Godstealer-Chapter 23: Year Seven – War in Silence

Year seven. Real quiet. Real loud.

I sat cross-legged on the same jagged rock I've sat on for years now. Wind screaming past my ears. Sky heavy with clouds that never rain. I wasn't cold anymore. Not physically. But the stillness? That got to me.

"Two years left," I muttered. My voice felt foreign. Older. Tired. "You think I'm ready for that tournament?"

The Trickster didn't respond immediately. He just stood behind me, arms crossed, grinning like a man who knew something I didn't.

"You tell me," he finally said.

That answer didn't help. Didn't feel like enough. I could mimic powers, bend time around my wounds, chain illusions into weapons. And yet...

"What if I lose?" I asked.

He tilted his head. "Then you die. Like everyone else in your bloodline. Horribly, probably."

"Helpful."

He laughed, the kind of laugh that didn't care about comfort. "Dante, your body's a weapon. Now it's time to train the trigger."

---

That's how the mind training started.

No gauntlets. No enemies. Just... me.

The Trickster dropped me into a mental plane—like falling face-first into a dream you didn't want to have. It was pitch-black. Then red. Then every color all at once, flickering like broken thoughts. That's what it was: a broken thought. My mind turned inside out.

And the voices started.

"You'll never be strong enough."

"You're just a tool."

"You don't win. He wins. You're just the body."

Then came the worst—me. A version of me that smiled like the Trickster, wore my face, but moved like someone else entirely.

"You're not ready," he said, tilting his head. "And you'll never be more than second seat."

I fought it. Not with fists. But with control. Every time my mind slipped, I dragged it back. Every time fear whispered, I screamed louder. Every time a thought tried to root into me, I burned it out with sheer will.

It took days. Weeks. Or maybe it was all a minute. Time worked weird here.

But eventually, I opened my eyes back on the peak.

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No more whispers.

No more doubt.

Just the Trickster, arms still crossed, watching me like I just punched a god in the face.

"Well?" he asked.

"I can't hear them anymore," I said.

"Good," he grinned. "Your head's a vault now. Not even a god cracks it."

I stood up, bones stiff, breath steady. "Then let them try."

---

Year Seven didn't make me stronger.

It made me silent. And silence, on this mountain, is deadlier than any scream.