Fiend's Fourth Hurdle

Lion's Rock.

A place of command and steel. The very air here smelled of iron and sweat.

The carriage stopped.

As Ergon stepped down, the carriage visibly lifted, groaning with relief as if freed from the burden of his enormous weight.

He waddled forward, his steps heavy, knees already aching. Don walked beside him without sound as a shadow in armor.

Before them stretched the great tower of Lion's Rock, spread wide like a crouching beast, resting against the spine of the mountain. Seven mighty walls surrounded it, each wall layered behind the other like the flesh of a beast protecting the heart within.

To a common eye, it was stone and steel.

But even Ergon, in all his laziness, could feel something more.

A shimmer above could barely be seen, as a bird flew over the seventh wall.

It vanished with no sound. No feathers remained in sight; only a faint puff of vapor was visible as the bird dissolved mid-flight.

"Defensive Enhancement Buff," Ergon muttered. He'd heard of it once from a girl who moaned about her buff ex-lover between kisses. He never studied magic or buffs himself.

Books bored him. Boobs didn't.

He blinked the thought away and looked ahead.

Banners flapped in the cold wind; one bore the sigil of House Drakmore: a lion's face with a jagged horn stabbing out of its brow. Beside it, the royal flag of Velrane: twisted thorns choking a rose, a broken blade piercing its heart. Another banner also came into view, a purple hand with ten fingers spread wide oddly.

They reached the first gate. Guards stopped them with spears crossed.

Ergon pointed at Don.

Don stepped forward and produced a silver emblem carved with the horned lion.

Recognition passed through the guards' eyes. They stepped aside accordingly.

One gate passed.

And another.

And another.

Seven times.

Each checkpoint felt like peeling back layers of skin as Ergon went one step deeper into the lion's mouth.

By the seventh gate, Ergon could feel the sweat building under his arms.

Inside, guards joined their sides. This was routine here as additional layers of protection. Every step deeper into Lion's Rock stripped Ergon of the illusion of freedom.

They entered the tower.

If the outside was a fortress, the inside was a kingdom.

Steel floors beneath high dark walls and ceilings vanishing into the shadows, it was a world of its own.

Men walked in formation, even in chaos—scribes carrying stacks of reports. Soldiers rushed in armor, some in light leather, others in full plate. Voices spoke fast; hands pointed to order and demand movement.

He remembered this place from long time ago as a younger Ergon, dragged along behind his father, when the family still appeared together in public, and Talen pretended he had six children instead of five.

Ergon didn't let his thoughts go far. No use reliving that.

Don guided him through the main hall past the bustling command center. They reached the stairs.

The spiral stone staircase looked endless.

Stairs, the eternal enemy.

Ergon sighed deeply. "Here we go."

He lifted one leg. Then the other. Then again. His breath came shorter already.

The guards ahead slowed. The guards behind did too. Don, ever silent, paced beside him without hurry.

First floor.

He saw men with braided beards and broad shoulders in a quiet corner, talking among themselves. Their eyes caught his for a second.

Ergon looked away.

He climbed more.

Second floor.

His thighs burned.

Third floor.

His knees felt like they were begging for death.

Fourth floor.

Gods, is this even legal?

Fifth.

He stopped. His lungs refused to continue. His skin was wet with sweat.

Don leaned in. "Master… if it's too inconvenient, I could carry..."

"No." Ergon raised a hand. "I am a Drakmore. Son of Talen. I can defeat a few stairs… ha… haha…"

His laugh died in the back of his throat.

Sixth floor. Seventh.

His face turned red. His shirt clung to him like a wet cloth.

Eighth.

He nearly tripped.

Ninth.

He cursed the very concept of elevation.

Finally...

The tenth floor.

Ergon collapsed against the wall, nearly sliding down. Don handed him a cloth without a word.

Ergon wiped himself, panting like a dying ox. He smoothed out his tunic, trying to look presentable. His face was still red, but he did what he could.

Then he saw the door, a towering gate of steel and gold, the same familiar crest of his house engraved on it.

It loomed over him silently.

The guards at the door bowed. Ergon didn't know if it was respect or routine.

Here, the air felt quieter.

Everything below had noise. This place had none of that.

This place made him afraid.

Maybe it was due to the silence. Maybe it was the knowledge of who sat behind those gates.

Talen Drakmore.

Ergon's fingers twitched.

He looked to Don. The guard gave a small nod.

"I'll go alone," Ergon said.

Don stepped back.

The door creaked open slowly with a deep sound.

Ergon wiped his hands one more time, straightening his back.

With a breath that carried every ounce of false courage he had left, he stepped inside...

Into the lions' den.