Romero: Echoes Of The Void

## Chapter 8: The Challenger

"Rylan!" Starla's voice, sharp and clear, cut through the lingering tension in the abandoned marketplace. She approached, her brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and disapproval. "What in the world was that?"

Rylan turned, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just a little… *instruction*, Starla," he drawled, running a hand through his damp, azure hair. The faint glow of residual energy still clung to his fingertips. "Kael seemed to have forgotten his place. A gentle reminder was necessary."

Starla's expression tightened. She glanced at the still form of Cinder, the Duskscale Serpent lying motionless near a shattered cart. "Instruction that leaves a creature like that? Rylan, you went too far. Again."

Rylan scoffed, his arrogance barely veiled. "He was careless. A liability. In this world, Starla, weakness is a death sentence. Besides," he added, puffing out his chest slightly, "it's a valuable lesson. The Voidrifts won't offer second chances. They're not so forgiving." He flicked a dismissive glance towards John, as if he were beneath notice.

Starla sighed, her perfect composure returning with practiced ease. She turned to John, her expression neutral. "John, this is Rylan Azure." A subtle undercurrent of warning laced her tone. "Rylan, this is John."

"Azure," John repeated, his gaze meeting Rylan's. He'd heard the name whispered in hushed tones. Prestige. Power. And a reputation for arrogance that preceded him like a herald.

Rylan offered a curt nod, his eyes appraising John with thinly veiled condescension. "Pleasure," he said, the word dripping with insincerity. "You new to the Crucible? Planning on trying your luck at the Awakening Ceremony?"

Starla, smoothly ignoring Rylan's condescension, gestured towards a nearby bench, its wooden slats weathered and grey. "Let's sit. It's getting late, and I have an early session at the Crucible tomorrow."

As they walked, John's gaze drifted towards the imposing structure that dominated the horizon. The Crucible. It wasn't just a building; it was a symbol. A symbol of power, of tradition, of the relentless fight against the encroaching darkness. Its walls, crafted from a strange, obsidian-like material, seemed to absorb the fading light, giving it an almost ominous presence. Towers and spires reached towards the sky, their tips shimmering with a faint, almost ethereal energy. It was a place of both wonder and fear, where potential was forged and broken in equal measure. "So," he said to Starla, his voice thoughtful, "that's where you hone your skills?"

"Yes," she replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "It's more than just training, John. It's where we learn to control our abilities, to understand them. Combat techniques, survival skills, strategic thinking… everything we need to face the Voidrifts. Even for Riftblades in training like me."

"You're a Riftblade?" John raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. He knew the stories, the legends of those born with the innate ability to channel the power of Origin Cores.

Starla gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. "Still learning," she corrected. "Practical skills are my focus right now. Mastering the basics is crucial. Especially at the Crucible. They don't tolerate weakness."

They sat. Kael, who had been hovering nervously in the background, wringing his hands, finally dared to speak, his voice barely audible. "Rylan… maybe… maybe we should go. Master Elara will be expecting us."

Rylan shot him a withering look that silenced him instantly. "Stay put, Kael. Unless you want to be the subject of my *next* lesson." He turned back to John, his arrogance returning full force. "So," he drawled, "you planning on joining the Awakening Ceremony?"

"Awakening Ceremony?" John feigned ignorance, a subtle tactic he often employed to gauge people's reactions.

"Crucible tradition," Starla explained patiently. "Every year, all the fifteen-year-olds have a chance to awaken their latent abilities. It's… a rite of passage, I suppose."

John shrugged casually. "Haven't decided yet. Is it really that important?"

"It's a chance to unlock your potential," Starla said gently. "To discover what you're capable of."

Rylan snorted derisively. "Or discover you're just… ordinary. Waste of time, if you ask me. Most awaken nothing. It's all about bloodline, anyway." His gaze lingered on Starla for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before he continued. "Speaking of which, have you heard the latest reports? The Voidrifts are escalating. The Crucible's doubled security. They're even talking about increasing patrols in the outer regions, like this one."

Starla nodded gravely. "It's true. They're appearing more frequently, and in more unexpected locations. It's… unsettling. Even the Masters at the Crucible are concerned."

John absorbed the information, his expression unchanging. He wasn't intimidated by Rylan's arrogance, nor was he particularly concerned about the Voidrifts – not yet, anyway. He had his own priorities.

Starla glanced at the setting sun, its rays painting the sky in vibrant hues. "It's late," she said, rising gracefully. "I should get going. I have a rigorous training session with Master Elara at the Crucible tomorrow. She's… demanding." She smiled at John. "See you around."

"See you," John replied, a thoughtful expression on his face.

As Starla left, John asked, "Starla, your Core… what grade is it?"

"Just a B-grade," she said casually, a slight flush rising on her cheeks.

John watched her go, his mind calculating. A B-grade Core… impressive. He turned to Rylan, who was watching him with open curiosity. Before Rylan could speak, John leaned back, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Things are about to get interesting," he murmured.

Suddenly, a vivid image flashed through his mind:himself in the same marketplace, at night, smoke-filled air, flickering flames. He faced a shadowy figure, radiating immense power. A familiar voice echoed: "Your power… it belongs to me."

John didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. He didn't even blink. The vision hit him, a snapshot of a future – or memory – both alien and familiar. The voice *was* familiar, a phantom echo from his amnesiac past. The shadowy figure felt familiar too. *Your power…* The words resonated within him. Not fear, but a challenge.

The vision vanished. The marketplace was still there, the setting sun painting the sky. No dread lingered. A cool calm settled over him. *They* wanted his power? They thought they could just take it? A slow smile spread across his face. He looked around, searching for clues. Nothing. Just the empty marketplace, the encroaching darkness, and the echo: *Your power… it belongs to me.*

John leaned back, a faint smirk plastered on his face,

John's smile widened. Not intimidated, but anticipating. He'd find out what power they meant. And they wouldn't like what he did with it. He stood, brushing off his pants. "Let's play," he murmured, a glint in his eyes. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the twilight.