Morning rose over the fractured lands of the sanctuary. Light barely pierced the hanging dust, yet the heat was already crushing.

  Garlan stood slowly, muscles still stiff from the previous day. His chest still bore the mark of Darak’Thar’s blow, despite Marenna’s healing. He said nothing. He did not complain. He simply moved forward.

  Darak’Thar, reduced to a humanoid form so his sheer mass would not crush the surroundings, waited at the edge of a natural chasm, where a jagged stair of raw rock descended into the depths.

  — Descend. And climb back. With this.

  With a flick of his claw, he pointed to a massive stone block, vaguely spherical, etched with extinguished runes. It pulsed faintly, as if it were… alive.

  — A fragment of an Ancient. You will carry it. To the top. Under reinforced gravity.

  Garlan nodded. He stepped forward, placed his hands on the stone. It was hot. Heavy. Too heavy. Gravity here was different—twisted, almost bent by the will of the place.

  He crouched. Lifted.

  And began to descend.

  A morning of pure suffering followed.

  Garlan had to endure the trial twice.

  The first time in human form: gravity at x50. Unstable stairs. Inverted winds blowing from the galleries below. Each step ripped a grunt from his throat. Each climb tore at his muscles. But he held, finishing the ascent gasping, back bent but proud.

  Then Darak’Thar forced him to repeat it. In full draconic form this time, with gravity pushed to x70, worsened by his own greater mass. The stone seemed heavier, the world more hostile. His breath harsher, his legs heavier. But he refused to yield.

  And he never fell. Not once.

  When he reached the top the second time, more exhausted than ever, bare-chested, covered in dust and sweat, he laid down the fragment without a word. Darak’Thar observed, unmoving.

  — You bent. But you did not break.

  Garlan said nothing. He simply met the dragon’s gaze, defiant, breath still ragged.

  Afternoon came. The sun still crushed the canyon.

  Darak’Thar led Garlan to a natural arena carved into the rock. Ancient terraces circled the battleground. And in the shadows, they waited.

  Massive silhouettes. Some reptilian, others like living statues. All radiating an overwhelming presence. Not dragons… but not mere creatures either.

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  — These are those shaped by the earth. Wingless draconids. Forged in endurance and stone. You will fight each of them.

  Garlan’s eyes burned with determination.

  — And if they break me?

  Darak’Thar answered without a smile:

  — Then you do not deserve to remain whole.

  The first opponent stepped forward.

  Half-human, towering over two meters, skin thick as raw stone. His massive arms looked like a giant’s clubs. Each step echoed in the earth itself.

  From the heights, Darak’Thar rumbled:

  — No magic. Only blows. Only brute strength.

  Garlan rolled his shoulders, feet planted. A faint grin spread across his lips.

  — Perfect. That’s what I like best.

  They charged, colliding like boulders at full speed. The ground quaked with the impact. They locked hands in a contest of raw power, muscles straining, feet buried in stone.

  For a moment, Garlan remembered his clash with Arcalion. He remembered.

  He released his strength subtly, just enough to unbalance his foe—then, with fluid precision, clasped both hands together and brought them down on the draconid’s back.

  The impact was sharp. The opponent slammed into the ground with a dull crack, raising a cloud of dust. He did not rise. Stunned.

  From his perch, Darak’Thar grumbled, faintly surprised:

  — Hmmm… Stronger than I thought. Or is it… simply this morning’s trial that already made him stronger?

  The next two stepped forward together. Even larger, their bodies encrusted in dark crystal. Raw diamond, streaked with glowing veins. Their silhouettes glittered beneath the canyon light.

  Garlan narrowed his eyes. He lunged, driving a kick into the first one’s flank—

  Useless. The blow reverberated through his leg like striking a mountain. He staggered back, teeth clenched.

  — All right. Tough ones, aren’t you?

  The two draconids charged together. Garlan rolled aside, barely dodging. A fist split the air a breath from his face. A mineral tail smashed into his ribs—he flew, crashed into a pillar. Cracked. Breathed. Rose again.

  He shut his eyes. Not brute strength. Not here. He pictured the faults, the micro-openings in the plates. And then… he saw.

  A swift sequence: he leapt, feinted an uppercut, slipped under the giant’s arm, drove his searing fingers into a joint of scales.

  A localized explosion.

  The draconid collapsed.

  The second hesitated. Garlan leapt again, breaking joints one by one—knee, flank, neck. Like a stonecutter. Surgical. Exhausted, but methodical.

  When the second one fell, Garlan fell too. One knee in the dust, gasping.

  From above, Darak’Thar watched long and silent. Then rumbled:

  — Not bad. You did not pierce the diamond. You outmaneuvered it.

  Garlan, torn and bleeding, finally collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, body torn. Marenna rushed to him, hands glowing with green mana. She healed him frantically, heart pounding, whispering words to keep him awake.

  By nightfall, they lay side by side in a rocky alcove, away from the arena.

  Garlan, staring into the dark, trembled faintly. Then, without warning, silent tears streaked his face.

  — I feel so weak, he whispered. Unworthy of what I am. Unworthy of… you.

  Marenna turned, startled by the fragility in his voice.

  — Garlan…

  — I’m supposed to be a dragon. An heir. But right now… I feel like a broken child. How could I deserve your love if I can’t even stand?

  Marenna slapped him, tears streaming down her own cheeks.

  — Never say you don’t deserve me, you idiot! Without you, I’m nothing! We are whole together, Garlan. And I forbid you to think otherwise!

  Garlan cried harder. Not from pain. But from her words. Because she loved him, even when he doubted he deserved it.

  Meanwhile, Brenuss remained apart, beside Darak’Thar.

  The Primordial lowered his gaze to him, voice rumbling like a quake held within:

  — So, little black dragon… you are the last of your lineage, aren’t you?