Cassius stepped through the shattered archway of the building, the cold air of Bitterhold biting at his exposed skin through the cracks in his armor. His sword was still slick with oil and blood from the servitor he had dispatched, and his pulse thrummed in his ears, but his mind remained sharp, focused.

His boots crunched over shattered stone and cracked servitor parts, their mechanical limbs twitching with residual energy. The interior of the building was dark, illuminated only by thin beams of moonlight that filtered through the cracks in the ruined walls.

Blood and bolt holes covered the walls. The metallic tang of spilled blood mingled with the acrid smell of burnt metal, a sign of the violence that had ripped through this place. Dead Aspirants lay scattered about, their bodies twisted and broken, their deaths marked by the savage precision of bolter fire. Cassius paused, scanning the room, his eyes narrowing as he knelt near a fallen Aspirant whose torso had been torn apart by gunfire.

“This must have been a Sigil’s spot,” he muttered to himself, recognizing the signs of a desperate battle for one of the coveted Sigils that marked victory in the trial. It was clear that another group had been here, fighting fiercely for control of this strategic point, and had moved on—likely with more than one Sigil in their possession.

Cassius moved deeper into the ruins, stepping over mangled servitor parts and bodies alike. His mind raced, calculating the path ahead. Whoever had come through here had left in a hurry, and he could guess they hadn’t gone far. His goal was simple—find them, kill them, and take the Sigils for himself.

But as he approached a crumbling doorway at the back of the building, something stopped him. A faint, ragged sound. Breathing.

Cassius gripped his sword tighter, lowering his stance as he moved cautiously into the next room. It was a small chamber, its roof missing, the night sky visible through jagged cracks above. Moonlight spilled into the space, illuminating the blood-soaked figure huddled in the far corner. An Aspirant, his face pale, blood flowing from a deep wound in his side.

The Aspirant looked up, his eyes wide with pain and desperation. He was young—perhaps younger than Cassius—and his clothes were ripped and shredded in places. His hand clutched weakly at a shattered piece of rubble, trying to steady himself and stand at the sight of another.

“Help… me,” the Aspirant rasped, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. His voice was weak, but there was something in his eyes—a spark of defiance, a refusal to die here without a fight.

Cassius considered him for a moment, his instincts telling him to move on, to leave the weak behind. But something in the boy’s eyes—something familiar—stayed his hand. Perhaps it was the reminder of his own grandfather’s survival against the odds, or perhaps it was the raw determination in the Aspirant’s gaze. Whatever it was, Cassius made his decision.

He knelt beside the Aspirant, his gauntleted hand pressing against the bleeding wound in the boy’s side. “Can you fight?” he asked, his voice cold, yet not unkind.

The Aspirant grimaced in pain but nodded. “I… I can. If you help me.”

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Cassius gave a short, sharp nod. “Good. Then you’re coming with me my side needs watching and with your injuries so does yours.

With swift motions he bandaged the boy up with his and the child’s clothing, The boy winced but made no sound. Cassius admired that—pain tolerance was a necessity in battle, they both needed it.

As he helped the Aspirant to his feet, the boy spoke again, his voice a little stronger. “Name’s Kane. I… owe you, my life.”

“You owe me nothing yet, Kane,” Cassius replied, glancing back toward the way they had come. “But if you can hold your own”. He left the statement open for the boy to fill in.

Kane nodded grimly as he found a bolter to the corner of the exit. With a grunt, they interlocked shoulder to shoulder leaning heavily on one another. “I’ll fight. I will kill them. Whoever took the Sigils… I’ll kill them.”

Cassius gave a faint smile. “Then let’s hunt.”

The two moved quickly through the ruins, Kane limping but determined to keep pace. Cassius led the way, his senses attuned to every sound, every movement in the crumbling structure. They had barely made it out of the bloodied building when they stumbled upon movement in the distance—a group of Aspirants, five in total, moving cautiously through the wreckage.

Cassius gestured for Kane to take cover behind a fallen pillar as he observed the group from a distance. They moved with purpose, blood stains and scars marked by the blood of recent kills. Two of them held the coveted Sigils dangling from iron chains with a red glow, the glowing relics fastened to their sides, a mark of their progress in the trial.

“They have two Sigils,” Kane whispered, eyes wide as he recognized the group. “They must’ve taken them from the Aspirants back there.”

Cassius nodded, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. Five of them, all armed, and moving in formation. A frontal assault would be suicide, especially with Kane’s injuries. But he had learned to strike from the shadows, to take advantage of every weakness.

“We’ll ambush them,” Cassius whispered, motioning for Kane to follow his lead. “Stay low, and when I give the signal, we hit them hard. Take out the one on the left first—he’s lagging. He looked at the Bolter in the youth's hand “You know how to use that right” Cassius asked and the boy nodded, There was nothing else needed to say so he gave him orders “Split them up, and then we take the Sigils.”

Kane nodded, his grip tightening on his bolter. His breathing was still ragged, but the fire in his eyes had returned. He was ready.

Cassius circled the rubble; his footsteps silent as he moved into position. The rivals were too focused on their search, scanning the ruins for more Sigils, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. Cassius waited for the perfect moment—his muscles tensed; his mind sharp.

Then, like a predator striking from the dark, he sprang into action.

His blade cut through the air with lethal precision, the first rival barely having time to turn before the blade cleaved through his neck. Blood sprayed across the stone, and the others spun in shock, their weapons raised too late.

Kane opened fire, his bolter sending a burst of shots into the rival on the left, dropping him before he could return fire. The remaining three scrambled to regroup, shouting orders, but Cassius was already upon them. His blade danced through the air as he ducted and dodged a hail of bolter fire before slashing through another rival’s chest.

In the chaos, one of the rivals, clutching a Sigil, broke off and tried to flee. Cassius didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, driving his sword into the fleeing Aspirant’s back, the force of the blow knocking the rival to the ground.

Kane took out the last rival with a precise shot to the head, and then there was silence.

Cassius stood over the bodies, breathing heavily, his sword dripping with blood. He reached down and ripped the Sigil from the dead Aspirant’s sides holding it up to the light.

“They’re ours now,” he said, tossing one of the Sigils to Kane.

Kane caught it, staring at the glowing relic in his hands with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “We… are you not afraid” he muttered, looking up at Cassius with newfound respect.

Cassius nodded, his expression grim “Of course I am, who wouldn’t be. We need to hide time is almost up and I have no clue how many are still left”.

Together, they moved forward, their alliance solidified in blood and battle, ready to face whatever came next.