The Arena of Gods did not rest. Even after Ravoth's departure, its walls hummed with energy, as if eager for the next confrontation. Arius stood at the center, his chest heaving, the divine energy still coursing through his veins. It was overwhelming—and addicting.
Lysaria watched him with a scrutinizing gaze. Her silver armor reflected the arena lights, and though her face remained stoic, something flickered behind her eyes. Approval? Curiosity?
"You're reckless," she said, crossing her arms. "But there's fire in you. The gods will try to extinguish it. You'll need more than bravado. Come. The next trial approaches."
Arius followed her through a gate that shimmered like starlight. Beyond it lay the Proving Grounds, a realm within the Arena itself where demigods, chosen mortals, and divine creatures trained, fought, and conspired. Titans walked beside mortal champions. Spirits of forgotten realms whispered from the shadows. Some eyed Arius with curiosity; others with disdain.
Each section of the Grounds was infused with different elemental energies—earth that could swallow you whole, air that could slice through bone, water that warped perception. Arius had to adapt quickly, learning to draw on his awakening powers to survive the changing environments.
"Every trial here is tailored to test your essence," Lysaria explained. "Not just your strength—but your will, your identity."
Over the following days, Arius trained under crushing gravity, faced beasts from myth, and sparred against warriors born of fire and stone. Each victory unlocked fragments of memory—visions of a celestial father cloaked in radiant gold, a mother whose voice could calm storms. These were not imagined fancies; they were echoes of who he was.
He began to understand: he wasn't just meant to fight. He was meant to awaken. And the gods? They weren't ready for what he was becoming.