Veyron's fingers hovered over the brass box, the air thick with an oppressive tension. The glowing symbols etched into the surface of the device pulsed rhythmically, as though alive, beating in time with his heart. The room around him seemed to grow still, even the hum of the machinery falling to a whisper.
The Guildmaster's voice echoed, cold and detached: "Open it."
The box offered no hint of what lay within. No clues, no warmth or coldness to suggest danger or safety. Only the rhythmic pulse of its glow. And Veyron knew—he knew, somehow—that this was the first of many choices he would have to make. In the Clockwork Guild, power was not granted through blood or title—it was earned, scraped from the bones of those who were willing to pay its price.
With a calm, practiced motion, Veyron slid the lid open.
The inside of the box was empty.
A sharp, disorienting silence followed. His pulse quickened, but he did not flinch. This was a test. Of course, it was. But what was the test?
He turned his gaze back to the Guildmaster, who regarded him impassively, his mask reflecting the faint light. The Guildmaster said nothing. Veyron's hand trembled for the briefest moment before he closed the box. His decision had been made. And yet... something felt wrong. A shiver ran down his spine, but he forced himself to remain still.
"Is that all?" Veyron's voice was steady, yet a tinge of impatience crept in. "A box with nothing inside?"
The Guildmaster stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. "Do you understand now?" he asked, his voice a quiet murmur. "Do you understand the nature of the power you seek?"
Veyron's brow furrowed. "Power is a choice. But it's nothing if it isn't earned."
The Guildmaster's gaze grew colder, the smile on his mask twisting into something inscrutable. "It is not merely about earning it, Ashwood. It is about what you are willing to sacrifice for it. That box—empty as it was—was a mirror. A reflection of your own soul, stripped bare. The empty box asks: What is it you desire most? What are you willing to give up to possess that power? Your humanity? Your memories? Your sanity?"
Veyron stood motionless, his mind racing. He had known the price of power before—it had cost him his family, his name, his past. But here, with the Guild, it felt different. It wasn't about mere survival or vengeance. This was something far more insidious. Something darker.
The Guildmaster's voice broke the silence once more. "The empty box is not empty at all. It is a choice—a temptation, if you will. If you had opened it and found something inside, something you truly desired, you would have bound yourself to the Guild's will. You would have lost a part of yourself, just as I have, just as all of us have."
Veyron stared at the box, the weight of its emptiness pressing down on him like a thousand unseen hands. The choice had been his, but so too had been the consequence of leaving it closed. To take the power, he would have had to make a sacrifice. And yet, to refuse it was a sacrifice of its own kind.
The Guildmaster's voice softened. "You have done well, Ashwood. You have passed the first trial. But remember this—power is never truly free. Not in the Guild, and not in the world outside these walls."
Veyron clenched his jaw, his mind turning the words over. Power is never truly free.
The Guildmaster gestured for him to follow, leading him deeper into the labyrinthine halls of the Guild. As they walked, the walls seemed to close in on them, the glow of arcane symbols casting long, eerie shadows across the stone. There was no sound but the faint, echoing clicks of the clockwork machinery, grinding away in the background like the heartbeat of the Guild itself.
The deeper they went, the more oppressive the air became. The scent of old books, oil, and dust mingled with something metallic—a sharp, bitter tang that made Veyron's throat tighten. The hallways twisted, winding down into the bowels of the Guild, as if the building itself had a soul that wanted to bury its secrets as deep as it could.
At last, they arrived at a large iron door, its surface covered in runes that shimmered with an unsettling light. The Guildmaster turned to face Veyron.
"This is the second trial," the Guildmaster intoned. "Beyond this door lies what you seek: power, strength, and the knowledge to wield them. But it will come at a price. This trial will test your resolve, your humanity, your very soul."
Veyron stepped forward, his hand brushing against the cold surface of the door. The touch sent a shiver through him, a tingle of something ancient and forbidden. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a chamber shrouded in darkness. The faint hum of machinery grew louder as he stepped inside, the shadows swallowing him whole.
The Guildmaster's voice followed him into the darkness. "Once you cross this threshold, Ashwood, there is no turning back. The price of power will be exacted, and only those who can withstand the cost will leave with what they seek."
Veyron took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. There was no turning back. The world had already forgotten him, erased his name, and shattered his past. But here, in the heart of the Guild, he would forge a new destiny. A darker destiny.
The door shut behind him with a final, resounding thud. Veyron stood alone in the darkness, the weight of the Guild's promise heavy in the air.