House of Veranth

  The elders' study was a vault of secrets, windows shut and draped for secrets could flutter away with the wind. Light did not enter. The stench of tobacco assaulted his lungs.

  "You must uphold our legacy, Mattheos. That is your only duty. Questioning it only leads to ruin," Lord Veranth stressed. "Power is absolute. You will succeed, or you will be cast aside."

  Mattheos stood before the stern faces of the baron of house Veranth. Alongside the smell of tobacco was something else in the air of the packed room, swirling like the weight of expectation that laid heavy on his shoulders.

  Mattheos clenched his jaw, the echo of his uncle's words still ringing in his ears. "I know my duty," he said quietly. "But... What—"

  "There is no 'but'." Lord Veranth's voice boomed. "Doubt is a luxury afforded to those without bloodlines."

  He turned around to face the boy, face hard. "Go show your true worth. There, you will prove not only your strength, but your allegiance to your family, to the Sun, above all."

  The Trials were his crucible, a chance to prove himself worthy not just to his family, but to the Sun itself. Portraits lined the walls of House Veranth, of ancestors frozen mid-stare, oil-painted eyes tracking him with judgment. Victors, every one of them, their triumphs carved into history by the erasure of those who failed to conform.

  Including his own father.

  Bertram Veranth’s shadow lingered long after his death, a weight that seemed to press against the very air of the Veranth estate. A man so perfect, that his achievements were celebrated in gilded frames and inscribed plaques, letting him live even after his death. Perhaps, he hadn't crossed the river of souls even after a decade. Every heir walked the echo of his ambition, Mattheos was ordered to be no different.

  His hands curled slowly at his sides. He bowed his head in measured obedience. "Then I will face the Trials as you so wish," he responded.

  · ? ·

  Steam vented from the grates. Walls rose from the floor, twisting upward like iron fortress. The maze took a new form, letting itself terraform as it's corridors breathed into shifts.

  Sol stepped into the threshold with Ava floating just behind him.

  There stood the man blessed by the Sun. Mattheos blocked the their path, his red eyes cold and resolute beneath the hooding brim of his cloak. His presence was like iron forged in fire—those flames of the Sun.

  "Going somewhere?" Mattheos mocked. "I told you if we meet again I will crush you, boy."

  "Why do you insist?" Sol argued, "Why can we simply not go without a fight? This isn't a fighting Trial." Damn it all to hell! I am scared as shit!

  Mattheos scoffed. "Says the boy with his face on a wanted poster; I know who you are. Not everyone is here for fun; some of us are here to prove their worth."

  His words were a jab that landed like a spark on dry tinder. His mind flared with everything he hated about knights—their rules, their oaths, and especially their self-righteousness. Each syllable Mattheos spoke was a reminder of chains he would never wear willingly. Bound to honor, bound to law, bound to die for someone else’s ideal… not me. Heat prickled the back of his neck, the urge to break, to run, to ignore the sacred rules that governed Mattheos’ every move, nearly overwhelming him. Sol's grip on his weapon tightened.

  "Fine. You want a fight? You got it." I am going to die, alright!

  A quick glance toward Ava, barely a motion, sent his message. She lingered a moment, her brows knitting slightly as if she wasn't sure leaving was the right call. After a flicker of hesitation, she turned away.

  "I'll go. But be right behind me, kid." She drifted into the shadows of the maze, the walls swallowing her form.

  Then, Mattheos closed the distance with hurry. The boy with a white cloak lunged first. His fists came fast and strong with immense confidence, ready to overwhelm the younger boy with punishing blows. Sol ducked and weaved, narrowly evading a crushing uppercut that would have sent him crashing into the shifting walls.

  Sol sidestepped a sweeping jab. His breath came steady despite the brutal exchanges. He looked around, as the movements became slower and the walls began to shift once more. The passage they had worked so hard to reach was concealed once more.

  Dang it! It's too late, I need to— I need to find a—

  Sol ducked and dodged, reading Mattheos' moves which only frustrated the other. Timing the older boy's momentum, he twisted low, ducking down and slipped away. Sliding into a narrow, rusted vent hidden behind a corroded panel, he heard Mattheos scream in rage.

  It was lucky moment, opened by the change of the labyrinth's path. Ava had told him about the vents that contained a path beneath the maze, though, the two had decided to not try their luck with it.

  "You play dirtier than I thought!"

  Dirty? No. I am free. Here, he alone dictated the terms. And the world could burn around him for all that mattered.

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  From within the shadowed shaft, Sol whispered with an unrestrained smirk, "Got to be faster than that."

  He wriggled through the narrow passage, metal scraping his shoulders as he hurried forward, afraid someone would follow. After a few twists and turns, he found a mouth of the vent—an opening!

  With one shove, and the cover above gave way with a metallic groan. Warm light spilled over him as he climbed out. The maze's jagged walls ended there, and beyond them lay open space. He was at the exit of the maze. Sol slid out of the vent. He looked around and saw Ava who waited on the other side, sitting on her floating gear. When she spotted him, her lips curved into a small, knowing smile, and she lifted a hand in an short wave.

  Overhead, Sol caught the faint glint of robed figures on the observation deck, watching through brass scopes. They did not cheer, but simply observed him.

  He had completed his first trial.

  · ? ·

  In the narrow chamber, air tasted of brass and fatigue. The world within Solthar city felt smaller, stripped of it's spectacle for just a moment.

  The boy sat on the bench, breathless after a long battle. His head hung low, and he shut his eyes, tired after an unexpected victory. Sophia appeared as quietly as a whisper. Her eyes behind her glasses softened with a faint smile as she approached Sol's exhausted form.

  "Well done, Sol," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Not many make it this far. But don't get too comfortable."

  "Thank you, Ms. Sophia." He sighed and took a water bottle from her, responding with a smile of his own, albeit tired.

  "From what I've heard, the rules might be different this time. The Trial's organizers have been... unpredictable lately," she continued. "But worry not, I am confident you can tackle whatever comes you way."

  She handed him a small key, its worn brass glinting faintly in the dim light. A room for every participant, or just those who were left after the first battle.

  The small, square room assigned to him was rather suffocating but still a brief reprieve from the chaos beyond. The thin mattress barely cushioned his aching limbs, but Sol didn't care much for a leisurely bed. He sank down, closing his eyes against the lamp's flicker. Just as exhaustion threatened to pull him away, the edges of his vision blurred.

  Finnian's hand had been warm on his shoulder, pointing toward the center where an open-air platform sat before the crowd.

  "That's the final match," Finnian had whispered, eyes alive with excitement. "Look! see how they move? Like they already know each other's next step."

  Sol remembered how the fighters below weaved through bursts of steam and swinging weapons that sparked against each other's strikes. It wasn't just power, it was the will to win.

  "You'd be good at that," Finnian had said, ruffling his hair. "Quick on your feet and witty, I guess."

  Sol had laughed then, thinking it was impossible.

  "Maybe next time, you can watch me fight there." He declared, "And I will win, for sure!"

  By the time Sol's flame-colored irises open, it was already morning. He looks towards the curtained window as if had bothered him. It was still dark, but Sol recalled he was underground again. he remembered how the orphanage never had sunlight greeting them as dawn broke. Those days at Marguerite's were comforting. He enjoyed the faint drift of sunlight through the heavy curtains, but that was a fleeting comfort, and he did not belong there.

  Sol sat up, thin blanket sliding off his shoulders, and caught the faint smell of oil and metal. Competitors were getting ready, the workshops were already busy with weapon maintenance. The dormitory was already alive with footsteps and voices, alongside the hiss of steam pipes warming the cold air.

  He reached for his boots and letting his fingertips brush the patched leather on the side of one. He had stitched that seam himself the night before the Trials began. Not out of sentiment, but because precision calmed him for a moment—thread after thread, knot after knot, the control soothed something inside him, but he was unsure what.

  A sharp rap resounded on his door, interrupting the peace as a gruff voice barked, "Pairings will be posted in five!"

  He reached for his cloak, fingers brushing against the gun under his pillow. The was all he needed to get ready. The rest didn't matter. In the quiet of his room, his promise to Finnian hummed at the back of his mind. This was the moment.

  As he exited his cramped space, Sol didn't look back. He would not be coming back here again after his trials ended, so Sol decided to spend the rest of his time looking around. It was completely repurposed to become an arena. He walked through the basement level of the airship shed, looking at the workshops cluttered with tools, blueprints, spare parts, and mechanics.

  As he explored more, Sol found stairs that lead to even deeper levels of the shed. "What could possibly be down there?" He wondered to himself, but not before shaking his head. What he needed to be more concerned about was breakfast, and getting ready for his fight.

  The elevator took him to the ground level, and the dull natural light greeted him once more. Off to one side, perched on a crate like she owned the place, was Ava. A sandwich in one hand, a small copper contraption sparking in the other. She spotted him instantly, raising her sandwich in greeting before calling out, mouth half-full.

  "Morning, sleepyhead!"

  "Morning, genius." Sol tried to match her ease, though his voice cracked slightly at the end. He hoped she didn't notice.

  "Gathering intel." She took another bite, gears on her device clicking under her other hand.

  "You're up against Ector. Fast guy, swing-quick. Watch his left side; old injury," she mumbled through the food in her mouth. "Oh, and if he he taunts you, better to ignore him."

  Sol frowned, sitting down on the other crate. "Why are you telling me this? Aren't we technically... rivals?" His stomach still turned remembering how she'd played him like a fool in the labyrinth. He was naive compared to everyone else around him, winning through sheer luck.

  First fight could just be his end. He shuddered at the thought.

  Ava grinned, flicking her eyes up from the machine. "If I'd like to see anyone win, it'd be you. Only if I'm not the one winning, of course." She punctuated the line with a playful thumbs-up, crumbs still on her glove.

  Sol chuckled under his breath. "Generous of you." His tone was mocking, but the warmth rising in his chest betrayed him. She actually believes I can do this...? Or she's just messing with me again…

  A deep voice boomed across the grounds, echoing against the steel. "Participants to the staging area! Matches will commence immediately!"

  The crowd's murmurs surged into cheers. The floor under Sol's boots seemed to vibrate with the sound. His heartbeat followed suit, getting faster, and heavier. There was a rush of adrenaline as the crowd around the arena began to cheer and applause.

  Sol looked around seeing how, today, there was also an audience he could see. Sol's gazed looked around the arena as he made his was to the railing. Would Marguerite and Loen be among them? Watching me stumble? Or worse... watching me fail? He wondered.

  Ava hopped off the crate, and onto her gear. She slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  "Go get 'em, kid."

  "You too, genius." Sol drew a steady breath, ready to take on another trial. On the other side, the roar of the crowd swelled, a wave waiting to crash over him.

  The first round was about to begin.