2025-10-14 15:22:43“Come on, let's take a little walk. I have a few things to share with you.” He got up holding me by the hand. I couldn't fathom what was actually happening. “Now we're taking walks?”
“Do you know why we go through these rigorous training sessions to drive out a lot of you and emerge with only a few at the end?” He asked me. His questions were beginning to scare me but I answered them still.
“Yes, Sir. To emerge as potential warriors that can protect our planet from threats.” I answered. “Wow! Smart boy. Yes, Yes. Now look around and tell me what you see?”
“ I see lush and vibrant trees, Sir.”
“Good, now look at the men, what do you see?”
“ I see a gallery of survivors, Sir.”
“ Yes, you see, the trials serve several crucial purposes for the Liberated Liions. They are more than just tests of strength; they are a fundamental part of the clan's culture and survival. The trials are a profound rite of passage. They are a test that connects each warrior to the clan's history and its founders. By surviving the trial, a warrior earns their place and honors the legacy of those who came before them, forging a powerful bond of shared experience and suffering. The trials reinforce the core identity of the Liberated Liions. They are a chapter defined by their ability to survive and thrive in a harsh, unforgiving environment. By constantly facing the most dangerous parts of their world, they prove that they are "victors of Terra".”
I had never had such a close up and detailed discussion with an elderly before. I never knew my parents and my guardians never saw the best in me. In fact they were so eager to give me away for the trials with the hopes that I wouldn't last a day here. This experience felt different and I began to see myself as well as my journey in a different way from that moment forward.
Little did I know that this conversation was not given by chance but would be the source of my strength in the trial to come.
“Heyyyy! Look who we have here!” Another familiar voice called out as I departed JD Blaxskn's presence. It was none other than Titus Anvil. “If it isn't the mighty slayer of Dallaxxs Blaxskn.” He continued, letting out a bold laugh as he approached me. Titus was one of a kind.
In a world defined by its grim, unforgiving nature, he was an anomaly—a warrior who hadn't let the crushing weight of the Crucible or the unyielding pressure of his clan strip away his humanity. While others from the Ferrum Clan might be defined by their stoic strength and aggressive demeanor, Titus’s true power lay in his resilience of spirit. His bold laugh and quick wit were not signs of disrespect; they were his armor with which to cut through the tension and fear that were a constant presence in the lives of the aspirants.
“Come over here man, I've got something for you.” He pulled me towards the Maw—where we had our food and received announcements. As my closest friend I knew he was definitely up to no good. As I entered the Maw I was immediately greeted by loud bangs of cups on the table, the harsh clangs of rods and hands clapping continuously.
“Woah! All these for me?” I blushed so hard. It was almost as tense as the ‘well done, son’ I had earlier received. But, nope—nothing could be compared to that. He was there at the front with folded arms but I smiled because beneath all that stoicness was a genuine proud gleam in his eyes.
Titus laughed the hardest, he cheered the longest. I wasn't at all surprised. That was his person. His jovial nature set him apart from his kin, most notably his stern and ambitious cousin, Jax Anvil. While Jax saw the trials as a brutal ladder to be climbed, Titus viewed them as a bizarre, absurd test of will that's best faced with a wry grin. As my eyes traveled through the room, I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't clapping. He just stood there with folded arms and a stern look and as our eyes met, I could feel the unspoken tension between us.
Jax Anvil was the physical manifestation of the Ferrum Clan's philosophy. Where others are lean and fast, Jax was built like a living battering ram. His form was a testament to the brutal, aggressive training he had undergone since childhood, with a broad chest, a jaw that looks carved from stone, and a constant, simmering intensity in his dark eyes. He carried himself with a proud, unyielding posture, a walking challenge to anyone who would dare question his strength.
To Jax, victory isn't something you achieve through stealth or cunning; it's something you seize through dominance and overwhelming force. That was what made him hate me so much. His rivalry with me ran far deeper than simple competition. From the moment we met, Jax saw me as everything he was not and everything he distrusted. Where he faced his challenges head-on, I would outsmart and outmaneuver them. In his mind, my reliance on my intellect and stealth was a sign of weakness—a coward's way of avoiding a true test of strength. He often dismissed my successes as flukes, as he did that day.
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CHAPTER 14: EXILE FROM THE HEARTH
My aunt’s door remained shut, but I could feel her disappointment pressing on the wall like a physical force. Then I saw my uncle. He stood outside his workshop—a grizzled, quiet man whose rare approval meant everything to me. He watched me approach, his face a desolate mask of grief. As I drew level with him, his eyes, usually kind, hardened into chips of black granite. He met my gaze for a long, aching moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned his back on me, walking into his workshop and pulling the heavy wooden door shut with a resounding thud.It was a physical blow that staggered me, a pain worse than any venom. He hadn’t just turned his back on me; he had extinguished my presence. I couldn't endure it. I couldn't live with the guilt and the unanswered condemnation. Ignoring the armed guards and the cold command in JD’s posture, I broke ranks. I ran to the back of my aunt's house, my legs burning with a fresh, desperate adrenaline. I shoved the familiar door open and stu
CHAPTER 13: EXECUTION BY JUDGMENT
The transit vehicle was a cage, armored and utterly black inside. I was slumped on a cold, unforgiving bench, fighting the constant urge to vomit. The metallic, bitter taste of the venom residue still coated my mouth like old pennies. My muscles were in revolt, not just tired, but actively spasming—a relentless tremor beneath my skin, like a thousand trapped needles. The ringing in my ears wasn't just loud; it was a high-pitched, mocking whine that blocked out everything real. My head felt like a bruised melon, thrumming with a headache that felt capable of splitting my skull.I tried to breathe—a simple, basic function—but my lungs burned. Every cell in my body felt violated, scraped clean. The swamp hadn't just drained my strength; it had stolen my ability to feel anything but this raw, awful emptiness. I was a man held together by pure, desperate, exhausted will. JD Blaxskn sat across from me, motionless and immaculate. He didn't look at me, but I felt his scrutiny, cold and clin
CHAPTER 12: UNTETHERED
We were moving out of the tent, heading toward the temporary storage area, when a body slammed into mine, sending a shockwave through me that nearly knocked me off my feet. I looked up and was met by the cold, unforgiving eyes of Jax Anvil. His stare had always been distant, but this was different. This was a message. And I understood it perfectly, without a single word being spoken. He blamed me for Titus's death. Jax let out a low, gruff huff, then looked away. A chilling feeling ran down my spine, confirming the unspoken accusation. He’s right. I am responsible for his death. My guilt twisted the moment, telling me Jax's pain was proof of my treachery.I found myself near the storage sacks, unable to move. I was lost in thoughts. I could not lift a finger to pack anything. All I did was sit still and observed an ant try to drag a grain of millet over to its layer. The ant struggled, slipped, righted itself, and hauled the grain again, its tiny effort immense. I saw myself in its
CHAPTER 11: A LINE ON THE LEDGER
I didn't run. I couldn't afford the panic. I walked, rigid and cold, toward the faint, sickly green glow of the trial marker. Every step was a forced act of will, driven by the ruthless core of the Silurix discipline: cunning ensures life. My boots squelched on the fungal mat, but the sound was distant, muffled by the ringing in my ears—a fading echo of Titus’s final agony.The marker was an ancient, rough-hewn stump, its wood covered in bioluminescent moss and the crudely carved sigil of the Liberated Liions. I reached out a trembling hand and pressed my palm against the cool, damp surface. The sigil flashed, a brief, silent affirmation that the trial was complete. I had survived. I had won.The moment the sigil flared, the oppressive silence of the swamp was ripped away. The heavy, sweet, intoxicating mist began to thin, pulled back by powerful, unseen vents hidden in the canopy. The sounds of the outside world—the distant, metallic hum of Victoria's machinery—rushed back in, ra
CHAPTER 10: TITUS! (II)
The Crucible was engineered to break you down, not just with impossible physical feats, but with relentless, gnawing hunger. Every meal was the same tasteless, lukewarm protein paste. They wanted us hollowed out, easier to fill with their dogma.But Titus was the only one who fought the hunger with laughter.“Look at that slop, Nox,” he’d grumble, kicking his boots in the dirt. “If I fed this to a stray dog back home, my mother would whip me.”Titus came from the wealthy Anvil clan; I came from the Silurix alleys, raised by the back of the palms of my aunt and uncle. Yet, the hunger made us equals. And the Instructors’ Mess Hall, forever wafting the rich, forbidden scent of spiced meat and dark sugar, became our common enemy."We need a distraction," he whispered that night in the barracks, the hunger making his voice tight. "They’re too paranoid to let anyone near that kitchen. They guard against strength, but they don't anticipate cunning."The mess hall ran on a main methane l
CHAPTER 9: A FINAL STEP SIDEWAYS
The sound arrived like a physical blow.It wasn't a roar of battle or a challenge; it was a pure, high-pitched shriek of sheer agony and terror, instantly recognizable, instantly wrong. It cut through the insulating silence of the swamp like a razor across velvet.Titus!The name tore through the haze of the hallucinogenic venom. All the spectral images—the disappointed faces of my aunt and uncle, the silent, judging figure of Titus—vanished. The mist, for one terrifying second, cleared enough for brutal reality to flood in. Titus was close. Too close. And he wasn't fighting the hallucinations; he was being torn apart. I had seen the sign. I had seen his image but I thought it was the swamp playing tricks on me. I ignored it.Now that I had realized how reckless I had been, my feet moved before my mind could process it. A rush of pure, raw instinct—Friend. Danger! Save him! I plunged forward, heedless of the terrain, ripping through hanging moss that stung my skin. I could hear
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