Chapter 11: Integrity (I)

Chapter 11: Integrity (I)

The waiting hall had gone quiet.

Forten sat on the stone bench, shoulders tight, listening to the muffled sounds leaking through the chamber doors. He had heard them before - the clang of chains, the low hum of glyphs, the cries that didn’t sound staged.

Then came the scream. High, raw, cut short as though the air itself had swallowed it.

No one spoke. No one ever did. Everyone in the hall had heard screams from behind those doors, but no one explained what happened once you stepped through. Integrity was a trial spoken of in reverence and silence. Candidates emerged pale, trembling, sometimes unable to meet anyone’s eyes. And sometimes they never emerged at all.

When the door opened, the next name was called. Another boy went in, stiff-backed, trying to look unshaken. The door shut. Minutes passed. Then a thud, like something heavy striking stone. A shout. Another scream.

Forten stared at the floor, jaw clenched. The cold worked its way into his bones. He thought of Sylvia, of the way her breath had rattled in the night. He thought of Byrin, the father whose name everyone knew but no one respected. And he thought of Walter, pressed against his side now, quiet as always.

When the voice finally called his name, he felt every head turn again. Pity in some eyes. Scorn in others.

“Forten. Step forward.”

The chamber door shut behind him with a heavy thud. The air inside was colder than the hall, sharp with the smell of metal and dried blood. Glyphlight spread across the walls, white veins tracing the shape of a circle.

At the center of the chamber was a post, black iron sunk into stone. Chains rattled against it. A runt - small, trembling, tusks barely stubs - struggled at the end of them. A rattleboar runt, but no larger than Forten himself. Its squeals were thin and desperate, eyes wide as it sniffed the air.

Walter shifted against Forten’s arm. The runt squealed louder at the scent.

He forced himself to look away. The walls loomed higher, and there he saw them - five cages set into the stone, big enough to hold carriages. Four rattled violently, bars groaning as heavy bodies slammed against them. One was empty, its lock broken, chains dangling loose.

Beside each cage stood a Trailblazer in grey cloak, hand resting on the glowing glyphlock. Their faces were set like carved masks.

The voice filled the chamber, calm and merciless.

“Integrity is duty. Mercy is weakness. Defuse the danger before it grows. The runt cries for its kin - kill it, or they will come.”

Forten’s breath caught. The runt squealed again, stumbling in the chains, its nose twitching as though searching for its mother.

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His stomach twisted. This wasn’t a trial. It was an execution.

He stared at the little creature, heart thudding. Was this what everyone before him had faced? Was this what had made them scream? The thing was helpless, barely old enough to stand, yet they wanted him to swing at it like it was a threat.

Is this what they call Integrity? Not strength. Not courage. Just obedience disguised as virtue.

The runt squealed again. His chest ached at the sound. For a heartbeat, he imagined Sylvia in its place, chained, waiting for someone to choose between her and an order barked by strangers.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles hurt. His throat was dry.

If this is the price of belonging, I don’t want it.

He lifted his chin. “No.”

The runt shrieked louder, chains scraping the floor. Glyphs lit brighter, casting harsh shadows.

The first glyphlock flared and snapped. A gate groaned open.

The rattleboar that charged into the chamber was enormous, tusks crackling with numen. Foam flecked its jaws as it thundered straight at him.

Walter hit the ground before Forten could move. The bear planted himself between them, button eye glinting, paws spread.

The boar slammed into him with bone-crushing force. Stone cracked under the impact. Walter didn’t move. He shoved back with impossible strength, forcing the beast to stumble sideways with a furious squeal.

Above, in the shadows of the viewing gallery, a quill paused mid-scratch. One evaluator leaned forward, brow furrowed.

The chamber hummed louder, glyphs flaring as if to drown their voices. The evaluators fell silent, pens scratching again, though their faces stayed tight with unease.

Walter lunged, batting the tusks aside, then slammed into its flank. The rattleboar staggered, dazed but alive. Walter had not killed it. He only barred the path.

Forten’s chest heaved. The bear looked wrong, too small for the sound of cracking bone, too soft for the force he carried. Yet there he stood.

The voice came again, harder.

“Slay the runt. Do not falter.”

The runt squealed so loud it shook in his teeth. The glyphs pulsed brighter.

The second glyphlock flared. The second gate opened.

Walter braced, small body absorbing the force of tusks and hooves slamming from all sides. He struck, shoved, spun - never for the kill, only enough to keep them from trampling Forten or the runt. The chamber thundered with their roars, the sound like a storm trapped underground.

Sweat broke across Forten’s brow. His legs shook. He wanted to move, to help, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Walter was being driven back step by step, yet he never faltered.

The runt’s cries were nearly lost in the noise.

The voice did not stop.

The Trailblazers by the cages did not move. Their eyes stayed on Forten.

He shook his head, throat dry. “I won’t.”

“Integrity is duty. Mercy is weakness. Defuse the danger.”

“… This is wrong.”

The glyphs screamed with light.

The final two cages lit at once. Locks flared white-hot, sparking, then split with cracks like thunder.

The gates burst open together.

Twin roars shook the chamber, louder than the storm already raging within. The last rattleboars tore free, tusks gouging stone as they stampeded forward. Foam streamed from their jaws. Their eyes burned red, fixed not on Walter now, but on him.

Forten staggered back a step as their gaze locked. The air trembled with their rage. The first two beasts wheeled at once, their heavy bodies pivoting with terrifying speed. Four against one.

And every single one of them had chosen him.

The floor shook as they thundered toward him, tusks lowered, howls rattling the chamber walls.

Walter planted himself in front of Forten, seams split from earlier blows, stuffing trailing like wisps of smoke. His little frame trembled as he spread his paws wide yet again. The button eye glowed faintly, less like firelight now and more like a coal on the verge of going out. For the first time, he looked almost… worried.

Forten’s breath caught in his throat.

Then the rattleboars came crashing in.