Chapter 03

Chapter 03

Night of the Red Lion

The corridor leading out of the Hall of Masks felt impossibly long.

Judah walked it alone, still breathing as though he’d run miles. The Dralio’s heat simmered inside him, not painful, but alive—like a sleeping furnace waiting for a reason to wake. Every few steps his vision shimmered, not with hallucinations, but with clarity: edges sharper, shadows deeper, sounds layered.

He reached the end of the corridor and pushed open a steel door.

A sharp burst of cold night air slapped him in the face.

He stood on a balcony overlooking the training compound—an open yard surrounded by high walls and patrolled by masked guards. Torches flickered in the corners, lighting up rows of recruits scrubbing stone floors, sparring with wooden poles, hauling sandbags up and down concrete steps. Like running shifts, others were going off to their dorm rooms after the pain and injuries of the first orientation trials.

The world he had known ended inside the Hall.

This was the world he had entered.

A man in black training gear approached him. He wore no mask, but a tattoo of a hawk feather ran from his jawline down to his collarbone—a sign of a mid-rank Spirit Officer.

“Judah Mensah.” His voice carried the clipped sharpness of someone who tolerated no errors. “Come.”

“From this moment,” the man continued, “you will address me as Instructor Kojo. You begin at the bottom. The mask you bear may be exceptional, but rank is earned, not gifted.”

Judah nodded. “Yes, Instructor.”

Kojo eyed him for a long, assessing moment.

“Tell me… what did you feel when it chose you?”

Judah hesitated. “Heat. Strength. And… a voice.”

Kojo’s brows lifted slightly. “A voice?”

“It spoke to me,” Judah said quietly. “Called itself mine. As if we were… bound.”

Kojo exhaled slowly through his teeth. “Rare. Very rare.”

Another pause.

“Come,” Kojo said, gesturing toward the building ahead. “Let me walk you to your dorm room.”

The Dormitory of Recruits

The dormitory was nothing more than a long concrete hall with thin mattresses laid out in neat rows. A dozen boys Judah’s age looked up when he entered. Their faces were tired, wary, bruised. Some stared at the red lion mask. Others looked away, pretending not to notice.

Spirit gangs taught discipline—but jealousy was older than discipline.

Kojo walked Judah to his empty bed. Both men still had more questions in mind.

Judah held the mask with both hands. “Instructor… the elders. They said the Dralio hasn’t chosen anyone in three hundred years.”

Kojo’s expression darkened briefly. “Yes. And that is precisely why you must not fail. You will be watched. Some will expect greatness. Others will expect your downfall.”

“Why downfall?”

“Because,” Kojo answered simply, “rare spirits bring rare envy.”

With that, he turned and left the dormitory.

The door clicked shut. Judah sat heavily on the bed.

The other recruits whispered among themselves.

“Is that the Red Lion mask…?”
“He just got here…”
“…three hundred years, they said…”
“…maybe he won’t survive training…”

Judah lowered his gaze, palms sweating.

Dralio, he thought silently. Are you still there?

A low rumble echoed from deep inside him—not words, not quite sound, but presence. A massive creature turning in its sleep.

Judah exhaled, steadying himself.

He lay down on the thin mattress, staring at the concrete ceiling. The Dralio’s warmth soothed him, like a hand on his back.

For the first time in years, he drifted into sleep without fear.

Dream of Fire and Crown:

In his dream, Judah stood in a vast desert of red sand. Above him, the sky burned gold, and from the dunes emerged the silhouette of a beast the size of a palace. Wings of ember. Hair of molten gold.

The Dralio.

It circled him, roaring silently, stirring a storm of sand and fire.

Kings rise from ashes, it whispered.
Dynasties rise from kings.
But dynasties also burn.

Judah reached out toward the creature.

“Why me?” he asked.

The Dralio lowered its colossal head.

Because you seek power… but fear becoming what power requires.

The desert cracked beneath Judah’s feet—splitting open into a canyon of fire.

Judah fell—

—

He awoke with a gasp.

The dorm was dark, the torches outside flickering through the slats in the high windows. Sweat clung to his skin.

The Dralio’s words echoed in his mind.

Power requires a price.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

That was when he realized he wasn’t alone.

A figure stood at the foot of his bed.

A tall boy, older than Judah by maybe two years, with a lean, dangerous frame. His hair was braided tightly back, and a half-mask hung loosely from his belt—the sleek black hawk mask of a senior recruit.

“You’re the one the elders are talking about,” the boy said, voice low but sharp. “The Dralio’s chosen.”

Judah’s pulse quickened. “Who are you?”

The boy stepped closer, eyes cold.

“My name is Kweku Blade,” he said. “Top recruit of the Red Sun. Soon to become Captain.”

Judah swallowed. “Then why are you here?”

Kweku’s lips curled in a thin, predatory smile.

“To see the boy who thinks he’ll rise above his station.”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” Kweku leaned down until his face was inches from Judah’s. “Spirits don’t choose without ambition. And ambition makes enemies.”

Judah held his gaze.

“I didn’t come here to fight you.”

“Oh, you will,” Kweku said softly. “Soon. We all fight. That’s the only way to survive this place.”

He straightened.

“Be ready, Red Lion. Tomorrow… the real training begins.”

He turned and walked away, boots echoing on the concrete floor.

Judah’s hands shook slightly.

Not from fear—but anticipation.

The Dralio stirred inside him, amused.

Let him come, it murmured.
Let them all come.

Judah lay back down, heart steadying.

Tomorrow would decide everything: whether he was just another recruit… or something far more dangerous.

And as sleep slowly returned, Judah understood one thing clearly:

The House of the Red Sun hadn’t just accepted him yet.