Chapter 9: The Pillar’s Judgment

Whatever lay ahead in the Stone Tower was bound to test the limits of his courage, intellect, and resolve.

Abel felt a chill run down his spine, not from the cool air, but from the sense of foreboding that seemed to seep out from the very stones of the tower itself. The others around him were equally tense, their faces a mix of curiosity and anxiety. The stone path beneath their feet seemed to hum with hidden energy, guiding them toward their unknown destinies.

The recruits followed the tattooed man, their footsteps crunching on the pebbles of the path that led to a grand, circular platform at the base of the tower. The platform was vast, made from intricately carved stone with symbols and glyphs that glowed faintly as the recruits stepped onto it. The air around them felt charged, and there was a soft, almost imperceptible hum, like the whisper of an ancient power stirring beneath the surface. The hairs on the back of Abel’s neck stood up, sensing the dormant magic that slept within these stones, ready to awaken.

At the center of the platform stood a large stone pillar, rising about ten feet high. It was covered in more of the strange carvings that seemed to pulse rhythmically, like a heartbeat—an ominous, slow rhythm that seemed to synchronize with Abel's own. The bald man turned to face them, his expression as cold and unyielding as the stone around them.

“This is the Pillar of Assessment,” he announced, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “It will read the essence within each of you and determine your potential path within the Stone Tower. This is where you begin to understand your affinity—or perhaps, discover nothing at all.”

A murmur rippled through the recruits. Some exchanged anxious glances, while others looked on with unwavering determination. The bald man’s gaze swept over them, his eyes sharp and unblinking. He gestured for the first recruit to step forward. “One by one, place your hand on the pillar and let it judge you. Fear not the outcome, for it is but the first step on your journey.”

A tall boy with dark hair stepped forward, his face set with a mixture of fear and determination. He hesitated for a moment before pressing his hand against the cold stone. The symbols on the pillar flared to life, glowing bright blue. The boy gasped as if feeling something reach deep inside him, but he stood firm. The air around the pillar seemed to vibrate, filled with a low, resonating hum.

But after a few tense moments, the glow dimmed, and every symbol turned dark, losing its luster. The pillar remained silent, indifferent. No reaction from the stone. The crowd of recruits exhaled collectively, the tension palpable.

The bald man shook his head, his lips curling into a slight frown. “No affinity. Step aside, boy.” He pointed towards the left side of the platform, his voice devoid of sympathy.

“That is not possible! My grandfather was Gifted; please let me test again!” The boy’s voice trembled with desperation, his eyes wild and pleading. He looked ready to throw a tantrum, his hands clenched into tight fists.

The bald man’s expression did not change, but there was a shift in the air around him—a subtle, almost imperceptible change that sent a shiver down Abel’s spine. His eyes turned sharp, and suddenly, the tattoos on his head began to glow a light green color. The ink began to detach from the bald man’s dome, lifting from his skin and swaying upwards like kelp floating in deep water. The inky form twisted and contorted, shifting into the shape of a monstrous plant—something akin to a grotesque, oversized Venus flytrap, with serrated edges that dripped with a thick, dark fluid.

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The boy’s knees buckled slowly as he looked at the terrifying creature now hovering above the bald man’s head. With a gulp, he quickly turned around and did as he was told, his bravado collapsing into fear. The creature receded, merging back into the tattoo on the man’s scalp as if it had never been there at all.

One after the other, recruits went to take the assessment, but after six more attempts, not a single one was Gifted. The disappointment hung thick in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone. Abel could feel the nervousness radiating off the recruits as they watched their peers fail.

Finally, a familiar figure stepped forward. Ronald, the short boy with sharp eyes and glasses, approached the pillar with visible apprehension. His face was pale, and he looked tense, knowing that being Gifted was far rarer than he had anticipated. As he placed his trembling hand on the cold stone, he shuddered slightly, a mix of nerves and the chill of the pillar. Just like the others, the symbols on the pillar lit up initially before they began to dim. For a moment, it seemed like there would be no reaction, but then a faint blue symbol glowed softly among the others that turned back to normal.

“Water affinity,” the bald man noted, his tone almost indifferent. “Not bad. Stand over there.” He pointed toward the right side, opposite the non-Gifted.

Relief flooded Ronald's face as he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “I can't believe it... I’m Gifted. I’ll be able to achieve my dreams,” he thought, his eyes lighting up with a new sense of purpose.

Abel watched as more recruits went up to the pillar. Out of the next ten, only three had affinities: one with Earth, another with Wind, and the third with Water. The rest were non-Gifted, and some of them took the news hard. One girl collapsed in tears, her face contorted with despair. Others screamed in anger or terror, their dreams shattered before they could even begin.

Sena stepped up next, his broad frame and calm demeanor setting him apart from the others. Abel knew him from the ship and expected him to handle whatever came his way with grace. Sena placed his hand on the pillar, and after a moment, the light faded, leaving the symbols dark. He was non-gifted. But unlike the others, Sena’s face remained steady, his expression filled with determination. He walked to the left side confidently, his back straight, as if he were defying fate itself to break him.

The assessments continued, and Abel’s anxiety grew with each passing moment. His friends from Room Eighty, Nando and Isabella, also stepped up to the pillar. Neither of them possessed a Gift. Nando’s face was drained of color, his eyes wide with disbelief. Isabella, on the other hand, remained eerily calm, a contemplative look on her face as she stepped aside.

Abel’s heart pounded in his chest as his turn drew near. He focused on the boy in front of him, Edmund—the arrogant youth who had clashed with Isabella. Edmund sauntered up to the pillar, a smug grin plastered on his face. Abel couldn’t help but wish the boy would be revealed as non-gifted, to see his pride brought down a notch. But fate seemed to favor him. As Edmund placed his hand on the pillar, the symbols ignited in a fiery red glow.

“Fire affinity,” said the bald man, his voice as cold as ever. “Good. Next.”

Abel's turn had come. His chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. He stepped forward, his feet feeling heavy as if the very air around him thickened with each step. The pillar towered over him, its carvings seemingly alive, pulsating with an ancient, unknowable power. He placed his trembling hand against the cold stone, the chill biting into his skin like frost. He closed his eyes and focused, blocking out the murmurs of the crowd, the weight of their expectations, and his spiraling doubts.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The world seemed to fall away, and all that existed was him, the stone, and whatever force lay within it.