In the flickering shadows of Carl's spire, the air was thick with tension. Hubertus watched, his back against the cool stone wall, trying to blend into the background while the three powerful demons and Carl continued their conversation. His breath caught in his throat as the dark, serpentine figure, cloaked in shifting shadows, pointed towards the figurine he had fetched.

The skeletal demon, Lord Serekh, tilted his head, his elongated limbs moving in unnervingly deliberate motions. “This artifact you’ve retrieved… it’s not just a mere object, fledgling. The significance is far beyond what you understand.” His voice was like dry leaves scratching across the ground—harsh, yet carrying an undeniable authority.

Hubertus swallowed hard, unsure whether he should be feeling pride or fear. Carl had trusted him with retrieving the artifact, yet now Hubertus couldn't help but feel that he’d been a pawn—an ignorant one at that—in something much larger than himself.

The blue-scaled demon snorted, leaning in. “The fledgling doesn't know what he’s gotten himself into, does he, Carl?” There was a mocking undertone to his words, and Hubertus hated the derisive curl of his lips. “Should we enlighten him?”

Carl glanced at Hubertus, a hint of something almost like regret flashing in his fiery eyes. “Lord Serekh, Lady Vexana, and Baron Vyr, our new friend Hubertus here is eager to prove his worth.” Carl’s voice took on a jovial tone, but Hubertus could hear the tension lying beneath it—a tone that told him now was no time to falter. “The truth is, the artifact has chosen him. The magic latched onto him when he picked it up.”

Hubertus could feel the figurine almost buzzing within his pouch—a sensation he hadn't noticed before. It seemed to vibrate against his side, as though it had taken on a life of its own. His instincts told him whatever connection had been formed was not the sort of attachment he could shrug off easily.

Lady Vexana, the cloaked figure, leaned forward, her tendrils shifting beneath her robe. Her eyes, glowing faintly behind her hood, studied Hubertus for a moment before she spoke. “Artifacts like these don’t merely latch on to anyone. It’s a test, young demon. A call from forces you barely understand, asking if you’re worthy of wielding them.”

Hubertus blinked, and his lips moved silently for a moment before he managed a hoarse whisper. “A… test?”

Baron Vyr let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Indeed. Though most who take such tests end up as ashes scattered across the Abyss.” He glanced at Carl, an eyebrow raised. “Do you think your fledgling has it in him to survive, Carl?”

Carl’s gaze locked onto Hubertus, and for a moment, the young fledgling thought he saw a flash of something in Carl’s eyes—hope, maybe, or concern. “He’ll have to prove himself,” Carl said evenly. “This isn't just about surviving—it’s about rising, about showing strength and adaptability in the face of darkness.”

Hubertus clenched his jaw, feeling a fire light inside his chest—a mix of indignation and determination. He wasn't just another fledgling. He had faced impossible odds before, and he had overcome them—sort of. And yet, he was terrified. The stakes were higher now, and he had to be ready.

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Lady Vexana slithered closer, her dark robe trailing along the stone floor. “Listen closely, fledgling,” she hissed. “This relic—it’s called the ‘Shard of Erathen’. It is part of something ancient, something tied to the very essence of the Abyss.” She traced her slender fingers through the air, a faint crimson glow manifesting between them, forming symbols that Hubertus did not recognize.

“The Shard calls upon one who can handle the darkness,” Lord Serekh continued, his hollow voice echoing around the chamber. “And if you cannot… well, it will consume you, leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell of what you once were.”

A cold shiver ran down Hubertus’ spine as Lady Vexana approached him, extending a long, claw-like hand. “Give me the figurine,” she commanded, her tone as sharp as a blade.

Hubertus hesitated. His heart pounded, his instincts screaming at him not to let go of it—as if doing so would be surrendering control. Carl gave a small nod, as though telling him it was okay, but Hubertus wasn’t entirely sure.

Slowly, Hubertus retrieved the figurine from his pouch and handed it over. The moment Lady Vexana’s fingers touched the artifact, a violent shock jolted Hubertus backward, sending him crashing into the stone wall behind him. He groaned, his vision blurring momentarily.

He could see the figurine glowing brightly, crimson energy swirling around Lady Vexana's hand before quickly spreading up her arm. The tendrils beneath her robe lashed wildly, her form almost flickering like an unstable mirage.

“It’s chosen him,” she managed to hiss, her voice strained as the energy pulsed around her, then shot out in all directions like a burst of lightning. The room erupted in chaos—darkness and crimson light enveloped the chamber, crackling and twisting as if alive.

Lord Serekh moved with surprising speed, his long limbs blurring as he stepped back, his form disappearing into a shroud of shadows. Baron Vyr roared, his scaled form shimmering with protective magic as he deflected a bolt of energy. Even Carl, ever composed, seemed momentarily rattled.

And Hubertus? He felt something shift inside him. A warmth—or was it a fire? It spread from his chest, pulsating outward, the pain in his body subsiding as the energy around him drew closer. It was as if the artifact—the Shard—recognized him. The light that had burst from Lady Vexana’s hand now turned, arcing through the room, drawn back to Hubertus like a magnet.

The next few moments felt eternal, the glowing crimson energy wrapping around Hubertus, cocooning him in its power. He could hear the muffled voices of the demons, their words lost in the roar of magic filling his ears. He fought to stay conscious, to stay focused on whatever was happening—to prove he could handle it.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the energy stopped. The crimson glow faded, the crackling lightning dissipating, leaving behind only silence and the heavy breathing of those in the room.

Hubertus slowly opened his eyes, his vision clearing. He was still alive. His skin tingled, every nerve on edge, but he felt… different. Stronger, somehow.

Lady Vexana had collapsed to her knees, her cloaked form trembling. She looked up, her glowing eyes fixing on Hubertus. “You…” she whispered, her voice no longer commanding, but almost reverent. “You have been chosen. The Shard has deemed you worthy.”

Lord Serekh stepped forward, his skeletal form reappearing from the shadows. “Hubertus,” he intoned, his voice carrying an echo of something ancient, “whatever this artifact is, it has chosen you. And now, you need to prove to all of us that you’re worthy of it.”

Hubertus nodded weakly, his heart pounding as he tried to rise, unsure of what proving his worth might mean. He could feel the weight of the demons' gazes—Carl’s expectation, Lord Serekh's suspicion, the raw scrutiny of the others. The stakes had just gotten a lot higher, and there was no turning back.