Danarre awoke to the sound of distant hammering.

In the quiet morning darkness of his suite, he sat up, senses alert.

The tension pervading the estate had not lessened since the dinner.

If anything, the air felt heavier, as if everyone awaited a storm that refused to break.

He rose from bed, slipped into a light training tunic, and approached the window.

Below, in the courtyard lit by early dawn light, servants moved equipment toward the old armory.

There were wheeled crates, wooden racks, and lengths of strange metal rods being carefully installed.

Danarre narrowed his eyes.

This must be the first stage of the aptitude tests Hendric promised.

No one had announced anything formally, but Hendric warned them that the tests would come with little notice.

A soft knock at the door.

Aveline entered, her face drawn.

“They have summoned the heirs,” she said.

“You are to gather at the old armory by sunrise.”

Danarre nodded.

No illusions or tricks would help him now.

He had to rely on martial skill and the thunder aura slowly maturing within him.

His healing magic, still basic, might keep him alive through wounds that would cripple another child.

He tightened the leather straps of his training jerkin and picked up his practice blade, though he suspected that something more lethal awaited him at the test site.

Outside in the corridor, more guards than usual lined the halls.

They bore Hendric’s crest and watched silently as Danarre passed.

He noted their heightened alertness.

The failed assassination attempt had changed the household’s rhythms.

Security had doubled, and the siblings were carefully monitored.

As he stepped into the courtyard’s crisp morning air, he saw his siblings converging: Armond, tall and silent, arms folded behind his back; Leonard, scanning the setup with a calculating gaze; Marian and Vera whispering to each other; Marleine leaning against a pillar, feigning casual detachment; Alberic rubbing the back of his neck; and Emiline, standing quietly off to one side.

Each showed nerves or hid them in their own way.

Before them stood Hendric de Blaise, surrounded by instructors and stewards.

The patriarch wore a fitted vest and a sword at his hip, the presence of which signaled seriousness.

He surveyed his children without a word at first, letting silence press on them.

Then he spoke, voice resonant and cold.

“Today begins the first phase of the aptitude tests I mentioned,” Hendric said.

“Each of you will face challenges designed to measure your worth, no exceptions.”

No one dared respond, but Danarre felt the ripple of tension.

Hendric continued, “This first test is simple in concept.

It measures your individual combat skill, focus, and adaptability.

Within the old armory, my stewards have prepared a gauntlet: mechanical constructs fitted with blunted but forceful steel limbs, lightning nodes, and kinetic traps.”

“You will enter one at a time.

Your task is to progress through three chambers.

Each chamber’s difficulty increases.”

He paused, eyes scanning the group.

“The constructs will not kill you if you show caution, but they will not show mercy.

Take too many blows, fail to progress, and you reveal your weakness.”

“Succeed, and you prove you can stand on your own feet, rely on your blade, your aura, and your wits.

Speed and efficiency matter, as do composure under duress.”

A steward stepped forward with a leather folio.

“We have randomized the order of entry,” he announced.

“First: Alberic.

Then Marian, Vera, Marleine, Leonard, Emiline, Armond, and finally, Danarre.”

Danarre’s heart thumped.

He would go last.

He would witness nothing of the others’ trials, as Hendric would not allow onlookers.

Hendric preempted any questions.

“No spectators,” he said.

“Each of you faces the test alone.”

“The results will be recorded,” Hendric added.

“You will wait in an antechamber, where a healer will tend to those who need assistance afterward.”

That ended any thought of strategizing based on others’ performances.

Danarre would have to trust his instincts and training.

Alberic stepped forward, jaw tight, and followed a steward into the old armory’s side door.

The rest entered an antechamber nearby, where benches, servants, water, and bandages awaited.

No one spoke loudly, afraid that Hendric might overhear.

Minutes crawled by.

Danarre strained his ears but heard only muffled thumps and the crackle of lightning nodes inside the armory.

At last, Alberic emerged, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily, favoring one arm.

A healer rushed over to tend to him.

Alberic said nothing, just grunted.

A steward checked a parchment and nodded.

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Alberic had passed.

One by one, the siblings took their turns.

Marian returned with a bleeding lip and a scowl.

Vera emerged limping slightly but seemed grimly satisfied.

Marleine had a cut above her eyebrow and looked unimpressed.

Leonard came back with only a slight tear in his tunic to show for the effort.

Emiline looked pale but intact.

Armond ended his run with barely a scratch, just a faint bruise on his forearm.

Finally, the steward called, “Danarre.”

Aveline, allowed to stand near the hall’s entrance, caught his eye.

“Be careful,” she said softly.

Danarre nodded and followed the steward through a narrow corridor into the armory’s interior.

The corridor smelled of old steel, oil, and something acrid, perhaps lightning residue.

At the end, a heavy oak door waited.

The steward pushed it open, revealing the first chamber.

“Three chambers,” the steward reminded him.

“Strike the exit panel to trigger the mechanism in each room.”

“Once it glows green, move forward.

Good luck.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Danarre stood in a rectangular room lit by pale crystal lanterns.

In the center were two mechanical constructs with club-like arms and faintly crackling lightning nodes.

Danarre exhaled slowly.

No illusions now. Just aura and steel.

He felt the thunder energy low in his chest.

He could channel a mild electric current through his blade, improving penetration and shock.

His healing magic was weak but might help if he was wounded.

The constructs moved with grinding gears.

They were not fast, but one hit looked painful enough to break bone.

Danarre circled left, but the constructs worked together, denying him an easy flank.

He feinted at one, then darted to the other side, ducking a swinging club.

The metal arm whistled over his head.

He slashed at a joint on the first construct’s arm, sparks flying.

A mild shock ran up his blade, and he channeled more aura, biting deeper into the joint.

The construct jerked, not toppling but impaired.

The second construct advanced, heavy steps shaking the floor.

Danarre rolled aside and tried thrusting at its torso.

The blade scraped harmlessly, leaving only a scratch.

Glancing around, he saw a glowing sigil high on a wall.

He had to strike it to progress.

But first, he had to handle these machines.

The first construct swung again.

Danarre caught the blow on his sword, arms shaking from the impact.

He let a trickle of healing magic ease his strained wrists.

He feinted low, then angled upward, stabbing at the construct’s lightning node.

A burst of sparks and energy made the automaton recoil.

Seizing the moment, Danarre dashed toward the wall with the sigil.

The second construct rushed him, arms raised.

He sidestepped at the last second, letting it slam into the wall.

With a quick strike of his sword’s pommel, he hit the panel.

It glowed brighter, and Danarre heard a click.

A door slid open.

He rushed through, leaving the constructs behind.

The second chamber was darker and narrower.

Three constructs awaited: two standard and one larger, all armed more heavily.

Lightning nodes flickered on the walls, releasing arcs of electricity in a timed pattern.

This was tougher.

Engaging three at once would be risky.

He advanced slowly, blade raised, aura humming.

The first standard construct swung low.

Danarre backed up, then delivered an overhead strike charged with aura.

The shock rattled the construct, allowing him to kick it into a wall arc.

Electricity from the node fried its joints.

It collapsed twitching.

The second standard construct advanced, while the large one waited behind.

Danarre parried a blow and angled the arm of the construct into a lightning arc on the wall.

A spark seized it in place.

He finished it with a thrust to its node.

Only the large one remained, wielding a spiked club.

Danarre carefully approached.

When it swung, he angled his blade, letting the club smash into the floor.

He struck at its knee joint, sparks spraying.

The machine lurched.

Channeling more aura, he tried again, piercing the torso node.

A burst of sparks and the large construct shuddered to a halt.

Panting, Danarre found the exit panel.

He tapped it, and another door slid open.

The third chamber was bigger, with five constructs: two spear-wielders, two shield-bearers, and one tall figure armed with twin blades that crackled with lightning.

Danarre’s arms ached, sweat stinging his eyes.

He cast a quick healing spell, easing muscle strain and sealing a small cut.

The spear constructs attacked first.

He dodged one thrust and parried another, numbness creeping into his fingers.

He feigned weakness, then sidestepped, causing them to line up.

He stabbed the first node, forcing it to ram into the second.

Both collapsed, sparks dancing.

The shield-bearers approached, blocking his path to the tall construct.

Danarre struck one shield, then kicked a shard of metal at them.

One turned slightly, exposing a joint.

He slipped in and disabled it with an aura-charged blow.

The second shield-bearer swung its club.

He ducked and cut at its leg.

Another shower of sparks, another downed construct.

Now the tall one with twin blades.

It moved fluidly, forcing him back.

Its strikes shocked his arms.

He healed himself again, restoring strength.

With renewed vigor, he parried one blade aside and feinted high, then slashed low, piercing its node.

Lightning exploded, knocking him back, but the construct fell.

Breathing hard, Danarre searched for the exit panel.

He found it on a high ledge and struck it.

The door opened, and he stepped through.

A steward and guards waited.

“Well done,” the steward said.

“This concludes the first test.”

They led him back to the antechamber.

The siblings were there, receiving healing and resting.

Hendric was absent, likely reviewing results.

Danarre took a seat.

Emiline offered him water, which he accepted gratefully.

He gave few details of his struggle.

Marleine scoffed, Leonard nodded slightly, and Armond remained silent.

A steward announced that all had passed Stage One.

Hendric would reveal Stage Two tomorrow.

The siblings dispersed.

Marian and Vera whispered, Alberic left alone, and Emiline gave Danarre a small smile.

Armond and Leonard vanished, as quiet as ever.

Aveline led Danarre back to his suite.

“You did well,” she said softly.

“No permanent injuries?”

“None,” Danarre replied.

He knew Hendric would not praise him openly.

Still, surviving this test was its own victory.

He lay on his bed that night, body sore, mind racing.

He had relied on technique, thunder aura, and healing to break through mechanical foes.

This was only the start.

He knew Hendric favored complexity, cunning, and tactics.

Future tests would be harder.

I must be ready.