I barely had time to register the sensation of falling before I landed—hard—on solid stone.

  “Ugh—Shit.” I groaned, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. The ground wasn’t exactly welcoming. Cold. Smooth. Too smooth. Like the floor of some ancient temple that had been waiting centuries for a poor idiot like me to show up.

  I forced myself to my feet, shaking off the dizziness. The silver glow from the portal was gone. No swirling vortex behind me. No way back. Just…a chamber. A perfectly square stone room with walls so polished they reflected the light from a few flickering torches.

  I turned in a slow circle, taking in my surroundings. No windows. No other exits. Just a single, looming door embedded in one of the walls.

  “Alright,” I muttered to myself, dusting off my clothes. “No immediate death traps. That’s a win.”

  I let out a breath, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake the weird feeling pressing down on me. It wasn’t just nerves. It was the knowledge that this was it. The moment that decided whether I lived or died, whether I got a class or ended up just another failed name in the archives.

  I took another deep breath. Then another. You got this. Just a trial. A horrifying, potentially lethal, system-designed nightmare of a trial. No big deal.

  I took a step toward the door, then hesitated. “Okay, so what are the odds that the moment I step through this thing, I get immediately vaporized by a fireball? Or torn apart by a dragon? Maybe a cyclops? That feels like a solid bet.”

  I sighed. “Right. Cool. Walking toward my inevitable doom now.”

  My hands were a little clammy as I reached for the handle. The metal was cold under my fingers, the door heavier than I expected. It groaned as it swung open, revealing—

  Nothing.

  Just another passageway, stretching into the distance.

  I blinked. “Huh.”

  No dragon. No cyclops. No immediate murder.

  That was…probably good?

  Or maybe the system was just lulling me into a false sense of security before throwing me into something really awful.

  Only one way to find out.

  I stepped forward, crossing the threshold into whatever awaited me next.

  It wasn’t what I expected.

  No monsters. No traps. No overwhelming sense of dread. Just four wooden crates, sitting all alone.

  I stared at them for a second, half-expecting something to leap out and claw my face off. When nothing happened, I took a cautious step forward, glancing around like some hidden overseer was about to yell at me for touching things I shouldn’t.

  No one. No threats.

  Just me and the boxes.

  “Alright,” I muttered. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  I reached for the first box, lifting the lid slowly, bracing for—again—some kind of disaster. But all I found inside were two items. A wand and a staff.

  I frowned.

  Magic.

  I knew enough from the archives to recognize them—Acolytes used things like this. Magic-users. Spellcasters. The kind of Chosen who could turn people to ash with a flick of their fingers. Their resource was called mana, and it fueled everything they did.

  I picked up the wand, turning it over in my hands. It looked simple. Polished wood, a slight taper at the tip, surprisingly lightweight.

  Did it…just work?

  Maybe it pulled mana from the body and hurled projectiles? Maybe it needed some kind of incantation?

  Maybe it was completely useless to me.

  Because I had no class. No mana.

  I exhaled, tapping the wand against my palm. “Yeah, this is probably just a fancy stick at this point.”

  I gave the wand one last look, then sighed and placed it back in the box. No point in carrying something I couldn’t use. Magic was for Acolytes, and I wasn’t one—at least, not yet. Maybe not ever.

  I set the staff beside it and closed the lid.

  “Alright. Not a wizard. Noted.”

  I looked at the other three boxes. If this was some kind of selection process, then maybe each one held weapons or tools suited for different classes. Which meant if I kept looking, I might find something I could use.

  I stepped toward the next crate, half-hoping it wasn’t filled with more fancy sticks and disappointment.

  The next box creaked open, revealing a sword and a shield nestled inside.

  Well, that’s a little more straightforward.

  The sword was simple—steel, single-edged, built for one-handed use. No engravings, no glowing runes, just a reliable, sturdy weapon. The shield was solid metal, round, heavier than I expected when I lifted it. This setup screamed Initiate to me.

  Initiates were melee fighters, the kind of Chosen who got up close and personal with the things trying to rip their heads off. I’d heard stories about them—how they were powered by Vigor, a resource that let them keep fighting longer, hit harder, move faster. Unlike mana, which fueled spells, Vigor was all about endurance and combat flow. The more they fought, the stronger they became.

  I frowned, glancing between this box and the one I’d just looked through.

  So far, my options were flailing around with a sword and hoping I didn’t die, or trying to cast spells I physically couldn’t use.

  I wasn’t sure which was worse, but standing toe-to-toe with some bloodthirsty beast that wanted to bite my face off wasn’t exactly my idea of fun.

  Magic, at least, had range. Distance. A comfortable space between me and whatever was trying to kill me.

  I placed the sword and shield back in the box.

  “Yeah, let’s keep looking,” I muttered, moving toward the third.

  I lifted the lid on the third box, already bracing myself for more things I didn’t know how to use.

  Inside, an enormous warhammer rested against the side, its solid metal head nearly as long as my forearm. Beside it, a thick, leather-bound book sat neatly, its cover embossed with a crest I didn’t recognize.

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  I raised an eyebrow. “Well, this definitely doesn’t scream Shadowborn.”

  Which meant it had to belong to a Warden.

  Wardens were…interesting. They weren’t just tanks, standing there and taking hits like a brick wall—they could heal, support, control the battlefield. Kind of a jack-of-all-trades class, depending on how they evolved. Some became nearly unbreakable frontline fighters, standing against impossible odds. Others took on more of a leadership role, guiding and empowering their teams.

  They used Resolve to fuel their abilities—not stamina, not magic, just sheer willpower. Where others relied on speed or brute force, Wardens endured. They withstood. They refused to fall.

  I’d read about some of their skills in the archives. Aegis Barrier allowed them to conjure a shield of pure energy, absorbing damage before shattering under the weight of enemy attacks. Unyielding Bastion made them harder to take down the longer they stayed in combat—some Wardens could even regenerate wounds over time, their bodies refusing to give in. Sentinel’s Ward let them fortify their allies, strengthening them against whatever threats they faced. And then there was Diviner’s Sight, an ability that let certain Wardens predict enemy movements before they even happened, reacting before a blow could land.

  Tanking and healing. A class that could defend, support, and, most importantly, survive.

  That was…useful.

  I ran my fingers over the book’s cover, considering. A hammer wasn’t exactly my first weapon of choice, but the idea of being stupidly hard to kill had its appeal.

  Still, my gaze flicked back to the first box. To the wand and staff.

  If I had to pick between being a walking fortress and not being in range of danger in the first place… I still preferred the idea of magic.

  I sighed, setting the book and warhammer back in the box.

  “Let’s see what’s behind door number four.”

  I lifted the lid on the fourth and final box, half-expecting another oversized weapon or some unreadable magic tome. Instead, I found something different. Something interesting.

  A long black cloak, neatly folded, and a belt with two curved daggers resting on top.

  I let out a slow breath. Shadowborn.

  Unlike the brute-force combat of an Initiate or the unshakable endurance of a Warden, Shadowborn didn’t fight fair. They didn’t stand their ground and trade blows until one side dropped. They didn’t need to. They hunted from the shadows, striking before their enemies even knew they were there. If they did their job right, the fight was over before it even began.

  Their abilities were fueled by Guile—a mix of instinct, precision, and supernatural shadow energy. Guile let them disappear into thin air, strike weak points with deadly accuracy, confuse their enemies with misdirection and illusions.

  I ran my fingers over the hilts of the daggers, considering.

  That definitely sounded more appealing than standing in front of a monster with a shield, praying I didn’t get my head knocked off. Or swinging a sword in the middle of a battlefield like some honorable warrior destined to die horribly.

  Out of everything I’d seen so far, this made the most sense.

  This—at least—felt like something I could use.

  I took a step back, rubbing the back of my neck as I looked over the four boxes, each one holding a different path. A different version of me that could exist if I survive this trial.

  Magic still seemed like the best option, at least as far as not dying horribly went. If I could attack from a distance, maybe I wouldn’t have to get into a fistfight at all. That sounded ideal. No teeth sinking into my arm, no claws raking across my chest, no getting crushed into a paste by some oversized dungeon horror. Magic-users didn’t need to get close—they just stood back and hurled spells while the poor melee fighters did the dirty work.

  On the other hand…

  I glanced at the cloak and daggers.

  Shadowborn played by different rules. They weren’t about standing back or standing at all—they were about not being seen in the first place. They struck from the darkness, quick and lethal, slipping in and out of combat before enemies even knew they were there.

  And that had a certain appeal.

  If a monster didn’t see me, it couldn’t kill me. If I could move fast enough, hit hard enough, maybe the fight would be over before it even started.

  “Alright, so what’s worse—risking getting torn apart up close or standing at a distance hoping magic does the job?”

  Magic seemed safer. But it also required mana. Which I didn’t have yet. The system assigned Chosen their resources after their trials. If I went in expecting to be a spellcaster, only to get something else, I’d be useless.

  Shadowborn, though? That was different. They didn’t need to rely on some mystical energy pool. They used Guile, something that wasn’t as simple as mana or stamina. It was instinct. Awareness. Using the battlefield, the enemy, the very shadows themselves to their advantage.

  I frowned.

  Did I trust myself to use magic I’d never practiced? Or did I trust myself to move smart, fast, and unseen?

  I let out a long breath, glancing between the first and last box.

  This was it.

  The choice that would define everything.

  A sharp skittering noise cut through my thoughts.

  I froze.

  Then, slowly, I turned.

  A spider the size of a dog was scuttling toward me, its eight legs clicking against the stone floor, its massive fangs dripping something very much not harmless.

  “Oh, Shit.”

  Panic hit like a sledgehammer, my body moving before my brain even caught up. I whipped around to the nearest box, hands scrambling for the first weapon in reach—

  My fingers closed around the dagger belt.

  No time to think. No time to argue with myself. I yanked one of the daggers free, spun on my heel, and threw it with every ounce of strength I had.

  The dagger fell short.

  I watched in horror as it clattered off the floor, my one and only attempt at heroics amounting to a pathetic bounce—

  Until that bounce sent it right into the spider’s side.

  The shriek that followed was deafening.

  It staggered, its legs twitching, but it wasn’t dead. Not even close. If anything, I’d just pissed it off.

  My hand shot to the belt, yanking out the second dagger.

  “Okay,” I breathed, forcing my shaking hands to steady. “Not ideal. But we’re working with it.”

  The spider recovered fast, its many eyes locking onto me with murderous intent.

  I tightened my grip on the dagger.

  “Alright, you creepy little bastard,” I muttered, heart pounding. “Let’s see who comes out of this alive.”

  The spider lunged.

  I barely had time to react, twisting to the side as its front legs slammed down where I’d just been standing. Its fangs snapped inches from my face, venom dripping onto the polished floor with a sharp hiss.

  I stumbled back, dagger raised, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “Okay. Alright. Not horrifying at all.”

  The spider reared back, its legs tensing—something was coming. I recognized the shift in its body too late.

  It spat.

  A glob of thick, green venom shot toward me.

  I threw myself sideways, hitting the ground hard as the venom splattered against the floor where I’d just been. The stone sizzled, tiny wisps of smoke curling into the air.

  Yeah, okay, definitely don’t get hit by that.

  The spider turned, tracking my movement, but I was already moving, circling around its side. My eyes locked onto the dagger still embedded in its abdomen.

  I kicked the hilt of the dagger, hard.

  The impact sent the spider skidding across the floor, the dagger falling free from its body and clattering across the stone. The spider screeched, its legs flailing as it tried to right itself.

  I didn’t give it the chance.

  Snatching up the fallen dagger, I whipped it forward, putting everything I had into the throw.

  This time, the blade buried itself straight into the spider’s head.

  It staggered, twitching, but didn’t stop.

  I breathed sharply.

  It just kept coming.

  My eyes darted back to the boxes—specifically, the one with the cloak.

  Shadowborn fought dirty.

  Fine. I could do that.

  I grabbed the cloak and hurled it over the spider, covering its face and front legs in thick folds of fabric. It thrashed, momentarily blinded, legs scraping against the floor.

  I lunged.

  With a wild yell, I drove my last dagger down, again and again, plunging it deep into the writhing mass beneath the cloak.

  The spider jerked.

  Then twitched.

  Then stopped moving.

  Silence.

  My breath came in ragged gasps as I collapsed onto the floor beside it, chest heaving, hands trembling. My entire body felt like it had been wrung out, my muscles burning from the sheer effort.

  I let my head fall back against the cool stone, staring at the ceiling.

  “Well,” I muttered between breaths. “That… sucked.”

  I lay there for a few moments, chest still heaving, the cool stone against my back the only thing keeping me grounded. My thoughts churned, replaying the fight in my head—every desperate dodge, every wild attack, every moment where I was one wrong step away from being spider food.

  Yeah. No.

  This wasn’t for me.

  Give me magic any day. Fireballs, lightning bolts, arcane blasts—I didn’t care. As long as it meant distance. Because that? That was too close. I never wanted to be that close to a monster again. The only reason I wasn’t a corpse right now was sheer dumb luck.

  With a groan, I pushed myself up, wincing at the ache settling into my limbs. I reached down, picked up the daggers, and ripped the cloak off the rigid body of the spider, shaking it out like it hadn’t just been wrapped around a bloody corpse. Then, without hesitation, I placed them both back in the box.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I muttered. “Not for me. Let’s get the magic stuff.”

  I turned toward the first box—the one with the staff and wand—and stopped.

  The lid was still open. The inside?

  Empty.

  A sharp, sinking feeling hit my stomach. I moved to the next box. The sword and shield? Gone.

  The hammer? Same.

  Just great.

  I breathed through my nose, pressing my fingers to my temples. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  So that was it, then. The system had made its choice for me. I’d picked up the daggers, used them, and that was all it needed. As far as it was concerned, I’d chosen to be a Shadowborn.

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  Muttering curses under my breath, I turned back to the final box and yanked the cloak out again. Might as well commit to the bit. I slung it over my shoulders, fastening it in place, then strapped the daggers to my waist. The weight of them felt foreign. Unfamiliar.

  I rolled my shoulders, letting out a long sigh. “Alright. Guess we’re doing this.”

  At the far end of the chamber, a door stood waiting. No more choices. No more second-guessing. Just whatever came next.