The Proving Grounds stretched before me like the inside of a massive sphere carved from the purest onyx. The floor reflected the purple-tinged illumination that emanated from the iron braziers.

Malachai, donned in his foreboding armor, stood at the chamber’s center. “Welcome, initiate.” His voice carried easily through the space, silencing the murmurs from the watching crowd. Then he inclined his head and studied me intently. “The Talons of Twilight and the Darkweaver’s Embrace—artifacts that have rejected or destroyed dozens of would-be wielders. Yet they accept you without hesitation. Interesting.”

Movement in the audience caught my attention. The blackguards were leaning forward in their seats, their armor creaking softly as they shifted for better views. Some exchanged knowing glances, while others made subtle gestures that suggested wagers were being placed on my survival.

“Your old skills mean nothing here,” Malachai continued, shadows beginning to gather around his form. “The equipment you bear demand more than mere physical prowess. Show me you understand what true power means.”

The kukris pulsed faster against my palms as if sensing the approaching danger. No doubt, whatever test Malachai had planned would push me and my new equipment to their limits.

He raised his gauntleted hand and commanded shadows that moved with purpose. They swirled around him like a tempest of living darkness, then spread throughout the rest of the chamber, causing the temperature to drop. Frost formed in delicate patterns where they touched the walls.

“Shadows are more than just absence of light.” Malachai’s voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “They are a force unto themselves, hungry for those strong enough to command them.” The shadowy tendrils around him writhed and twisted, then solidified. From the darkness, three figures emerged and took form.

My blood ran cold. The figures were perfect replicas of the city guards who had arrested me and dragged me to my execution. Every detail was exact, from the way the tallest one favored his left leg, to the notch in the shortest one’s helmet.

How? My mind raced. How could he know these details? I never spoke of that night to anyone here.

“Interesting,” Malachai said, his voice carrying a note of dark curiosity as he studied the conjured guards. “These aren’t the memories I expected to find within you. A nobleman who knows the touch of prison shackles? Or perhaps...” His helmet tilted slightly. “You’re not quite what you claimed to be.”

Heat rose to my face despite the chamber’s supernatural cold. I never wanted this part of my past revealed, certainly not so publicly. The spectating blackguards stirred in their seats, their interest piqued by this unexpected development.

I felt exposed and vulnerable. Malachai’s ability to pull from my memories was terrifying. What else could he see lurking in the depths of my soul? A new kind of fear settled into my bones. Not just fear of Malachai’s combat prowess or his command of dark forces, but of his ability to reach into my very mind and extract such precise details. What else does he know? What other memories could he twist into weapons against me?

The conjured guards’ sneering faces brought back the bitter taste of betrayal, the burning rage I’d felt as they’d dragged me through the streets. But now that rage was tempered with something else—a grudging admiration for Malachai’s extreme power. This was mastery beyond anything I’d imagined possible.

My fingers tightened around the hilts of my blades, feeling their responsive hum. Watching Malachai in his element of ominous power, I saw what I could become—a master of shadow and fear, someone who could bend darkness itself to their will. The trophies at his belt took on new meaning. They weren’t just symbols of victory, but physical manifestations of power taken from those too weak to wield it properly.

One day, I’ll wield power like this. I’ll make others fear my very presence, just as he does.

“Your mind holds such fascinating secrets,” Malachai continued, circling me with predatory grace. “These guards knew you well, didn’t they? Not as a noble to be respected, but as something else entirely.”

“I am of noble blood,” I declared, forcing confidence into my voice in a desperate attempt to keep up the charade. “My... involvement with certain parties led to unfortunate circumstances. My family thought it best to send me here, to learn proper discipline.”

His helmet tilted slightly, amusement radiating from his armored form. “Is that so?” He didn’t even try to hide his skepticism. “And I suppose these guards simply mistook you for a common criminal?”

Corvus stood silently to the side, his blindfolded face oriented in my direction. Though he couldn’t physically see through my deception, I felt his otherworldly senses cutting through my lies like a blade through smoke. His crows shifted restlessly on his shoulders, their feathers rustling with what seemed like dark mirth.

“The shadows cannot be deceived,” Malachai’s voice resonated through the chamber. “They know truth from lies. They see past the masks we wear, past the stories we tell ourselves.” He gestured, and the conjured guards moved closer, their copied sneers becoming somehow more cruel. “Let them be your judges, initiate. Let them decide what kind of man truly stands before us.”

The spectators exchanged glances, some nodding in approval at this unexpected twist, others whispering behind gauntleted hands. I caught fragments of their conversations—speculation about my true identity, debates about whether a common criminal deserved a place amongst their ranks.

Stolen novel; please report.

But there was something else in their reactions, too—a growing respect as they watched me face these echoes of my past. It was then I realized that this wasn’t just a test of combat skills. Malachai was probing deeper, testing my capacity to face my own past and turn it into something darker, something stronger.

I studied the way the way shadows coiled around Malachai’s form like obedient pets. He’s measuring my potential. The thought sent an odd thrill of terror and anticipation through me. If I survived this, if I proved worthy, could I learn to command darkness with such precision? To reach into others’ minds and twist their memories into weapons?

The kukris pulsed in my hands, eager to taste combat. Their weight felt more significant now, not just as weapons but as first steps on a path to power I was only beginning to understand. My armor seemed to tighten slightly around me as its inset runes flared with purple fire.

The three guards moved with the same arrogance I remembered, and spread out to surround me just as they had that night. But this time was different. This time I wasn’t unarmed, nor taken by surprise. This time I had power of my own.

“Traitor,” the first guard spat, his voice exact from my memories. “Time to face justice.”

This isn’t real, I told myself, even as my body instinctively shifted into a defensive stance. They’re just shadows given form. But the hatred in their eyes felt real enough, and my neck tingled with the phantom sensation of the hangman’s noose.

“Hesitation will get you killed, initiate,” Malachai called out. “These shades are as real as your doubt makes them.”

Gritting my teeth, I kept each of the guards in my line of sight. Their movements were perfectly coordinated, just as they had been that night in the city.

“Your past shapes you,” Malachai’s voice echoed through the chamber, “but it need not define you. Show me how you’ve grown beyond that moment of weakness.”

The tallest guard charged first. I moved on instinct as he swung his sword, ducking out of the way of his clumsy arc. My armor allowed me to flow like liquid darkness. The kukris responded to my thoughts, their curved blades leaving trails of purple-black energy as they deflected the second attack.

“You’ve learned some new tricks,” the second guard growled as he moved to flank me. “Won’t save you though.”

The third guard moved to complete the encirclement, but something had changed since that night in the city. My armor seemed to anticipate their movements, as I heard their warnings whispered through the runes etched into its surface. My weapons hummed with deadly purpose as they thirsted for shadow-flesh.

“You’re surrounded,” the lead guard taunted, his sword reflecting the purple light. “Just like before.”

But it wasn’t like before. I could feel the shadows around us, no longer just empty space but an extension of my will. The armor’s power flowed through me, turning my movements into a deadly dance.

The second guard’s blade came at my head while another swept for my legs. I twisted between them with impossible grace, a form of acrobatics that I could only dream of achieving.

“What the—!” The guard snarled as his blade met empty air.

It was my turn to go on the offensive. My armor allowed me to move faster than should have been possible. The Talons of Twilight sang in my hands as though they were an extension of me. They became a blur of motion, as I swiftly parried and struck my foes, leaving wounds that leaked shadowy ichor instead of blood.

A rush of adrenaline sparked something in me—not the fear and desperation of that night, but cold fury and newfound power. The gems in the kukris’ pommels flared brighter, responding to my emotions.

The guards tried to maintain their formation, but I was inside their defenses now, moving like a living shadow between them. Each strike was precisely placed, guided by years of experience enhanced by my new powers. The first guard fell, his form dissolving into wisps of darkness that were quickly absorbed by my blades.

The remaining guards attacked with renewed fury, their blades whistling through the air with killing intent. But something had changed—I could see their movements seconds before they happened, as if the shadows themselves foretold the incoming strikes.

“Die, traitor!” the second guard roared, launching a series of brutal cuts that would have overwhelmed me in my previous life.

Now, though, the Darkweaver’s Embrace made evasion feel as natural as breathing. I flowed around his attacks like water around stone, each movement bringing me closer to striking distance.

“You’re not real,” I declared. “You’re just shadows of a past I’ve already survived.”

The guard lunged at me with an attack that left him overextended, a mistake I’d noticed during my arrest but had been too overwhelmed to exploit. This time, I was ready. The right-hand kukri deflected his blade while the left swept in, its edge wreathed in purple-tinged shadow. The strike caught him just below the ribs and his form burst into wisps of darkness that the blade eagerly devoured.

“Im… Impossible,” the last guard breathed, taking a step back. “W-What are you?”

I could feel the eyes of the blackguards bearing down on me with keen interest. The shadows in the chamber seemed to pulse with anticipation, and even Corvus’s crows had fallen silent, watching intently from above.

“I am what your corruption created,” I replied, advancing on the final shadow-guard. The armor moved with me like a second skin, each step silent despite the metal plates. “I am the result of fallen justice.”

The guard attacked desperately, all technique abandoned in favor of wild swings. But I read his movements as if they were written in the air. I flowed around his strikes, my weapons moving in perfect harmony.

His end came quickly—a cross-cut with both blades at the neck and waist. His form dissolved, and the kukris drank in his essence.

An ear-ringing silence fell over the chamber. Then, moments later, it was broken by slow, deliberate applause. Malachai stepped forward.

“Well done, initiate,” he said, his voice carrying both approval and warning. “You’ve faced your past and emerged victorious. But that is only the first test.”

Of course, it is, I thought, frowning. Overcoming one’s fears was just one piece of this grand puzzle that seemed to make up the complexities of this mysterious stronghold.

The shadows around Malachai began to coalesce into new forms—ominous, more monstrous shapes that bore little resemblance to human guards. The spectators shifted in their seats with anticipation. Above, Corvus’s crows flew about, their feathers falling like black rain as the chamber’s purple light dimmed to a sinister glow.

“Now,” Malachai’s voice resonated with ominous power. “let’s see how you handle creatures born of pure shadow.”

The Talons of Twilight hummed in my grip in eager anticipation, while the Darkweaver’s Embrace tightened around me like a lover’s caress. As Malachai’s shadow fiends took solid form, their red eyes blazing with hunger, I realized the previous trial had been merely a warm-up.

The real test of my worth was about to begin.