The Trial of Blood
The doorway behind Elias shimmered, beckoning Jason with a strange pull. Beyond it, a vast crimson sky stretched across a shattered land. Jagged rocks floated in the air like broken pieces of a forgotten world. Thunder rumbled in silence, and the ground beneath him bled crimson light from ancient cracks.
Jason stepped through.
Immediately, heat pressed against his skin, but not from fire—it was the heat of memory, of history, of bloodlines older than he could imagine. As the door vanished behind him, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.
He was alone.
Then a voice—his voice—spoke from all around him.
"To open the Gate is not just to walk through it... but to be remade by it."
A pillar of red flame erupted ahead, and from it, stepped a tall figure, robed in black and silver. His face was obscured by a horned mask, but Jason felt a cold chill in his spine.
The figure lifted his hand, and Jason's knees buckled involuntarily.
"I am your Bloodkeeper," the masked man said. "And I am here to test your right to the Gate."
Jason gritted his teeth and stood. "Let's do this."
The Bloodkeeper swept his arm, and suddenly Jason stood within a ring of standing stones—each carved with symbols from his birthmark. One by one, they lit up. Jason's mark flared in response.
"The Trial of Blood," the Bloodkeeper said, "is not a fight of swords—but of spirit. Your soul will be split... and judged."
Jason screamed as his vision tore apart.
—
He opened his eyes—and found himself back in the forest. The original campsite. But everything was wrong.
The trees were blackened. Tents torn. No sign of his friends.
And in the center of the clearing...
Lay Jason's own body.
Cold. Still.
He gasped and turned—but no one else was there. Except a version of himself standing at the edge of the firelight, cloaked in shadow.
"This is who you become if you turn away," the shade whispered. "If you choose fear. If you leave the truth buried."
Jason tried to speak, but the world twisted again.
Now he stood in the ruined house—the one from the forest. Except this time, it wasn't abandoned. It pulsed with a dark presence.
He saw Evelyn on the floor, bound in shadow.
Mr. Rivers—his teacher—stood at the doorway, eyes hollow.
Leah stood behind Jason's younger self, trying to shake him awake. "You have to fight!" she cried. "This isn't over!"
Jason's younger self did nothing. Just stared at the floor.
Suddenly, a blade of pure darkness pierced Leah's chest.
Jason screamed and lunged—but the vision cracked and faded.
The Bloodkeeper's voice returned:
"Your bloodline holds power—but only when you choose to wield it with clarity, not pain."
Jason fell to his knees again. He was trembling, heart racing. "Enough! Show me the truth! Let me finish this!"
The sky darkened further.
The Bloodkeeper stepped closer, lowering his mask.
Jason froze.
It was him. Older. Worn by war. Scarred.
"Every version of you exists in your choices," the older Jason said. "But only one becomes real. What will you carry? Hate? Power? Or purpose?"
Jason stood, his birthmark glowing like fire. "Purpose," he whispered.
The world burst into flame—
—
—and he awoke on the floating platform again, Elias waiting.
But this time, Jason was different. His mark had grown, etched up his forearm like armor. His eyes burned slightly red, like coals beneath the surface.
"You faced your blood," Elias said with a nod. "And it did not break you."
Jason clenched his fists. "No. It made me ready."
Elias turned, and the platform descended into darkness.
"You are no longer a boy lost in the forest," he said. "You are a gatewalker now. But shadows stir. The Bloodline War is returning."
As they descended, a new vision rose before them—a ruined city Jason had never seen, burning with war, where a shadowy figure sat on a throne of bones.
"Who is that?" Jason asked.
"The one who opened the first Gate. And the one who wants to open them all."