The training grounds beneath the palace were vastly different from the courtyards above. They were expansive, carved into the ancient bedrock long before the Kingdom had a name. Runes older than entire dynasties glowed faintly along the walls—a lattice of power left behind by the First Thirteen, the founders of the Circle of High Magi. Every spell ever cast in this space lingered in the stone, serving as an echo of both triumphs and failures, a testament to the awe-inspiring power of the Circle.

High Magus Selora, a figure of immense authority, stood at the center of the chamber. Her midnight robes, adorned only with the silver sigils of her order, were a stark reminder of her power. No crown was needed; the High Magi were themselves the embodiment of sorcery's law. For Ethan, her presence felt as weighty as the ancient runes—cold and unyielding—a stark reminder that she had fought in wars long before his grandparents were born.

"Welcome," Selora said, striking her staff against the stone. The sound resonated like a bell ringing through eternity. "I am Selora, the leader of the High Magi and one of King Gravell's most trusted on the Royal Council. This is the Chamber of Echoes, a place of immense power and history, the place where the Circle itself was sworn. Here, power will respond to both your strengths and your weaknesses. You cannot lie to the stone; it remembers." The Chamber of Echoes, a living testament to the power of the Circle, would shape the Heroes' abilities and test their resolve.

Ethan swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in his throat as he contemplated the enigmatic Circle that loomed before him. Their teachings, imparted through the stern yet insightful guidance of Aldric, had unveiled the existence of this arcane assembly—a clandestine council comprised of thirteen High Magi, each a master of esoteric arts whose authority eclipsed even that of the throne. These formidable guardians were not merely rulers of forbidden knowledge; they were merciless executioners who dealt with those unable to master their burgeoning magical abilities. The echoes of their judgments resonated through history, instilling a profound fear in the hearts of even the mightiest kings, compelling them to bow in servitude.

In the dimly lit chamber, the weight of this grim knowledge hung heavily in the air, as palpable as the intricate wards etched into the stone walls, which thrummed with hidden power and emanated a faint glow. These protective enchantments created an atmosphere thick with unease, wrapping around Ethan like a shroud woven from strands of dread and anticipation. He could feel the oppressive presence of the Circle pressing down on him, a reminder of the fine line between power and peril in the world of magic.

Selora fixed her gaze on him. "You have tasted battle, fire-born. Now, you will learn to wield your gift without letting it consume you. Step into the Circle."

He obeyed, heat radiating beneath his feet as the ward-lines ignited in a brilliant display, shimmering to life with an otherworldly energy. Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging with the weight of Selora's command. It hung in the air, sharp as a whip: "Call the flame."

Flames surged to his arms, wild and exuberant, dancing with an intoxicating intensity. A coil of panic tightened in his chest, memories of past failures flickering vividly—a haunting recollection of chaos and blood that left him breathless.

"Anchor it!" Selora's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unyielding. "Not with rage--rage is a candle in the wind, flickering and easily extinguished. Anchor it with your will. Your will is like a stone, unyielding and steadfast."

The Circle's creed resonated in the minds of every apprentice, but Ethan was entirely unfamiliar with this concept. He had never needed to 'control' his will in the manner that Selora was describing. To Ethan, all of this seemed like some anime shit. What did any of this mean? Still, Ethan understood there was no escape from this now. He pushed himself beyond any limits he thought he had, recalling the maxim drilled into them from their very first day of training.

In the tone of Selora's voice, there was a gravity that went beyond a simple lesson. It seemed to hold the weight of something much more significant, and for some reason, it annoyed Ethan. He was there to be judged so he could learn to harness this power for himself, and that part made sense.

He began to realize that Arathen was quick to judge and eager to teach. However, the Kingdom knew very little about the two newcomers who had arrived, nor did they seem to care. There was an air of presumption in their lessons, as if they had drawn conclusions without first taking the time to understand their "Heroes" stories or experiences.

Gritting his teeth, Ethan felt the searing blaze within him surge like a tempest, threatening to spiral out of control. With great effort, he twisted and forced the flames to bend inward, channeling them through the narrow pathways of his resolve. He envisioned molten steel cooling in a forge's embrace, strong and resilient. Slowly, but painfully, the wild inferno began to steady. The chamber around him glowed like the first light of dawn breaking over the horizon. It was warm and inviting, yet fierce in its power. At last, the fire bowed to his will, obedient and confident.

Meanwhile, Maya stood gracefully within a shimmering circle of fine, golden sand and cascading water that sparkled like diamonds under the ambient light. She was suspended in an ethereal aura, held aloft by the delicate threads of her chronomancy, which wove through the air like spider silk.

Selora's gaze locked onto Maya, her eyes narrowing as a fierce intensity radiated from her stare, heavy with unspoken thoughts and unyielding determination. "And you, time-bender," she said, her voice resonating with a blend of authority and wisdom. "Do not grasp at hours as if they were mere coins from a merchant's table. Shape them. Let them flow like water within a beautifully crafted vessel."

Maya felt the pulse of time in her temples, a throbbing reminder of the power she wielded, with every breath straining against the relentless stream of seconds that raced around her. The urge to seize time diminished as she centered herself, loosening her grip and allowing the moments to glide effortlessly through her fingers.

With focused intent, she guided the temporal flow, watching in awe as droplets fell in a mesmerizing, measured rhythm, while grains of sand swirled like distant stars illuminating a midnight sky.

"Better," Selora murmured. "Remember—of all magics, yours exacts the harshest price. Time is a jealous thing. Steal too much, and it will claim your body, your mind, and even your years."

Both Ethan and Maya staggered as the Circle's lights finally dimmed. Ethan's knees shook, and Maya clutched her journal against her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. Selora remained unyielding. The High Magi never showed mercy. "You will not survive on courage alone. You must master yourselves, or the Circle will unmake you before your power can unravel the world."

Ethan's gaze shifted to Maya, his jaw tightening instinctively. Even in his weariness, he felt the weight of her words resonate with an unsettling clarity. The High Magi had a history of erasing apprentices—an unspoken truth whispered in the shadows, known to all yet rarely acknowledged aloud. It hung in the air like a storm cloud, an unyielding reminder of the price of failure that everyone feared to confront.

But Selora was far from finished. She tapped her staff lightly, and a sound like rainwater cascading into a river echoed throughout the chamber. In an instant, the room was engulfed in darkness. Moments later, violet runes ignited across the floor and walls, pulsating with a potent, restrained energy. The air crackled with a sharp scent of ozone, heightening the tension in the space as if the very atmosphere were charged with magic.

"You are fragments alone, isolated and alone," Selora pronounced. Her voice carried like judgment from the Astral Chamber where the Circle convened. "The Demon King's servants will not approach you as solitary foes; they will descend upon you like ferocious storms, relentless and chaotic. This is why you must now stand ready to confront the Constructs."

The ancient stone floor trembled violently as it split apart, unleashing a swirling cloud of smoke and dust. From this chaos emerged four formidable armored figures, their silhouettes etched in dark relief against their choking haze. Each Construct was a masterpiece of jagged metal and arcane craftsmanship, their visages etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light.

Their eyes burned like glowing coals, radiating an eerie, otherworldly heat that seemed to pierce through the shadowy ambiance. These were the ward-born sentinels, guardians forged to protect and train apprentices since the age of the First Thirteen, their loyal allegiance unwavering through centuries of turmoil. As they stood poised and resolute, a palpable sense of power and ancient wisdom emanated from their towering forms, hinting at the deep well of knowledge that lay within their armored shells.

"Break them," Selora commanded. "Or be broken."

The Constructs surged forward. Ethan met the first with flames, sparks scattering as stone cracked beneath his fists. He fought the urge to unleash everything—remembering Selora's creed, he funneled his fire into measured strikes.

Maya slowed the world to a crawl as another blade swept down. Her body screamed from the strain, each second stretching like glass about to shatter. She slipped aside, gasping, and Ethan's fire struck the Construct broadside.

The creatures pressed forward with an unrelenting intensity, their presence oppressive and tireless. Cornered between two formidable foes, Maya found herself watching as Ethan was driven to his knees under the immense pressure. Suddenly, Selora's voice sliced through the chaos like a bolt of lightning, sharp and commanding. "Together! You are not two weapons—you are one!"

Ethan roared, a fierce inferno erupting from his fists and sending brilliant flames spiraling skyward as a bold signal to his ally. Maya, attuned to the rhythm of the moment, understood instantly. With a subtle flicker of her wrist, she bent time itself, stretching the heartbeat of the instant like a taut string. The heat of Ethan's fiery blast coalesced into a molten lance, a brilliant shaft of fire that sliced through the air with deadly precision. It surged towards a menacing Construct, a hulking mass of metal and magic, obliterating it in a cascade of sparks and debris that rained down like fiery confetti.

The last of the Constructs loomed ominously before them, but Ethan met its towering presence with unyielding resolve. Enveloped in a shimmering cocoon of controlled fire, he unleashed a series of powerful punches, each one ignited with the raw energy of his flames. Meanwhile, Maya, her brow furrowed in concentration, deftly slowed the creature's final, desperate strike. Time stretched around Ethan, allowing him to rise into the air with the grace of a phoenix unfurling its wings.

With a thunderous crash, the Construct shattered into a shower of metallic shards, echoing through the chamber. As the dust settled, an eerie silence swallowed the space, the remnants of their battle glittering like stars scattered upon the ground.

Selora approached, her staff echoing against the stone. Her gaze lingered on both of them, her expression unreadable. "Clumsy. Reckless. Undisciplined." She paused—long enough for the weight of her words to sink in. Then, she gave the faintest nod. "But you did not fall. For today, that is enough."

The runes flickered out, leaving behind only silence. Yet, Ethan and Maya knew that the Circle would remember every heartbeat of their trial. In the Chamber of Echoes, nothing was ever truly over.