The Trial of Blood and Flame

Then— "Entering the arena—

the prince of Lionheart…

victor of trials unseen…

the one whose name shall be etched in legend—"

The air shifted.

Stone trembled.

Magic pulsed through the bones of the stadium like a heartbeat coming alive.

Anna's breath hitched.

Ben closed his eyes for a single, silent second.

Walton straightened like a pillar of iron.

The herald's voice exploded, carried by enchanted sigils that wrapped it in thunder and sent it rolling across the empty colosseum like a divine decree.

"—Prince Victor Lionheart!

The heir of the roaring flame!"

Silence fell.

And then—

The gates moved.

The massive stone doors at the far end of the arena groaned, ancient mechanisms waking from their slumber. Dust shook from the ceiling as hidden gears turned. The ground trembled beneath the sand, and slow, deep booms echoed through the hollow structure.

One…

Two…

Three…

Each step of the gate pulling open felt like a war drum sounding.

Light speared through the widening crack.

A shadow appeared.

Boots touched stone.

The sound was soft. Steady. Controlled.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Victor walked through.

The veil of shadow peeled from him as he entered the sunlight. The arena floor caught the outline of his form, stretching it long and clean across the stone. His presence didn't explode outward—

It settled.

Pressed.

Commanded the space without raising its voice.

His long hair fell freely down to his shoulders, shifting with the faint stir of air from the barrier field. His shoulders were relaxed, posture upright, but there was no laziness in it—only deliberate calm. His face was serious, quiet, carved with discipline and composed weight. Clean jaw. Sharp cheekbone line. Brows set in focus.

He wore his regular robe—white with purple accents, lion symbols woven into the fabric with threads of faint spiritual glow. It wasn't ceremonial armor. It wasn't battle gear.

It was him.

And that made it heavier.

Every step he took echoed across the arena like the ticking of a clock counting down something inevitable.

When he reached the center circle, he stopped.

Lifted his gaze.

And looked toward the balcony.

He found them instantly.

His father.

His mother.

Both seated behind the glass barrier of the command room.

Ben sat straight, hands folded, expression controlled—steeled with confidence.

Anna sat beside him, body rigid, fingers curled tightly in her lap.

Their eyes met.

In that instant, Victor saw everything.

His father's silent encouragement.

His mother's unspoken fear.

A breath left him slowly.

He turned back to kneel on one knee, fist pressed to the ground.

"Greetings," Victor's voice rang through the arena, formal, loud enough to carry through the magic.

"Your Majesty, my Imperial Father…

And Her Majesty, my Mother."

High above, Ben nodded once.

"Rise, Prince Victor."

Anna's voice followed, softer but steady. "Rise."

Victor stood.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't rush. Simply rose to full height and turned back toward them. This time, when his eyes met his mother's, he smiled faintly.

Not cocky.

Not careless.

Just reassuring.

Then he turned sideways as footsteps approached from the command platform stairs.

Walton descended.

His armor echoed faintly with each step as he reached the lower platform of the arena. He stopped a few paces away from Victor and gave a slight bow.

"Greetings, Prince."

Victor inclined his head. "Commander."

Walton's stern face softened just a touch. "You look as steady as the day you learned to stand."

A heartbeat passed before the tone shifted.

Now, it was official.

"If you are ready," Walton said, voice raising, "we will begin the Seven Knight Trial."

Victor nodded. "I am ready."

Walton lifted one hand.

The arena wards flared faintly.

Golden lines rose from the floor, forming a massive circular sigil beneath Victor's feet.

"As you know," Walton announced, the magic carrying his voice, "this trial is a tradition held by the royal family to determine whether the young blood is fit to bear the weight of decisions that shape a kingdom."

Ben nodded slightly.

Then Walton continued—

"This trial was conducted when a prince stands at the threshold of becoming Crown Prince."

The words hit.

Hard.

In the command room, Anna froze.

Her head snapped toward Ben.

Beside her, Ben didn't move.

Anna leaned close, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

"Ben."

"Yes, dear?"

"What. Is. That."

Ben coughed lightly. "Custom."

Her teeth clenched. "He is the only prince. The sole heir. The rightful future king. Why throw this pressure on him?"

Ben whispered back, calm and impossibly sincere. "I wanted to see him shine."

Her voice dropped to a whisper sharp enough to cut steel. "You idiot."

Walton, below, pretended not to hear a single word.

"…This is not a test of pride," Walton continued. "It is a test of endurance, mind, body, and spirit. Victory is not the only measure. Survival is."

Anna hissed softly to Ben. "If a single scratch appears on him because of your precious custom—"

Ben smiled politely. "I will take full responsibility."

Her glare could've burned empires.

Walton raised his voice again, firmly steering the momentum back.

"Prince Victor. You will face Seven Knights. Each test will last seven minutes. No more. No less."

The air thickened.

"Every knight represents a different trial."

The sigils beneath Victor's feet shifted.

"Strength. Will. Perception. Endurance. Discipline. Courage. Resolve."

Forty-nine minutes in total.

Prince Victor. You will face Seven Knights. Each test will last seven minutes. No more. No less."

The air thickened.

"Every knight represents a different trial."

"To abandon the trial is allowed."

"To fall unconscious is defeat."

"To die…"

A pause.

"…is unacceptable."

Victor inhaled.

Slow.

Deep.

The ground beneath him vibrated faintly as the first gate on the opposite side began to glow.

He looked up at the balcony once more.

Ben sat still.

Anna's hands were clenched around the arms of her seat.

He didn't speak.

Didn't bow.

Just nodded.

To himself.

Walton's voice cut through the silence.

"Prepare yourself, Prince Victor."

The first runic circle ignited.

"The First Knight Test begins… now."

Victor drew a slow breath through his teeth.

And nodded.

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