The crowd began to move under the elder’s guidance, descending a short stair carved into the stone to a wide, luminous corridor that led into the heart of the mountain itself. At the end was a grand circular chamber.
In the center of the hall stood a crystal stone encased in pure glass. Inside it, a golden stone pulsed like a beating heart, radiating an aura both tranquil and ancient. The air around it shimmered with dense mana particles that moved with unnatural rhythm.
The elder stepped forward, removed his hat, and bowed his head before the stone. His voice, now hushed and reverent, filled the chamber.
“Great Water God… we present your chosen. Let your wisdom weigh them, your eyes judge them, and your silence shape them.”
No one dared move. Not even to breathe too loudly.
For a moment, the Mind Stone responded with a quiet hum, and a spiral of golden mist danced through the room.
And Kent—seated once again in the corner, watching it all unfold—was more than ready to see what the others would reveal.
Soon…
The Mind Stone chamber had settled into a steady rhythm—an almost ceremonial cadence—as disciples stepped forward one by one, placing their palms upon the ancient stone at the pedestal’s heart. The golden crystal shimmered faintly with each interaction, its responses varying wildly, as if awakening a different memory or fragment of power for every soul that touched it.
The elder in white, standing solemnly at the side of the pedestal, said nothing at first. His presence alone was like a blade—silent, sharp, and always watching.
The first disciple, a nervous young man with trembling fingers, stepped forward. His eyes darted around the room, and sweat glistened across his brow. As his fingertips met the surface of the stone, a sharp hiss echoed through the chamber. White light exploded outward, blinding in its intensity. The boy screamed and staggered back as if burned, holding his hands close to his chest. His knees buckled.
The elder didn’t flinch. With a casual flick of his wrist, wind gathered around his sleeve and struck the boy across the hall with invisible force. “Filthy. Unfit.” the elder snapped coldly. “Cowardice is the worst trait. The mountain cannot tolerate spineless beasts.” The boy tumbled backward, sliding toward the exit, his cries swallowed by the silence that followed.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the line resumed, more cautiously now.
Next came a tall girl with silver streaks in her hair. She pressed her hand firmly onto the stone. A swirl of blue and yellow mana danced into the air above her head like twin serpents, and the chamber responded with a low hum. The elder gave her a nod, and she was quietly directed to the next chamber.
Then a familiar face stepped forward. It was the young boy who had arrived on the same boat as Kent. Nervous but determined, he stepped up with steady breath and laid his hand on the stone. The glow that followed was soft at first—then suddenly burst into a regal hue of deep purple that filled the chamber with a warm radiance. The elder’s eyes lit up faintly with approval.
“Well done,” he said, stepping forward to gently pat the boy’s shoulder. “The Water God sees bravery in you. Move on. The chamber of Fate awaits.”
Kent watched quietly from the far wall, one hand resting on his knee, the other idly tracing small spirals of mana in the air. He had leaned back against a pillar, barely blinking, observing it all with the boredom of someone watching a street magician repeat the same trick a hundred times. The chamber was filled with light shows, but no real depth. Or so it seemed.
Disciples came and went. Some left with proud shoulders and hidden smiles. Others stumbled out quietly, bearing yellow, blue, or pale violet hues. Some carried an air of disappointment—perhaps expecting gold and receiving green. Yet, not once did the elder explain what the colors meant. There was no scale, no criteria offered. Just silence, judgment, and color.
However, Kent’s eyes weren’t only on the stone. Off to the side, sitting on a stone table with a worn scroll and inkbrush, was a different elder—older, thinner, and wearing a dull robe of storm-gray. His hands moved constantly as he scribbled down something after each test. Not just disciple numbers, Kent realized—but also color gradients, and beside them… strange symbols.
Animal figures.
A falcon here. A tiger there. A koi fish. A fox.
It was subtle. Easy to miss. But Kent had sharp eyes and a sharper mind.
He narrowed his gaze slightly, watching the moment a girl in golden robes placed her hand on the stone. A bright yellow aura filled the space—like sunlight pouring into the chamber. The writing elder squinted, then etched down the word “Lioness” beside her number and color mark.
So, Kent mused silently, the stone doesn’t just test energy and traits… it evokes the spiritual form within. He leaned his head against the stone pillar, half amused. Interesting. But still so very secretive. Are they afraid of what might be revealed if they spoke openly? Or perhaps… not all the results are meant to be shared.
The line grew shorter. More disciples stepped forward. A pair of twins caused a burst of twin blue halos to appear above their heads—waves and ripples, like the sea. The elder said nothing, only gestured for them to move on.
Still, Kent didn’t move.
He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, letting out a faint sigh. He’d expected something more mystical, more revealing. Thus far, it was nothing but colors, symbols, and silent judgments—half a show for half-informed participants. There was power here, certainly. The Mind Stone pulsed with genuine ancient energy. But it revealed only what it chose to show… and what the elders permitted others to see.
And Kent knew better than to trust tests designed to hide more than they disclosed.
Still, as he looked at the glowing stone in its golden pedestal, a quiet spark of curiosity kindled in his chest.
Let’s see, he thought, what animal slumbers in me…
But he did not move just yet.
He was waiting for something.
Perhaps for the last disciple to finish.
Or perhaps…
For the stone to notice him.