Copperbell Mines – The Iron Trial
The first pull was his.
Finn took the lead, axe already resting on his shoulder, chain coiled loose in his hand. The air in the Copperbell Mines was damp and echoing — stale from years of disuse and the deeper rumble of something ancient stirring far beneath.
Spriggans and sprites skittered across the shadows. Agitated, territorial.
Finn stepped forward, eyes calm.
One breath.
Then steel moved.
The axe flew — forward, then back — chain curling in a practiced arc, snapping clean through the first cluster. He hooked the rest into a pack, guiding them toward him like a silent conductor, pulling them close.
Then, with a twist of his stance, he spun — a cyclone of momentum and sharp iron, slicing through the cluster in one fluid rotation. The spriggans shrieked as they fell. The sprite’s unstable aether scattered like mist.
Wyrnzoen let out a low whistle behind him.
“You’re starting to sound like a real Marauder.”
Finn gave a small shrug, planting the axe in the ground to rest.
“Faster to handle five at once than one at a time.”
Wyrnzoen barked a laugh.
“Gil really has transformed you.”
They didn’t waste time. The route through the mines was mostly clear — a few angry creatures, unstable rock, and one or two smaller surprises. But nothing that slowed them. Finn was focused, watching the way each enemy moved, how his axe balanced through each swing. Each fight was another repetition, another chance to reinforce instinct.
And then they reached it — the deepest chamber.
The aether in the air felt heavier here. Staler. But the presence that loomed ahead was anything but dead.
A Gigas.
Towering. Armored. Breathing like a furnace.
A round iron shield on one arm, a massive axe in the other — worn but still cruelly edged. A horned helmet cast a shadow over its eyes, but there was no doubt: this one wasn’t just a brute.
It knew how to fight.
Finn’s eyes flicked over the creature — armor plating, stance, the way it adjusted its footing. A beast, not just in size. The axe it carried was three times his height, but looked almost manageable in the giant’s grasp.
He exhaled. “That axe is bigger than me.”
Wyrnzoen nudged his side, grinning.
“How about I teach you something here?”
Finn’s eyes stayed on the Gigas.
A quiet, “Yes please.”
Wyrnzoen’s expression lit up like fire.
“This is the thrill of battle!”
And with a thunderous shout, he surged forward.
It was a collision of titans.
Wyrnzoen’s axe met the Gigas’ with a clang that echoed through the cavern, sparks flying like fireworks. Blow after blow, their weapons locked, scraped, and recoiled. Neither gave ground easily — it was battle-wrestling, all force and timing.
Finn stood back with the others, watching carefully. The Gigas was strong, but Wyrnzoen was smart — each strike wasn’t just forceful, it was intentional. Subtle shifts in position, pressure on the inside of the guard, stagger effects layered over time. He was weighing down the Gigas with every contact.
The Gigas grew slower. Sloppier. The weight of the axe starting to betray its size.
Then, in a flash — a kick to the wrist. The giant’s axe clattered across the stone.
Before it could react, Wyrnzoen leapt — axe raised — and brought it down full force onto the Gigas’ horned helmet. The shield came up to block—
Crack.
The shield split in two, the accumulated stress finally breaking its integrity.
Even armored, the giant couldn’t absorb that last blow. The helmet dented. The eyes dimmed. And with a low, guttural groan, the Gigas dropped face-first to the ground, unmoving.
Finn stared for a long moment. The entire fight — brutal, controlled, deliberate — played back in his mind.
It wasn’t just muscle.
It was technique.
Endurance.
Understanding the enemy, and yourself.
He said nothing. But in his silence, something shifted.
He didn’t just see strength in Wyrnzoen anymore.
He respected it.
And quietly, he wanted to earn it.
Finn Verci 