"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

The Forgotten Desert

The sand stretched endlessly, shimmering under the cruel glare of the sun. Each dune rose like a mountain, shifting and treacherous. The wind carried whispers—of lost souls, of forgotten battles, of knowledge buried beneath centuries of dust.

Steve Rogers—Soldier, Witcher, and an Unbroken Man—walked forward, his boots sinking into the dunes.

He had survived the Wolves' discipline, the Cats' cruelty, the Griffins' wisdom, the Bears' endurance, and the Vipers' shadows.

Now, he sought the Manticores.

But the Manticores did not seek him.

They waited. Silent. Unseen.

For only those who understood their own ignorance could find them.

Lesson One: Knowledge Is a Burden

Days passed. The desert was merciless.

The heat burned his skin, the nights froze his bones. His rations ran low. His water was gone.

Still, he moved forward.

And then—he saw it.

A ruined temple, half-buried in the sand. Carvings of beasts and men adorned its walls, their eyes hollow, their mouths whispering secrets to the wind.

Steve stepped forward. The moment his foot touched the first stone—

A serpent struck.

Not a real snake. A blade.

He twisted just in time, his instincts—**sharpened by the trials before—**saving him from death.

His attacker stood before him, draped in robes as dark as the void, their face hidden beneath a golden mask.

"You have come for knowledge," the figure intoned. "Are you ready to pay its price?"

Steve exhaled, squaring his stance. "I've paid prices before."

The masked figure chuckled. "Not like this."

Lesson Two: Poison of the Mind

The Manticores were not warriors. Not assassins. Not strategists.

They were philosophers. Alchemists. Keepers of truths men feared to speak.

Their lessons did not come through battle—but through questions.

"Would you kill a hundred to save a thousand?"

"If the world condemned an innocent man, would you defy it?"

"What if saving one meant destroying all?"

Their words were venom, seeping into the mind, twisting convictions, poisoning certainty.

Steve answered as he always did—with honesty, with principle, with an unwavering moral compass.

"I do what's right."

But the Manticores only smiled.

"And what is 'right,' Captain?"

Lesson Three: The Trial of the Nameless Poison

One night, Steve sat before a table laden with vials, each filled with liquid of unnatural colors—golden, obsidian, emerald, crimson.

A Manticore Elder stood before him. "One is knowledge. One is power. One is death. And one is change."

"Drink."

Steve studied the vials. No clues. No hints.

This was not a test of wisdom.

It was a test of conviction.

He reached for the obsidian vial.

He drank.

The world shattered.

Visions—not memories, but futures.

A throne of swords, dripping blood.

A dragon's shadow over a frozen battlefield.

A king with no face, laughing in the dark.

His shield—broken. His friends—gone. His mission—undone.

Steve fell to his knees, gasping.

"This is knowledge, Rogers," the Elder whispered. "It does not give peace. It gives burden."

Steve's hands trembled.

But he stood.

He faced the Elder, his voice steady. "Then I'll carry it."

For that was who he was.

Not a warrior. Not a killer. Not a pawn.

A man who bore the weight of the world—because no one else should have to.

The Manticore's Legacy

When Steve left the temple, he carried more than wisdom.

He carried secrets. Truths that would haunt him.

But he also carried conviction.

The world would test him.

But he would not break.

For the final trial awaited.

The Trial of the Crane.