Forgotten Path - Realms Traveller

“Jack of the Ash Region… eliminated.” The words landed flat. No echo. No drama. Just cold fact. For half a heartbeat, the entire plaza seemed to hold its breath. Then the air turned ugly. “Ash rat didn’t even last five minutes,” a noble sneered, swirling his wine so the liquid caught the light like fresh blood. “Zero spark. Pathetic.” “Drag the soot back to the pits where it belongs.” A dented tin can clanged across the marble floor and rolled to a stop against Jack’s boot. The harsh sound scraped up his spine. He didn’t move. His legs still burned from the gauntlet spikes that had shredded better men, platforms that dropped without warning, deadly drops that still twisted his stomach when he remembered them. He had crossed it all. Barely a scratch. Yet here he stood, on the wrong side of the gate, while the world laughed at him. Jack lifted his gaze toward the announcer’s platform. “I cleared Stage One,” he said, voice steady despite the fire in his throat. The announcer didn’t even look up from his ledger. “Stage One is a filter. Stage Two needs output.” “Output,” Jack repeated. The word tasted like iron and dust. “Magic,” the man said at last, finally meeting his eyes with a thin smile. “You have none. Next.” Laughter rolled through the stands sharp, hungry, crawling over Jack’s skin like insects. Heat flared across his cheeks and down his neck. His pulse hammered behind his eyes. "I ran that death trap while you silk-blooded pricks sipped wine and placed bets. Now I’m the punchline." The cracked, dull Rocky Elixir in his palm grew heavier. Not from weight a low, cold vibration pressed into his skin, crawling up his forearm like something alive, testing his bones. It synced with his heartbeat, then pushed harder, as if it wanted to burrow into his chest and replace it. He stepped forward. “I’m still here.” “You’re obstructing,” the announcer snapped, quill hovering. “Move.” “It counts,” Jack said, throat raw. “You said only the capable remain. I remained.” “Physical filter,” the man hissed. “Not a ticket. No resonance, no place. You were never supposed to reach the plaza.” The vibration in the stone deepened ice and pressure, hungry. Jack opened his mouth to argue again. BOOM. The shockwave punched up through the marble and slammed into his soles. Dust exploded around him, choking the sunlight. A massive shadow dropped from above, blindingly fast. A fist the size of a barrel. No warning. No time. His body moved on pure instinct. Muscles fired. He twisted hard. The punch screamed past his ribs, ripping the air like razors. The impact behind him detonated. Stone shattered. Guards screamed as they were flung aside. The ground bucked violently beneath him. Silence crashed back down, heavy as wet concrete. Jack stood at the edge of the fresh crater, lungs burning, ears ringing. His left hand was locked around something thick and dense, radiating brutal heat. It was Chan’s forearm. The Sigma Guild Leader himself. When the hell did I grab that? His fingers ached from the grip. The muscle beneath them felt like living bedrock. His own arm trembled with leftover adrenaline, but it held. Chan rolled his shoulder once, slow and casual, as if the strike had been nothing more than a stiff breeze. Then he looked past Jack toward the announcer. “Interesting.” The single word cut through the plaza, sharp enough to draw blood. The announcer’s face twitched. “He has no output—” Chan didn’t let him finish. “You almost disqualified a candidate mid-test.” “He’s empty!” Chan’s eyes flicked down to the stone still thrumming in Jack’s hand, then back up. “I just hit him with enough force to pulp a Manifestation rookie. He’s still standing. You call that empty?” The laughter had died. Now the stares felt different cold, calculating, weighing him like fresh meat on a scale. The pressure of those eyes pressed down on Jack’s shoulders. Chan turned his back on the platform. “He passes.” “That is not your decision,” the announcer protested. “Stage One removes,” Chan said, already walking away. “Stage Two observes. We decide.” Up on the high balcony, the other Guild Leaders watched in silence. Their quiet approval landed heavier than any words. Chan glanced back once, eyes flat. “Don’t die before the next round.” He kept walking. Jack stayed rooted in the wreckage, chest heaving, fingers white-knuckled around the stone. The pulse inside it had changed stronger now, steady, syncing perfectly with the fire still roaring behind his ribs. It no longer felt like a rock he carried. It felt like something that had finally woken up… and decided he was worth keeping. He watched Chan’s broad back vanish into the stands. “Let them watch,” Jack muttered, voice low, almost lost beneath the returning murmur of the plaza. “I’ll make it hurt.” The words settled in his gut like iron. Heavy. Certain. They didn’t need to be loud.