The Veritas Heir

3. THE FIRST TRIAL

The morning came like a punch. No sunrise. Just a thick, gray sky outside the tall glass window in Zane Veil’s room. 

The manor stood still, but Zane could feel something beneath the silence. Like the house itself was holding its breath. He hadn’t slept.

After the girl in black broke into his room, stole the Protocol card, and vanished in a cloud of smoke, he knew he was no longer a guest. He was a target.

Zane stared at the red ink message she left behind. “The trials have already begun. Survive the night, Heir.”

He folded it and slid it into his pocket. The fight wasn’t coming. It was already here.

…

At exactly 7:00 AM, a sharp knock hit the door. Zane stood, still wearing the clothes from last night. “Enter,” he said, voice steady.

The door opened, revealing a tall man in a tight black uniform. Face clean-shaven, jaw strong, eyes like storm clouds.

“Mr. Veil,” he said. “Your presence is required. The trial begins now.”

Zane narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Commander Ash. Protocol Enforcer. I don’t ask questions. I lead the test.”

Ash stepped back. “Follow me.”

Zane followed. His legs were sore. His ribs still hurt from the fight with the masked girl. But he kept walking. No weakness. No fear. Not now.

…

They walked down long hallways. Dark wood. Cold stone. No windows. Just lamps on the walls, flickering like candlelight. 

It felt like a castle, but one where knights carried contracts instead of swords.

They reached a metal door. Ash placed his hand on a black scanner. It clicked open.

Beyond the door was a different world. A long underground tunnel stretched ahead. At the far end, a set of steel doors opened into a chamber so large it could hold a stadium.

Zane stepped inside and stopped. It looked like a training facility, but darker. Harsher. Thick walls. Cameras in every corner. Four towers above, each with glass windows and blinking lights.

A voice echoed from speakers high above. “TRIAL ONE INITIATED.”

Zane turned toward Ash. “What is this?” Zane asked.

Ash crossed his arms. “This is the Maze of Judgment.”

…

A screen blinked to life on the wall. A digital map appeared, like a blueprint of a twisting maze.

Zane saw sharp corners, trap symbols, and red blinking spots. At the center, a room marked with an X.

The voice returned. “You have one hour to reach the center of the maze. Do not step off the marked path. Do not trust your eyes. Do not speak unless spoken to. One mistake may result in failure. Or worse.”

Zane frowned. “What’s in the center?”

Ash turned. “Answers.”

“And if I don’t make it?”

Ash stared at him. “Then you were never meant to inherit.”

The steel doors in front of Zane opened with a deep grinding sound. Mist rolled out like breath from a beast’s mouth. Ash nodded. “Time starts now.”

…

Zane stepped into the fog. At once, the door slammed shut behind him. The air was cold, wet, and thick. He moved forward slowly, one foot after the other, hands out slightly in front of him.

The floor was marked with glowing arrows. He followed them. Each step echoed.

Every turn felt like walking deeper into a place that shouldn’t exist.

The maze twisted and turned. Sometimes it narrowed, sometimes it opened wide. Shadows moved ahead, but when Zane reached them, there was nothing there.

He passed a mirror on the wall. It reflected... not him. A younger version of himself. Starving. Dirty. Crying. Zane clenched his fists and kept moving.

…

At a fork, a table stood in the middle of the path. On the table: a key, a bottle of water, and a photo.

He stopped. The photo showed his mother. She was smiling. Holding him as a baby. Zane stared at it, breath caught.

How did they have this? A whisper echoed around him. “Take the key, and your trial ends now. You will be free. No empire. No blood. Just peace.”

His fingers hovered over the key. But then he remembered Layla’s voice at the office. “You’re nothing.”

He stepped back. “No,” he whispered. He turned and walked past the table. The whisper faded.

…

Just after the fifth turn, the floor beneath him shifted. He jumped back as spikes shot from the ground. Snap! Snap! Snap!

Zane landed hard on his back. Pain tore through his shoulder. He rolled. Got up. Breathing heavy. “Keep it together,” he muttered. “Focus.”

But his thoughts raced. Who built this? Why did they want him dead? This wasn’t an interview. It was a hunt.

…

At the halfway point, a wall opened to the side. He raised his fists, ready for anything. A shadow stepped out. It was her.

The girl from last night. No hood now. Blonde hair tied back. Pale eyes sharp like broken ice. “I knew you’d make it this far,” she said.

Zane stared. “Who are you?”

She shrugged. “Call me Sylra.”

“You stole my card.”

“And you broke my rib,” she replied with a smirk. “We’re even.”

Zane didn’t lower his fists. “Why did you attack me?”

“Because you’re not ready,” she said. “Not yet. Not for the Protocol. I needed to see what kind of heir you really were.”

Zane’s jaw clenched. “And?”

She stepped forward. “You’re still alive. That’s something.”

Then she dropped something into his hand. The missing Protocol card. He looked at her, stunned. “Why return it?”

“Because the real test starts after the maze,” she said. “And you’ll need this.”

She leaned closer. “And because I want to see if you survive.” Then she vanished through another wall.

…

Zane ran now. The hour was almost gone. He could feel it. His shoulder throbbed. His legs burned. But he kept going.

Finally, he reached a tall gate with a gold scanner beside it. He pulled the card from his pocket. Tap. The gate opened.

Inside was a round room. In the center, a pedestal. On it a tablet with a glowing screen.

He stepped closer. It showed numbers. Bank accounts. Shares. Ownership logs.

Zane’s name on all of them. Billions. All his. A whisper behind him said: “Congratulations, Heir. You have passed Trial One. The world now knows your name.”

Zane turned. But there was no one there. Just a mirror. In it, he saw himself. But not the man he knew. This version wore a black suit. A gold ring on his finger. And a cold look in his eyes.

…

Zane looked away. When he exited the maze, Ash waited for him with crossed arms.

Zane stepped out, blood on his shirt, sweat soaking his back. Ash nodded. “You didn’t die. That’s a good start.”

Zane coughed once. “Is that your way of saying well done?”

“No,” Ash said. “It’s my way of saying the next trial will be worse.”

Zane didn’t speak. He walked past Ash. He didn’t care about compliments. He didn’t care about fear. All he cared about now was surviving. And finding out the truth.

…

That night, Zane sat alone in the manor library. A fire burned low in the hearth. He held the Protocol card in one hand, the photo of his mother in the other.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He hadn’t touched it since he arrived. He checked the screen. A message. “YOU’RE ON THE NEWS.”

Zane’s stomach twisted. He turned on the nearby monitor. There it was. His face. On every channel. “JANITOR TURNS OUT TO BE HEIR TO GLOBAL EMPIRE.”

Below that: headlines screamed his name. Enemies smiled on-screen. Layla. Harlan. Even the boardroom cowards.

But one screen caught his attention. A man in a black room. Only his voice could be heard. “Zane Veil has awoken. The game has begun. Let the hunters prepare.”

Zane sat forward. Eyes locked. The war had just gone public, and someone out there wanted his head.