The room was quiet after Tom's trial, but not for long.
A low breeze stirred through the chamber — not from any door or crack, but from within the very walls. Dust spiraled into the air. The torches dimmed. The platform beneath Frank's feet began to hum.
He didn't look surprised.
Frank closed his eyes, took a breath, and stepped forward as the wind thickened around him. The others watched in silence. Another obelisk flickered — this one emerald green, pulsing like a heartbeat caught in a storm.
Jack whispered, "Is he… going into a trial too?"
Frank glanced back, his voice calm as ever. "I'm not going in. I'm already there."
Without another word, he stepped forward — and vanished.
The room didn't ripple, or burn, or shake. He simply disappeared, as if the air had folded around him.
Frank opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of a vast mountain range. Clouds churned above, grey and endless, as if the sky itself had been ripped open. He stood at the edge of a stone cliff, wind howling through the jagged peaks.
Before him floated a figure — not a monster, not a man — but a shape of wind and silver threads, barely solid, always shifting.
"You've walked with me for years," the figure said, its voice coming from all directions. "But you still hesitate to name me."
Frank stood tall. "Because you've never given me a name."
"Names are not given. They are taken."
The figure flickered — now a storm, now a woman, now a beast. Its form refused to settle.
"You use my power like a shield. You fly, you vanish, you dodge. But when do you strike, Frank Lauren?"
Frank's fists clenched. "I strike when I must."
"That is the answer of a coward."
The wind exploded outward. Frank was thrown back — spinning across the stone cliff, landing hard on his shoulder. He pushed himself up, coughing, wind slashing at his coat.
"You fear what you would become if you truly used me," the voice said. "You fear that the calm boy would vanish. That you'd become like your father."
Frank's eyes burned. "Don't speak about him."
"Then stop hiding behind silence and smoke."
The wind spirit raised both arms. Storm clouds above twisted, spun, and then descended — forming a tornado of cutting blades.
Frank didn't move.
Instead, he breathed.
Slowly.
The blades came for him, and as they did, he moved — not to block, not to fight — but to flow.
He stepped through the blades like a dancer, wind wrapping around him like a second skin. The tornado collapsed into a spiral around his body, and suddenly the sky grew still.
"I don't want to be like my father," Frank said. "But I won't run from what I carry."
The spirit's body finally settled — taking the shape of a warrior, cloaked in feathers and chains of wind.
"Then speak the word. Call me."
Frank raised his hand.
"Zeuxius."
The chamber exploded with green light.
Frank opened his eyes. He was back on the platform. The obelisk behind him pulsed once, then dimmed.
A mark had appeared on his forearm — a twisting swirl of wind and runes, glowing faintly beneath his skin.
Susan whispered, "He has control."
Tom stepped beside him. "Welcome back."
Frank didn't speak. He just nodded once, eyes fixed on the next obelisk.
They all knew it now — this wasn't a dungeon, or an accident.
It was a proving ground.
And they were being awakened, one by one.