“Children you seek the secrets of cultivation, but like blind mice you scurry towards false light. You strive for power and long life, but what use are these if all you do is sit in your caves and cultivate for eternity? The path of cultivation is a journey, not a destination; a dance with the cosmos, not a race against time. You may falter, you may perish, but the essence of the Dao lies in embracing the unknown.

Go forth and live while you cultivate, embrace the world and its myriad wonders. For what is the purpose of gaining an eternity, if one does not dare to live a day?”

Sage Meng Di.

Fifth century MA.

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4522 MA

Auberon Institute, Rovos, Kartas

A tremor of unease rippled through Vyas as he stood amidst the mob of hopefuls before the gates of the Auberon Institute. He felt lost in the sea of humanity, a small figure grappling with the enormity of the task ahead.

It wasn't that he was unaware of the fierce competition he faced in seeking entrance to Auberon. He knew that the trials attracted countless applicants who arrived from the far corners of the realm, drawn by the allure of the Institute's fabled knowledge and power. But now, as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his rivals, he couldn't help but be struck by the magnitude of their number, an enormous crowd that stretched as far as he could see.

The first two trials had been a crucible, a grueling test of both body and mind that had claimed the dreams of many. Vyas had emerged from that ordeal bruised but unbroken, his spirit tempered by adversity. Yet as he awaited the third and final trial, doubts stirred, like serpents coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, as if responding to an unseen signal, the crowd began to move, surging slowly towards the Institute's gates. Swept along by the current, Vyas felt a mix of anxiety and excitement tighten his chest as he passed beneath the shadow of the ancient archway.

The mob wound its way through the hallowed grounds of Auberon, the looming statues and manicured gardens gazing down upon them with quiet, austere dignity. As they marched, Vyas observed with growing confusion that the ranks of his fellow applicants were diminishing, their numbers thinning as they were led away by stern-faced instructors who seemed to materialize from the very air before them.

By the time Vyas and the remnants of the once vast mob reached the threshold of a quaint lecture hall, only a hundred souls remained. He saw the same bewilderment reflected in their faces as they filed into the chamber, their footsteps echoing, swallowed by the vast space.

Vyas glanced back at the path they had trodden, as if seeking reassurance that he hadn't been the plaything of some strange dream or enchantment. Yet there could be no denying the reality of the situation, as disconcerting as it might seem.

Taking a seat near the front of the classroom, Vyas tried to ignore the knot of anxiety that tightened in his chest as he settled into the chair. He cast a glance at the instructor, a woman whose height and gaunt frame made her appear more like a wraith than a teacher. Her gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, seeming to take the measure of each student in turn as they found their places.

When the room had finally fallen silent, the instructor spoke, her voice a dry whisper that carried through the chamber. She informed them that they would have three hours to complete the examination, and that they were to wait for her signal before opening the parchment that bore its questions. Her warning was clear: those who failed to follow her instructions would find their efforts wasted, their ambitions dashed against the cold stones of the Institute's walls.

With an uncanny fluidity, the instructor summoned a stack of papers into her outstretched hand. With a flick of her slender finger, the exams took flight once more, each one coming to rest before a waiting student. Another wave of her hand, and quills followed suit, their ebony plumes hovering above the inkwells that Vyas now noticed were cleverly embedded into their desks.

Tensing, Vyas clutched the quill as he awaited the instructor's command, his heart pounding in his ears. She spoke once more, her voice a whisper. She cautioned them against seeking assistance from their neighbors, her words heavy with ominous forewarning that needed no further explanation.

Taking a steadying breath, Vyas dipped his quill into the inkwell, his mind racing as he tried to gather his thoughts. At last, the signal was given, and Vyas eagerly unfurled the parchment, his eyes scanning the page for the first question. To his surprise, it was deceptively simple: "Why do you pursue magic?" Beneath the query lay a vast expanse of unblemished parchment, a blank canvas awaiting his response.

Intrigued, Vyas flipped through the remaining pages, only to find them empty, devoid of any hint of what might be expected of him. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if some enchantment was at play, but the paper remained stubbornly devoid of any further questions. Confusion deepened, and his thoughts churned like storm-tossed waves as he tried to fathom the purpose of this peculiar examination.

Seeking some hint or clue as to what was expected of him, his gaze strayed to the instructor. Their eyes locked for a moment, and a shiver of unease prickled down Vyas's spine. He quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he stared back down at his paper, the question seeming to mock him from the page. It seemed as though this exam had been tailored for him. There was no question Vyas could answer more definitively.

Desperation was what drove his relentless pursuit of magic. Desperation was what kept him awake on countless nights as a child, his fingers aching and cramped as he painstakingly practiced and memorized the deliberate gestures that shaped the magical energies. The same desperation had him cooped up in the dusty library for hours on end poring over ancient tomes and scrolls. A desperation to see the people his heart ached for and a broken promise that he would never forget. All in pursuit of a near-impossible dream - a dream he was willing to go to the ends of the earth to accomplish.

Vyas found himself submerged in the depths of his memories, a time when he was but a child living in a quaint farming village, a lifetime ago. The faces of his family appeared before him, as vivid and cherished as if he had seen them only yesterday: his mother's beautiful curls, his father's thick mustache, his older brother's muscular frame, his older sister's tall, willowy figure, and his chubby younger brother, a wide-eyed boy who gazed at him with boundless admiration.

He remembered a night that had been etched into his memory. They had all gathered around the hearth, the flickering flames casting a warm, comforting glow across their faces. His father's deep voice wove tales of heroes and adventure, while his mother hummed a melody, the aroma of her freshly baked bread filling the air. Laughter and love filled the room as Vyas's older brother and sister argued, and his younger brother hung on Vyas’ every word, eyes wide with wonder and admiration.

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Upon the table lay a large pot brimming with a humble stew that celebrated the fruits of their labor: corn, cabbage, and roasted onions. Their hands joined together in gratitude, they shared the meal with the contentment that came from honest work and the knowledge that they were surrounded by those they loved most dearly. There was nothing particularly special about the occasion, a simple moment that Vyas might have otherwise forgotten.

It was only after the cultists descended upon their home that night that the memory became immortalized in his mind. They tore Vyas from the warm embrace of his family, their cruel hands dragging him away as his mother's anguished cries echoed in his ears. The world he had known was shattered in an instant, and he was thrust into a nightmare that haunted him still, a chasm of loss and despair that he tried in vain to ignore.

As the memories continued to unfold, Vyas found himself transported to the dark confines of a wagon, the rattle of chains echoing in his ears. He and numerous other children were bound and cramped together, their faces streaked with tears and dirt. The air was thick with fear and sorrow, the creaking of the wagon's wheels a mournful hymn that seemed to whisper of the horrors that awaited them.

Among the wretched captives, Vyas found himself drawn to a young boy named Jhoge, a trembling, frightened child of only four years. The boy's tear-streaked face and wide, fearful eyes stirred something within him, a fierce protectiveness that reminded him of his own younger brother.

"Wh-what's your name?" Jhoge stammered, his voice barely audible above the din of the wagon.

"I'm Vyas," he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the tremor in his own voice. "Don't worry, Jhoge. We’re gonna get away."

"Y-you promise?" the boy asked, his small hand clutching Vyas's sleeve as if it were a lifeline.

"I promise," Vyas whispered, confident that he could make good on the promise.

In the gloom of the wagon, Vyas learned the names of the other five children who shared their fate, each one a fragile soul grappling with the enormity of their loss. There was Jhoge, the frightened boy who clung to Vyas like a lifeline; Kaela, a girl of eight with poofy brown curls and a rage that refused to disappear; Elira, her eyes filled with unshed tears, yet always offering a comforting smile to the others; Baelon, a stocky lad who tried to mask his fear with bravado; and the twins, Lysa and Mylan, their whispered prayers a constant refrain as they sought solace in their shared faith. Together, the cries of the six of them echoed through the darkness, a haunting chorus that underscored the terrible gravity of the ordeal they all faced.

Three weeks after Vyas had been kidnapped, the cultists added yet another child to their wagon. Her name was Maya, a small but spirited girl of seven. What set her apart from the rest was her unwavering resolve. Throughout the journey, Maya never cried. She never looked sad. Vyas could see it in her eyes; within them lay a fierce courage that seemed to defy the darkness that surrounded them.

Despite the grim circumstances, Maya steadfastly believed that they would find a way to escape. She did her best to buoy the spirits of her fellow captives, her voice a beacon of hope in their shared despair. Vyas had spoken of hope before, but it was mostly to comfort Jhoge; even he was beginning to succumb to the crushing weight of their plight. But Maya remained undaunted, her faith a shining armor that seemed impervious to the cruel blows of fate.

One day, Maya gathered the other children around her, her eyes shining with a fierce conviction. "Listen, everyone," she said, her voice still carrying the lilt of a child, but her tone resolute. "We're gonna get outta here. We'll find a way, I just know it."

"But how?" asked Elira, her voice trembling. "The cultists are always watching."

"I dunno yet," Maya admitted. "But we're smart, and we're brave. We'll find a chance, and when we do, we'll take it, and we'll get away. Just remember, it's only over when it's over. No giving up until then, okay?"

The other children exchanged uncertain glances, but as they looked into Maya's unwavering eyes, they felt something stir within them: a flicker of hope, a spark of defiance that refused to be smothered by the shadows that sought to claim them.

"Okay," Kaela agreed, her voice gaining strength. "We won't give up."

The others nodded, their eyes shining with newfound determination as they echoed the sentiment. Even Vyas, who had felt the crushing weight of despair pressing down upon him, found himself buoyed by the girl's words.

"Thank you, Maya," he whispered, his voice low but steady. "We'll get out, together."

Maya smiled at them all, her eyes shining like twin stars in the darkness. "Together," she agreed, her voice a promise.

A memory surfaced, taking Vyas back to a time just days before they were forced into the cave. After months aboard a ship, they had spent the past week on the road again, this time much further away from their homeland. The weather had turned colder, with biting winds constantly slicing through the tattered remains of their clothes.

Their spirits had been dealt a heavy blow when their most recent escape attempt had ended in failure. The cultists, frustrated with their unwavering spirits and brazen attitudes, had been punishing them by withholding food for three agonizing days. The pangs of hunger gnawed at their bellies, their bodies weak and trembling from the cold and distress.

In an effort to distract and lift their flagging spirits, Maya posed a question: "What do you want to do after we get away? If you could be anything, what would you be?"

Baelon's eyes sparkled with excitement as he immediately replied, "I'd get my dad to roast a whole lamb for me, and I'd eat it all!" Kaela chimed in, her eyes alight with the same fervor, "I want that too!"

Maya chuckled softly at their enthusiasm before turning to the others. Mylan, his voice barely more than a whisper, said, "I'd like to be a cultivator. I'd be so strong that nobody could ever hurt me."

Baelon countered, "I'd rather be a mage, 'cause they have cool spirit animals! I'd tame a dragon, and we'd fly all over the world together."

"Dragons aren't real, you dummy!" Kaela teased, poking him in the arm. "You can't tame something that doesn't exist!"

Baelon's face flushed with indignation, and he stubbornly insisted, "Dragons are real! I saw one fly over my village years ago, I swear!"

Elira interrupted before Kaela could respond, giving her thoughts on the question, "I'd be a cultivator, too. My parents said they're stronger than mages."

Lysa chimed in, her eyes tinged with wanderlust. "I want to be a sailor, like mama! She's traveled the ocean and told us so many stories about the places she's been. I want to see those places for myself."

Vyas was just about to add his own aspirations when Jhoge's small voice piped up, cutting him off. "I want to be a knight, 'cause they save people who are in trouble, like us."

The instructor's voice broke through the veil of memory, startling Vyas back to the present. She announced that half of their allotted time had already passed, and he looked down at his paper in surprise, realizing that he had been lost in his own thoughts for far longer than he had intended.

To his dismay, he found that a few tears had fallen onto the page, smudging the ink and leaving a small black stain on one line. He had been holding the quill in place for so long without writing that the ink had begun to drip, though luckily, the damage was minimal.

He was happy to remember what he was fighting for. With a deep breath, he began to write, pouring his heart and soul into the words that would flow from the nib of his quill.