The light in the trial chamber dimmed behind them. Roots slowly sealed the circular floor, like the closing eye of something ancient and finished with judgment. Raven stepped forward first, the talisman at his chest flickering with faint purple light. One-third of the Vault acknowledged. Two more trials to go.
Ahead, a broken stair jutted sideways into the wall—a spiral of stone twisted by roots, climbing through a narrow, vein-lined tunnel. Duskrunner sniffed once, then growled low.
"Yeah, I feel it too," Raven muttered.
The Ironbark Seneschal moved behind them, silent but steady. Its bark-plated form no longer throbbed with hostility, but the arena didn't forget. Even Phantom Seer hesitated before passing the threshold.
As they climbed, small lights flickered along the tunnel's edge. At first, they seemed like glowing fungus. But each one lit up a name—etched into root-wrapped plates of bone. Names of Rootbound warriors. Some scratched out. Some burned.
