Markus walks through the twisted halls of the palace, the walls pulsing faintly with arcane energy. Eventually, he steps into a chamber unlike any he has seen before.

  Above the entrance, carved in bold letters, are the words:

  3: See no evil, Say no evil, Hear no evil.

  Inside, three massive stone monkeys sit in a triangle formation, each fifteen feet tall. They loom in the center of the room — silent guardians frozen in time.

  The first monkey rests its hands in its lap, eyes gently closed, embodying calm.

  The second covers its mouth with both hands.

  The third presses its hands over its ears.

  Markus steps forward cautiously, his eyes scanning each statue.

  Three phrases. Three monkeys. But where’s “See no evil”?

  His gaze returns to the first one — its hands aren’t covering anything. Just sitting. Waiting.

  Then it clicks.

  “I think I have to cover its eyes…”

  He slowly raises his hand toward the meditating monkey, heart pounding. The moment his fingers touch its stone face — specifically, shielding the eyes — there’s a soft grinding sound.

  A hidden compartment opens in the floor behind them.

  Inside: a glowing key, marked with the number 4.

  As Markus turns the key and opens the door marked 4, a soft click echoes through the chamber. Light pours through the crack, brighter than anything he’s seen in the palace so far.

  He steps through — and freezes.

  Blue sky stretches overhead, dotted with soft, drifting clouds. Grass sways in a gentle breeze, cool and green beneath his feet. It feels… real. Real enough to trick the senses. Real enough to make him forget he’s in a magical trial.

  And then it hits him.

  The layout, the bench by the fountain, the crooked tree with the rope swing still attached — it’s the park. Their park. The one he and Alexia used to run around in as kids. The one where they scraped their knees, shared ice cream, and made promises they half-remember now.

  Markus takes a slow step forward, soaking in the strange nostalgia — until something smacks into his knee.

  He looks down and sees a basset hound. Short legs, droopy eyes, ears that nearly drag on the ground, and a white-tipped tail wagging like mad.

  “It’s a human,” it says, howling as if calling to the others.

  As if on cue, four more basset hounds bound over the hill, barking with wild excitement. They surround him, jumping and yipping, their floppy ears bouncing with every step. One licks his shin. Another rolls over for belly rubs. One just stares at him, deeply and silently, like it knows something.

  Markus holds his hands up. “Okay. This is officially the weirdest trial so far.”

  Then comes a dramatic woof — louder, slower, and with unmistakable authority.

  The smaller hounds part.

  From between them emerges a stockier basset with a glistening red scarf and a comically oversized golden crown perched between his long ears.

  “I am Barkelot,” the hound says in a proud, rumbling voice. “King of the Hounds. We have awaited your arrival.”

  “You may throw a stick,” Barkelot says, puffing out his chest proudly, “for I would love nothing more than to fetch it…”

  He pauses, eyes narrowing with grave intensity.

  “…but I fear I may not come back with it.”

  Markus blinks. “Wait, what? Why not?”

  “I’m very easily distracted,” Barkelot admits.

  Another basset hound behind him barks twice, as if confirming the story.

  Markus slowly lowers the stick. “Okay. No sticks.”

  “That would be wise.”

  Without missing a beat, Markus asks, “I’m guessing, like the last one, I’ll need a key. Do you know how I get it? I’m looking for the Life-Giving Blade.”

  Barkelot tilts his head. “Ah, so you’re fetching the big stick. That makes sense. Would’ve been weird if you came here for a picnic.”

  He turns dramatically toward the shallow stream nearby. “But beware! As you can see, it’s treacherous. This river is a whole two feet deep — we’ll surely drown.”

  The herd of basset hounds marches bravely — if somewhat clumsily — toward the “raging” river, ears flopping and tails wagging like battle standards.

  But the moment Markus steps foot near the stream, the ground trembles.

  With a grinding crunch, something rises from the earth that wasn’t there a second before — a hulking stone golem, its body crackling with dormant mana and moss-covered runes. A red light blinks to life in its head, whirring as it scans the area.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then — beep-beep-beep — it locks onto Barkelot.

  A thin red laser paints a dot right between the hound’s droopy eyes.

  Barkelot freezes.

  Without thinking, Markus scoops him up like a football and sprints.

  “In that building — now!” Barkelot barks, pointing a paw at a small brick structure nearby that looks suspiciously like an abandoned maintenance shed.

  Markus doesn’t hesitate. He dashes for it, golem lasers scorching the grass behind him.

  He spots it — a tiny doggy door at the bottom of the wall.

  With a grunt, Markus dives to the ground and tucks his legs, squeezing through the oversized doggy door like a quarterback lunging for a touchdown.

  He and Barkelot tumble inside with a thud.

  Outside, the golem slams against the wall with a frustrated mechanical growl, unable to follow.

  “The other dogs are still outside. Let me go get your friends.”

  Markus sprints across the field, planting himself between the golem and the basset hounds. “Come on,” he shouts over his shoulder. “Get to the safe zone!”

  The golem’s head snaps toward him. Its core lights up — then, with a high-pitched whine, it fires.

  A beam of red light slices through the air.

  Markus dives, hitting the ground hard as the laser scorches past his shoulder. He hisses in pain, clutching his arm — but doesn’t stop moving. Another blast comes, this one catching him in the side. He cries out, but grits his teeth and forces himself back up.

  Behind him, the last of the hounds slips through the broken gate, barking wildly as they make it to safety.

  The golem’s heavy footsteps pound closer.

  Markus stands his ground.

  Another beam scorches the ground at his feet, sending up a burst of dust and heat. He stumbles but keeps moving, trying to lead the golem away from the others.

  Then — he sees it.

  Just above the golem’s chest plate, partly hidden by layers of dust and grime, is a small red button. It isn’t glowing, isn’t marked, but it looks… out of place. Deliberate.

  An off switch?

  His heart pounds, but the golem fires again. Markus barely ducks in time, the heat of the beam licking the back of his neck.

  Grimacing through the pain in his side, Markus turns and sprints toward the building. He dives through the doggy door just as another laser slams into the ground behind him, sending debris flying.

  Inside the shelter, the hounds bark anxiously, tails wagging and ears perked.

  Markus staggers to his feet, still clutching his ribs with one hand and his scorched shoulder with the other. “Is everyone alright?” he asks, voice hoarse.

  The dogs all howl in unison — loud, mournful, and dramatic.

  Markus blinks. “Okay… why didn’t anyone say anything about that thing out there?”

  Barkelot puffs out his chest. “I did say it was treacherous. Because I’m a good boy.”

  “It’s gone,” one of the hounds says, watching the sealed door with a soft whimper.

  “Can you show me where the key is?” Markus asks, his voice still rough from the smoke and strain.

  “I should — let’s go this way,” Barkelot says, trotting toward the door and staring at it intently.

  Markus raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Outside?”

  “No.”

  “You want to go outside?”

  “Yes. I want to go outside.”

  Markus opens the door, and the hounds rush out, tails wagging as they scatter into the now-peaceful field.

  “So,” Markus says, glancing down at Barkelot, “you said you know where the key is?”

  Barkelot barks excitedly and trots ahead, tail wagging. He reaches the edge of the shallow river, pokes at the water with one paw, then looks back dramatically.

  Markus sighs, then stoops down and picks him up again.

  He follows Barkelot through the grass, the little hound trotting ahead with purpose. The other dogs fan out behind them, sniffing curiously at the air but keeping close.

  After a short walk, Barkelot stops in front of a rusted metal door half-buried in a mossy stone wall. Vines cling to the edges, and the hinges look like they haven’t moved in years.

  Barkelot barks once, then paws at the base of the door.

  “There it is,” Markus murmurs.

  Sure enough, just beside the frame, half-hidden beneath a loose stone, is a small silver key. He bends down and pries it free, holding it up to the light.

  Just as Markus closes his fingers around the key, a low hum vibrates through the ground.

  The golem reappears.

  It emerges from the trees like a nightmare reborn — its massive frame flickering with unstable mana, red eyes glowing brighter than before.

  Markus freezes, eyes locked on the door ahead.

  “Just keep moving,” he says under his breath. “It’s not real.”

  But then the golem turns its gaze — not toward him, but toward Barkelot.

  It raises its arm. Energy builds at the tip.

  Markus sighs.

  The beam fires.

  Barkelot barks in panic, but the blast never lands.

  Because Markus is already there.

  He dives, slamming into Barkelot and shielding him with his body as the beam strikes. Pain tears through him, and he cries out, activating his Mahoishi in desperation. A brief shimmer of magic absorbs some of the impact — but not enough.

  Smoke rises from his scorched shoulder as he hits the ground hard.

  Gritting his teeth, Markus rolls between the golem’s massive legs, slipping beneath it in one smooth motion. His hands snap forward — whips of pure mana lash out, catching hold of its armor.

  With a sharp tug, he yanks himself upward, swinging onto the golem’s back.

  The red button is there — just above its chest.

  Markus doesn’t hesitate.

  With a roar, he slams his fist into it.

  Click.

  The golem freezes mid-step… then crumples, its light dimming, its limbs going slack as it powers down with a mechanical sigh.

  Markus slumps on top of it, chest heaving, skin still smoldering from the hit.

  From below, Barkelot barks.

  “I’m fine,” Markus calls down.

  He slides down the side of the deactivated golem and limps over to Barkelot, who is still standing frozen at the edge of the stream.

  “Do you need help getting back to the right side of the river?” Markus asks, eyebrow raised.

  Barkelot gives a guilty wag of his tail.

  With a tired sigh, Markus scoops him up again and steps back through the shallow water, wincing as it splashes against his burned shoulder.

  He gives a faint smile, then turns toward the moss-covered door with the key still clutched in his hand.

  “Let’s finish this trial.”

  Markus inserts the key into the lock. With a heavy click, the mossy door creaks open, revealing a narrow hallway bathed in dim, flickering light.

  He steps inside.

  The air is colder here, still and stale, like the breath of something ancient that hasn’t moved in centuries. The walls are lined with worn stone and faint carvings he doesn’t have the energy to read.

  His burned shoulder throbs with every step. His side aches. His legs feel heavy.

  But he doesn’t stop.

  “Just keep moving,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “Just keep moving.”

  The hallway twists and branches, like the inside of a maze built to disorient. Shadows cling to the corners, and strange whispers echo from ahead — soft, like breath against the ear.

  Markus clenches his fists and presses forward.