A few days passed. One evening, Aaryan stood outside the cabin, the wind tugging at his sleeves, and stared into the distance. His fingers brushed the bloodstains on his shirt—remnants of a past that seemed so distant, yet still clung to him like the damp chill in the air. He thought about the notice in the market—the call for new disciples to join The Evernight Pavilion. The words echoed in his mind, each one like a whisper that urged him to take a step forward.
"Ten days... only ten days until the selection."
He was still sore from his near-drowning, his body far from its prime. His muscles ached with every movement, as though his own body was still unsure if it was ready to keep going. But then, his thoughts turned to the future.
"What do I have to lose?"
The question gnawed at him. He had nothing. No formal training. No mentors. No clear path forward. But the thought of what the Evernight Pavilion offered—training, power, purpose—was tantalizing.
"Could I really make it? What if I fail? What if I'm not good enough?"
Doubt crowded his mind, filling him with an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. But then another thought struck him. He had nothing else. Nothing but survival. And wasn’t survival enough to give him a shot?
Just as he was about to turn and head back inside, Grandma Kalyani’s voice reached him from the cabin.
"You know," she said, her tone gruff but thoughtful, "there are a lot of people in this world who wait for luck to find them. But luck won’t get you far if you’re not willing to work for it. Take the workhorse, for example. He doesn't stop because the road's tough. He doesn't wait for the path to get easier. He just keeps moving, step after step, until the road’s behind him."
"But…" the young boy who had carried Aaryan from the riverbank tried to explain.
“No buts. On your father’s account, I can only lend you this much. Go back and work for the rest of it yourself.” Grandma Kalyani’s words were as sharp as ever.
Aaryan’s brow furrowed, unsure at first why her words felt like they struck a chord deep inside. She wasn’t talking to him, wasn’t telling him to chase the trials or giving him advice, but somehow, her words landed like a blow to his hesitation.
"Workhorse... keep moving."
It was simple, but it resonated. No one else would fight for him. No one else would walk the path ahead of him. If he wanted to make something of himself, he would have to push forward, no matter how hard it got.
Taking a deep breath, Aaryan squared his shoulders, the uncertainty slowly starting to melt away under the weight of his resolve.
"I’ll keep moving," he whispered to himself, a quiet determination in his chest. "I’ll take the test. I’ll do it."
And with that, he turned back toward the cabin, ready to face whatever came next.
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The morning of the selection day arrived with a crispness in the air that bit at Aaryan’s skin, a reminder that the season was shifting. The sky was overcast, the clouds hanging low, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath in anticipation. His nerves were a tangled mess, but there was something else—an undeniable pull, a sense that today would define everything that followed.
Aaryan stood at the edge of the cabin, looking out at the path that wound through the area, toward the heart of Green Veil City. It was a path he had seen many times before, but today it felt different—heavy with the weight of expectation. He adjusted the straps of the small bag slung over his shoulder, checking the few items he had packed—some dried food, a water skin, and his sword. He had never been one for showy preparation, but something about this day made him want to be ready for anything.
As he turned to leave, Kalyani stood in the doorway, watching him with her usual calculating gaze. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled the trees, carrying the sounds of life from the village—voices calling out, children laughing, the clink of tools being used.
“I don’t get why you’re in such a hurry. A few more years wouldn’t hurt,” she said finally, her voice gruff, yet with an undertone of something softer, almost resembling concern. “Don’t expect them to roll out a carpet for you just because you showed up. It’s a test—one you have to pass on your own.”
Aaryan looked at her, his gaze steady, meeting her eyes. He wasn’t sure why, but those words stuck with him more than he cared to admit. She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know, but hearing it from her, in her blunt way, made it real.
“I can’t wait a few more years,” he said, his voice steady. “I want power, and I need it now.”
Kalyani didn’t respond right away, slightly shocked by his response.
“What might have happened to him?” she wondered. “It seems it wasn’t the first time he had to fight to survive.”
She simply nodded, as though she understood more than she was willing to say. Then, with a quick flick of her wrist, she handed him a small pouch.
“Take this,” she said, her tone back to its usual gruffness. “For the road. You’ll need it.”
Aaryan took the pouch without question, though the weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should have. He didn’t need to open it to know it contained money—or at least enough to get by. But it was more than that. It was an offering of something. Trust, maybe. Or perhaps just a sign that, despite all her sharp words, Kalyani didn’t think he was entirely useless.
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“Thanks,” he muttered, slipping the pouch into his pocket.
With that, he turned and started walking down the path, his feet moving automatically as his mind raced.
The city was alive with activity, more so than usual. People were bustling through the streets, merchants shouting their wares, children running by in excited groups, all of them aware of the significance of the day. The streets grew busier as he neared the town square, the crowds growing thicker as people made their way toward the venue where the trials would take place.
Aaryan’s heartbeat grew louder in his chest now, each step a drumbeat, his breath shallow with anticipation. He tried not to let the fear creep in, but it was there—there was no way to avoid it. A place like this, filled with so many hopefuls, so many skilled individuals—it was easy to feel small. It was easy to wonder if he even belonged here.
But he pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand. I’m not here to belong. I’m here to prove something. To myself.
As he neared the open space where the trials were to take place, he could see it: a large stage set up in the center of the square, surrounded by towering wooden beams that served as makeshift stands. The area was packed with people, all waiting, murmuring in anticipation. At the far end of the stage stood a group of people, each of them draped in dark robes, their eyes sharp and evaluating.
The sight made Aaryan’s stomach tighten, but he didn’t look away. This was it. The moment where everything could change. He had no idea what would happen, what the trials would ask of him, but he knew one thing for certain: I won’t back down.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath, stepping into the throng of hopefuls who had gathered. The air was thick with tension, and he could feel the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes on him as he joined the crowd.
The atmosphere around the contest venue buzzed with nervous energy as the crowd of hopefuls shuffled forward, their eyes darting around, whispering in hushed tones, and occasionally exchanging glances of uncertainty. Aaryan stood among them, his stomach churning with the anticipation of what was to come. The air felt thick, like a pressure building before a storm, and he couldn't shake the sense that the real challenge was still to come.
The queue moved slowly, inching forward as the time for the trials drew near. As they approached the side stages where the qualifying rounds would be held, Aaryan couldn’t help but notice a group of individuals standing near the entrance. They were draped in long, dark robes, their faces hidden by hoods, giving them an air of cold detachment. The robes were embroidered with intricate patterns in silver thread, marking them as disciples of the Evernight Pavilion—the prestigious sect overseeing the trials.
The disciples' presence added an unsettling weight to the atmosphere. They stood tall, their expressions unchanging, as if the rest of the world was beneath them. Aaryan caught the occasional glint of cold amusement in their eyes as they surveyed the contestants, their posture stiff and superior. They weren’t here to make friends. Their sole purpose was to observe, to direct, and to judge.
One of them, a tall figure with piercing eyes and an imposing presence, stepped forward and raised a hand. Instantly, the murmurs in the crowd silenced. His voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Line up. Move quickly. You’ll be assigned to your qualifying rounds. If you miss your turn, you're out. Do not speak to the judges unless instructed. Understand?”
His tone was commanding, and the air seemed to tighten around him. No warmth, no encouragement—just cold efficiency.
The disciple didn’t wait for an answer, his eyes already moving to the next contestant as he directed them to the side stages.
“Move along,” he snapped to a young man in front of Aaryan, who quickly hurried past, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Aaryan barely had time to digest the disciple's words when he caught sight of another group that had already moved ahead. A group of young men and women, their robes impeccably tailored, their faces adorned with self-assured expressions. They were clearly from wealthy families, their fine clothing hinting at their privileged backgrounds. Each one was accompanied by a servant or two, carrying their belongings, as though they had nothing to do but wait for their turn in the trials.
One of the young men—his robe a shade of deep crimson with gold accents—was standing tall, his posture exuding arrogance as he looked around at the other contestants. His hair was slicked back, and his face was marked with a mixture of disdain and boredom.
“Do you think they’ll even let us compete with the likes of them?” a young woman beside him whispered, her voice laced with mockery. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, clearly irritated by the surrounding crowd.
“Pathetic,” the young man replied, sneering. “I doubt even half of them will make it past the first round. I have already broken through the second stage of Anima—this is just a formality.” His voice dripped with confidence; arrogance so thick that it was impossible to miss. He casually tapped a hand on the hilt of the sword at his side, a symbol of his family's wealth and status.
The group of rich contestants stood apart from the others, already primed for the competition. Aaryan could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere around them—there was a palpable difference in how the wealthy contestants carried themselves. They were used to privilege, to being at the top, and it showed in the way they looked down on the others. They had trained their whole lives, and they wore that fact like a badge of honor.
Aaryan, by contrast, felt out of place. He had no servants, no polished robes, no family legacy to fall back on. His only weapon was the rough experience he had gained through survival, through the struggles that life had thrown at him. Yet as he watched the group of elite contestants, a strange fire flickered inside him. He wasn’t here to win any popularity contest. He wasn’t here to impress anyone with his background. This was his chance, his moment to prove that even someone like him—someone without a name, without connections—could still make his mark.
As the queue inched forward, Aaryan couldn’t help but overhear the rich boy's smug comment about the trials.
“I’ll be in the top ten, no doubt about it. They’ll be begging to accept me by the end of the day,” the boy boasted, his voice laced with arrogance.
Aaryan tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, feeling the weight of his resolve settle into place. Let them think what they want. It didn’t matter. They could have all the money and status in the world, but it wouldn’t guarantee them success here.
He wasn’t going to let anyone look down on him just because he didn’t fit their idea of what a disciple should be.
The disciple in the black robe gestured sharply, breaking Aaryan’s concentration. “You—get in line. Now,” the disciple snapped, motioning for him to move toward one of the side stages.
With a final glance at the smug group, Aaryan squared his shoulders, ignoring the looks from the wealthy contestants. It was easy to think they all had something he didn’t—a confidence, a training, a history. But Aaryan pushed those thoughts aside as well.
He didn’t need what they had. He only needed to take the first step.
And he was here now.
With that final thought, he stood tall, waiting for the test to begin.