The silver Knight

Rai stood once more at the edge of the bridge they had crossed earlier, now flanked by the other candidates. The bridge stretched across a chasm so deep that its depths dissolved into darkness. Below lay the void, the arena for what would come next. He glanced over his shoulder as the instructor stepped forward, his voice crisp and deliberate.

"Now then, since all 93 of you have gathered, I will explain the next stage of the exam," the instructor began, his tone carrying both authority and indifference, as though the stakes were only as high as the candidates allowed them to be.

The instructor's words revealed the reality: they had reached the final stages. Just two more rounds remained. A murmur swept through the group, low and restless. The candidates were told to stand close to the bridge, for the next challenge would take them into the void below. There, a maze awaited—a vast, tangled labyrinth carved into the darkness, its pathways twisting like veins in the rock.

The tension grew as the instructor continued. "This round will cut your numbers in half," he said, as if it were a simple calculation. "It is a fighting round. As you move through the maze, you will encounter another candidate—exactly one. Your task is to defeat them. A knockout is sufficient. A kill, if necessary." His words were heavy, delivered without emphasis, as though they needed none. "Once your opponent is motionless, you are free to move on. After that, it's a matter of using your wits to reach the destination."

The murmurs grew louder, a ripple of unease running through the group. Some folded their arms or clenched their hands together, silent prayers forming behind taut expressions. A name circulated in hushed tones, shared like a forbidden warning: Jaxor. Few dared to look in his direction, but the thought was unmistakable—encountering him in the maze was a fate they silently begged to avoid.

Rai remained still, his gaze fixed on the void. His mind churned through the instructor's words, weighing the risks and the decisions yet to be made. The maze would demand more than strength. It would demand resolve, and above all, it would demand survival.

"So, how are we meant to get down there?" a voice called out, sharp against the uneasy murmurs.

The instructor stepped forward, his expression impassive as he addressed the crowd. "By now, I assume all of you can use veil. If not, I strongly suggest you withdraw. The impact of falling into the void without it will likely kill you." His words carried no sympathy, only a plain statement of fact.

Giro's face turned pale, sweat beading across his forehead and trickling down the sides of his face. He watched in growing horror as Raze leapt boldly into the abyss, his form steady as he descended. Beside him, Kaizen loomed, silent but purposeful, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"No, no, no—wait, guys, hang on! Let's think this through, come up with a safe way to—"

Thwak! The sharp impact on Giro's back cut his words short, and his body pitched forward. "AHHHHHH!!" he yelled, his cry echoing as he plunged into the void. Behind him, Kaizen and Rai followed without hesitation, their movements smooth and deliberate, as if the very act of falling were a calculated choice.

The wind howled around them as they plummeted, the world narrowing to the darkness rushing up to meet them. Giro flailed helplessly, while Rai remained steady, his form slicing through the air with practiced control. Then, out of the corner of Rai's vision, something strange caught his attention—another figure, not falling but rising.

It wasn't just one. All around them, figures moved in reverse, hurtling upwards like leaves caught in an updraft. The laws of gravity seemed to twist and warp within the void, and Giro's screams grew louder as his mind grappled with the impossible sight.

Raze was the first to reach the bottom, his fall cushioned by a vast, white, cloud-like surface. He landed with a soft bounce, his body springing back into the air briefly before settling. One by one, the others followed, their impacts similarly absorbed by the strange, fluffy terrain. Around them, figures continued to ascend, defying logic, while the candidates who had landed regrouped, each trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

Rai's body hit the strange, fluffy surface and was launched upward again, like a weightless leaf caught in a playful gust. As he ascended, his sharp eyes caught sight of a figure standing motionless amidst the endless whiteness below, arms raised, their presence radiating quiet power. Rai's mind raced as he folded his legs, his hands drawing close to his chest. So that's it, he thought, his eyes briefly flickering shut. Someone's veil is generating this... this cushion.

He bounced once more, the intervals between his descents shortening each time. He could feel it now—the gentle resistance of the surface beneath him softening his fall further with every impact. The next time he touched down, he didn't wait. With a swift, calculated movement, Rai pushed off, aiming for solid ground.

He landed gracefully, one leg bent, the other extended, his arms outstretched for balance. It was a practiced motion, deliberate and measured, and it carried with it an air of quiet authority. As he straightened, the others instinctively moved aside, making way for him—Kaizen, Giro, and Raze forming a natural circle around Rai. Giro muttered something under his breath, but Rai ignored him, his focus already drawn to what lay ahead.

The four stood together, gazing forward at the expanse before them. The air was cold, crisp enough to bite at their lungs, and the ground was a curious blend of rock and frost. The rocky surface was veined with lines of green—tree roots, perhaps, or remnants of some ancient growth that clung stubbornly to life even here. Snow clung to everything—the ground, the walls, the jagged outcroppings of stone that framed their view.

And there, rising above it all, stood the structure. It was immense, a temple—or what was left of one. The stone walls were weathered and cracked, as though burdened by centuries of storms and snow. Its sheer size was overwhelming, casting long shadows across the rocky expanse. Snow piled thickly on its ledges and corners, a testament to the relentless grip of the elements.

Giro craned his neck, his eyes straining to take in the full height of it. He leaned back further and further, and then—thud—his back met the ground. From below, he let out a faint groan. "It's... tall," he mumbled, still staring upward as though the words were all he could muster.

Rai and the others exchanged glances. 

"Hey, you alright? You'll topple yourself over trying to see the top of that thing," Rai said, his voice steady as he locked his hands under Giro's armpits, hoisting him upright with ease. Giro wobbled slightly, brushing snow from his coat with a sheepish grin.

"Alright, listen up!" The instructor's voice cut through the cold air, sharp and commanding. He gestured broadly at the ground. "Look down. The floor you're standing on—it's made of rock."

A low murmur of frustration rippled through the crowd. Several candidates exchanged incredulous glances, their breaths visible in the chill. It wasn't exactly news that the ground beneath their feet was ancient stone, worn smooth by time and frost.

The instructor raised a hand to silence them. "Each of these rocks is shaped like a box. I need every one of you to stand in a single box. No exceptions."

Chaos ensued. What should have been a simple task devolved into arguments and skirmishes. Candidates shoved and jostled, their voices echoing off the walls of the vast space.

"That's my lucky box!" one shouted, clutching the edges of the stone square as though it might protect him from some unseen fate.

"I won't stand apart from my partner!" yelled another, her hands gripping a friend's sleeve in defiance.

"I've figured it out," someone declared triumphantly. "This box guarantees you won't face Jaxor!"

It took a full ten minutes for the candidates to settle, tempers simmering but contained. Rai and his group stood like soldiers, their postures straight and purposeful, quietly observing the disarray around them. Whatever frustration they might have felt, they kept it to themselves.

Jaxor, meanwhile, stood apart from the commotion, a figure of quiet confidence. He occupied his designated box without a word, his presence commanding attention without effort. His long red coat, which draped nearly to his ankles, swayed faintly as he shifted his weight. Beneath the hem, his loose, sandaled pant whispered against the ground.

His appearance was impossible to ignore. Just hours ago, in the previous round, he'd been stripped bare. Now, fully dressed in striking red, he seemed even more imposing, as though he had deliberately redefined himself in a matter of moments.

With one hand resting on the back of his neck, Jaxor rolled his head slowly, stretching as though preparing for something far more violent than a simple standing exercise. The movement was casual but calculated, and every eye in the room seemed drawn to him, despite the chaos that had so recently consumed them all.