your presence."
As they turned toward the forge once more, the world behind them seemed darker, deeper, and watching.
What they had found in that cave… was no accident.
And what they were becoming… was no longer just part of the academy's plan.