As Kent stepped out of the Mind Stone chamber, his fingers still tingling faintly from the warmth of the stone, he followed the steady line of disciples descending through the winding spiral staircase. The steps were smooth, ancient, and worn by time and countless feet. Soft blue light illuminated the path, not from torches, but from the walls themselves—etched with intricate murals that pulsed with subtle mana.
The mural told a story in sequence—one that felt eerily alive.
At the top, the first carving showed a radiant pool from which a massive lotus bloomed, its petals reaching the skies. Then came figures—young cultivators kneeling around the lotus, arms raised in prayer, seeking the blessings of fate. Below that, other carvings depicted celestial beasts emerging from within the pool, their shapes grand and terrifying: a qilin standing atop water, a phoenix bathed in flames, a dragon rising through clouds, a turtle with mountains on its back. It was a divine cycle—of fate, of judgment, of legacy.
Kent’s gaze lingered on a particular carving—a tiger howling beneath a blood-red moon. It reminded him of something. Of someone.
He exhaled silently and continued.
The spiral opened into a vast chamber, carved directly into the heart of the mountain. The air was heavy here—not stifling, but pregnant with power. At the center of the hall floated an enormous white lotus, suspended in the air by no visible force. Sitting calmly upon it was an elder—an ancient man clad entirely in white, robes flowing like water, his hair long and silver like river threads. His eyes were closed, his expression tranquil… until the testing began.
Disciples approached him one by one, and as they did, he extended a single withered finger and touched the center of their foreheads. The moment contact was made, the white lotus beneath him changed colors—sometimes pale blue, sometimes crimson, sometimes gold, and sometimes black as void. Each hue pulsed with sound—deep rumbles, birdlike cries, howls, or screeches—and then the elder would speak, his voice absolute.
The first disciple stepped forward—a girl with sparkling jade earrings. She bowed deeply. The elder touched her brow.
A soft golden hue spread across the lotus, and the faint cry of a swan echoed in the chamber.
“Long life, noble heart,” the elder said softly. “Fate of the Swan. Proceed.”
She bowed again, eyes moist with relief, and stepped aside.
The next was a tall young man with scars across his cheek. The moment the elder’s finger touched him, a deep growl filled the room. The lotus flared orange and black, and a tiger’s roar resounded.
“Fierce path,” the elder nodded. “Tiger Fate. A storm awaits you.”
This was the same boy who had sailed with Kent. He turned slightly to glance at Kent with a grin before moving toward the side chamber with the others who passed.
Then came another—a calm-faced young man with a smug expression. The elder’s finger touched his head, and the lotus turned black. A sharp screeching sound pierced the room like shattered glass. The elder’s expression twisted in disgust.
“Short life. Poisoned ambition.” He waved his hand in disdain. “Kick this fellow out. The pool rejects the selfish.”
The boy was dragged away without ceremony, his protests lost in the hush of the crowd.
Kent observed it all with quiet interest.
One after another, disciples moved forward.
A girl with twin buns had a glowing yellow lotus and the chirp of a deer. “Healer’s fate. Quiet roads, peaceful ends,” the elder said.
A silent boy with pale skin triggered the croak of a frog. “Watcher’s fate. You’ll see more than you live.”
One unfortunate disciple caused the lotus to shiver and hum with the screech of a rat. “Coward’s fate,” the elder spat. “Not welcome in the pool.”
Then, a boy with red hair stepped up and was blessed with the sound of a soaring hawk and a lotus hue of silver. “Sky’s envoy,” the elder smiled faintly. “You were born to travel far.”
The old man on the lotus never repeated a phrase. Each result was unique, poetic in its own right, like he was reading verses from the Book of the World.
Behind him, several elders in gray robes recorded everything diligently on scrolls—disciples’ names, ages, Mind Stone results, and now, their Fate Beasts. One of them raised an eyebrow as a disciple’s lotus glowed violet and a serpent hissed in the background. “Interesting,” he muttered, scribbling fast. “A twin soul.”
Kent’s turn approached, but he did not rush. His eyes tracked everything—the patterns, the elder’s movements, even the timing between each test. He had already begun forming his own understanding of the process, and yet, he could not predict what the lotus would reveal for him.
The fate test was different. It wasn’t about power. It was about destiny—the deepest truths locked inside one’s existence. No technique, no spell, no illusion could alter it.
And Kent, for once, felt a twinge of curiosity… for his own.
—
As Kent stepped forward, the atmosphere within the fate chamber grew still—as though even the mana in the air dared not move. The old elder, resting upon the white lotus, extended his hand once more, prepared for just another reading. But as his aged fingers touched the center of Kent’s forehead, everything changed.
The elder’s shut eyes snapped open with a violent jolt, his pupils contracting into pinpoints. His hand clenched around Kent’s wrist instinctively, like a drowning man grasping onto the only solid thing in the tide. A deep, primal sound echoed from within the elder’s throat, involuntarily.
Then it came.
A roar.
Not a cry of any ordinary beast, not the symbolic whisper of a fate animal—but a deafening, ancient roar that shook the very walls of the mountain. It tore through the hall like a collapsing sky, sending a pulse of divine energy through every stone and every soul within.
Disciples descending the staircase froze in place, wide-eyed, hands gripping the rails for support as the tremor passed beneath their feet. Several stumbled. Others fell to their knees. One screamed. No one moved until the sound faded—but its echo still lingered in the chambers of their hearts.
The lotus beneath the elder began to tremble violently. Its white petals withered into gold—pure, radiant, blinding gold—as if touched by the sun of creation. The elder’s breath caught in his throat. Sweat beaded down his wrinkled face. He released Kent’s hand, not willingly, but slowly… reluctantly… as if the very act had marked him.
He looked up at Kent—not with the detachment of an evaluator, not even with the reverence of a priest—but with the raw, unfiltered terror of a man who had seen the impossible.
His lips trembled. His voice, once full of command and authority, came in a breathless whisper.
“Heavenly… Ruler… of Eternity…”
Gasps filled the chamber.
The scribes froze mid-stroke, their hands shaking as they tried to write the words. One dropped his brush. Another stumbled backward into the wall, clutching the parchment as though it might burst into flame. The old words—the forbidden titles—the myths not spoken aloud for ten thousand years—they had returned on this day.
The elder’s eyes remained on Kent as if trying to memorize every inch of the boy before him. Yet Kent simply stood there, calm and composed, as if the earth-shattering moment had nothing to do with him. A small smile curled on his lips—not mocking, not proud—just an amused knowing.
He gave the elder a respectful bow.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked past the stunned scribes, rejoining the line of disciples still descending into the next level of testing. Many turned their heads as he passed, their eyes wide with awe or confusion. Some stepped aside instinctively, as if clearing a path for something greater than royalty.
Already, whispers had begun.
“Did you hear the roar? A dragon?”
“The lotus turned gold! Gold, not blue or purple—gold!”
“What did the elder say? Something about eternity?”
“Who is he?”
“Where did he come from?”
The elders in the shadows murmured in urgency, mana stones glowing as messages were sent up the mountain, beyond the pool, into the upper realms. Scribes were ordered to secure the records. Guardians were told to stay alert. Word spread like fire lit under dry parchment.
As Kent descended into the underground chamber, a wave of heat and the sharp tang of blood tinged the air, clinging to his senses like smoke. The hall opened into a vast, circular arena carved entirely out of black stone, its edges lined with high, jagged walls that curved up like the inside of a monstrous cauldron.
All around the perimeter, iron-barred cages stood stacked and secured with glowing runes, each holding a beast more terrifying than the last. Snarling hellhounds with molten eyes, serpents large enough to coil around trees, and winged manticores that thrashed against the enchanted restraints, their roars echoing like war drums.
Many disciples who had just recovered from the shock of the fate reading now stood frozen at the entrance of the arena. Their legs stiff, their skin pale. The growls and screeches from the cages were not ordinary — they carried the pressure of death, a primal promise of being torn limb from limb.
Kent, however, walked forward silently, his eyes calm as he surveyed the arena and the caged beasts without flinching. His gaze lingered momentarily on a towering cage at the far end, where two crimson eyes locked onto him through the darkness.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from the shadows.
The beast was not afraid of Kent.
But for the first time, it did not rage.
It watched.