The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the bustling city square. The air was thick with tension, despite the warm golden light filtering through the banners and stalls that lined the edges of the plaza. Hundreds of hopeful cultivators stood gathered, their voices hushed as they awaited the arrival of the Evernight Pavilion's elders.

The crowd murmured among themselves.

"When will it start?" a young man whispered, his voice laced with impatience.

As if responding to his words, carrying a sudden chill that had no place in the midday heat. The shadows darkened unnaturally, stretching across the ground as if pulled by invisible hands. The conversations died instantly.

Four figures emerged from the rippling distortions of shadow and light, standing atop the raised blackstone platform as though they had been there all along. Their arrival was silent, without footsteps or sound—unnatural, inhuman.

The first elder, clad in deep violet robes embroidered with silver moons, stepped forward. His hood concealed most of his face, but his piercing silver eyes gleamed, scanning the crowd with quiet authority.

A shiver passed through the assembled contestants.

"The selection trial begins now." His voice was cold, emotionless.

Another elder, wearing a half-moon mask, took over. "There will be two rounds." His words rang across the silent square. "The first round will test your affinity with Urrja—whether you are even worthy of stepping onto the path of cultivation."

Murmurs rippled through the contestants.

"What if someone fails the affinity test?" a young man whispered, his face pale.

A woman beside him scoffed. "Then they were never meant to cultivate. They’ll surely either be sent back… or discarded."

The third elder, draped in black with a silver sash, raised a hand, silencing them. "The second round will test your survivability." His voice held a dangerous edge. "Your ability to think, to endure, and to adapt."

A ripple of unease spread through the crowd.

The last of the elders, an old woman with dark tattoos curling up her arms, chuckled softly. "Your results from both rounds will be combined." She let the words hang, before adding, "From this group, ten experimental disciples will be chosen. Among them, two will be selected as outer disciples of the Evernight Pavilion."

The moment those words were spoken, hushed conversations erupted among the contestants.

"Experimental disciples…?" Aaryan muttered under his breath.

A man beside him, his arms crossed, sneered. "More like glorified servants. They do the dirty work, run errands, and most don’t even survive long enough to become true disciples."

"That’s not entirely true," another contestant added in a low voice. "Some of them rise. But only a few. The Pavilion doesn't waste resources on the weak."

Aaryan remained silent, his eyes flickering toward the elders. Ten will be chosen, but only two will actually have a place in the sect. The rest… expendable.

His grip tightened.

The murmurs in the crowd settled as the first elder raised his hand, commanding silence. His silver eyes swept over the gathered contestants, assessing them with an unreadable gaze.

"One final rule," he said, his voice calm yet absolute. "The first-place winners of both rounds will be automatically qualified for the third and final round, regardless of their combined score."

A ripple of excitement and tension passed through the contestants.

The elder gestured towards the edges of the plaza, where each side stage had a human sized rectangle set up. Each was carved with intricate symbols, glowing faintly under the afternoon sun. The Stone of Affinity.

The second elder, clad in black robes embroidered with silver mist, took a step forward. His voice was deep, carrying an authority that silenced all whispers.

"This artifact before you is the Stone of Affinity," he explained. "A treasure of the Evernight Pavilion, refined over centuries. It does not merely test whether you can cultivate—it reveals the depth of your connection with Urrja itself."

He let his words hang before continuing. "The symbols engraved upon it were crafted by the first Pavilion Lord. They shift in response to one’s potential, drawing upon the Urrja that lies dormant within. A low response means weak affinity. A high response…" He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "Means you hold the power to walk further upon the path of cultivation."

There was no need for further explanation. Everyone understood the implications.

"The first round begins now," another elder announced. "Step forward towards platforms. You will place your hand upon the Blackstone. It will measure your affinity with Urrja, and you will be given a score out of ten."

Groups of contestants hesitantly moved towards the platforms. Each stage was manned by a masked disciple, standing like silent sentinels beside the Blackstone.

Aaryan followed the group toward the nearest platform. Up close, the Blackstone’s surface pulsed faintly, its engravings shifting like flowing water. The air around it felt heavier, charged with an unseen force.

The first contestant stepped up, a tall youth with a confident smirk. He pressed his palm against the stone, closing his eyes. For a moment, nothing happened—then the symbols flared to life, glowing with a dim orange light.

A masked disciple turned to the elders and declared, "Affinity score: 4."

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The youth clicked his tongue, stepping back. "Tch. I expected at least a six."

One by one, the contestants went up. Some received scores of five, a few lucky ones got six, but many left with scores in the twos and threes, their faces pale with disappointment.

Then, a well-dressed young man strode forward with an air of casual arrogance, he was the same young men who had claimed earlier to be at 2nd level of Anima stage.

The young man strode forward with a chilling sense of superiority. His air was not just one of confidence, but an overwhelming presence of entitlement. His steps were deliberate, every movement a clear declaration that the world should bend to his will. He was the son of the city lord, and the world was his to control.

A hush fell over the crowd.

"It's him, City Lord’s Son" someone whispered.

"I think his name is Varun," another murmured.

"He’s already been training under for some time and I heard, he had deacon of the sect as his mentor till now… his score will be high."

Without a hint of humility, he placed his hand on the stone, as though he were a king bestowing a favor upon the artifact.

The crowd fell into a hushed silence, some staring in awe, others recoiling in disdain at his palpable arrogance. The noble didn’t even spare them a glance.

The moment his fingers touched the Blackstone, the engravings flared to life with a blinding golden light, far stronger than any before. The stone pulsed with energy, responding to his presence like a servant to a master. The pulsing light remained steady, refusing to fade immediately like the others.

The masked disciple’s voice rang out, louder this time. "Affinity score: 8.0."

Silence.

One of the elders, the old woman with dark tattoos, nodded approvingly. "The talent this time is quite good." She glanced toward the City Lord’s son, her eyes lingering for a moment before she continued, "A score of eight means high-grade talent. With proper guidance, such individuals have a chance to reach the Garima realm or beyond."

Another elder, the one in the silver mist-embroidered robes, spoke in a measured tone. "Not just that. His path forward will be far smoother than most. If he proves himself in the later rounds, the Pavilion may even take special interest in his growth."

The words carried weight. A score of eight and above was rare—those who reached such heights often became figures of influence in the cultivation world.

The crowd was shocked to silence, but the young lord’s eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Only eight?” he muttered, his lips curling into a sneer. “I suppose it’s enough to crush those weaklings. But not enough to secure the top spot. I’ll need to remind them who truly belongs at the top.”

The cruelty in his voice wasn’t lost on anyone, but he didn’t care. He saw the other contestants as nothing more than stepping stones to be crushed beneath his boot. To him, the trials weren’t a test of potential, but a platform for him to flaunt his superiority and secure his place at the top.

As he pulled his hand away from the Blackstone, his gaze swept over the crowd, eyes lingering on those who had failed miserably—those who scored twos and threes, their faces pale and full of disappointment. He smirked at them, reveling in their failure, as though their lack of ability was something he could feed off of.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, his disdain so thick it could be felt in the air.

Aaryan exhaled slowly as the line moved forward.

Finally, it was Aaryan’s turn.

He approached the stone, stepping onto the platform. The murmurs in the crowd had mostly died down, though a few still whispered.

"Never seen him before."

"Must be another nobody. He doesn’t even look strong."

“truly, anybody can participate even a kid…how old is he? Five” mocked someone.

Aaryan exhaled slowly, stepping forward when it was finally his turn. He placed his hand on the stone.

The moment his skin made contact; a chilling sensation shot up his arm. The energy slithered through his veins, reaching toward his core. Something was probing him, seeking, searching—like an unseen force trying to peel him open from the inside.

And then

A pulse erupted from deep within him, not of resistance, but of hunger. A silent, unseen force within his very being stirred, devoured, and in an instant—

The energy vanished.

…

Nothing happened.

No glow. No shifting engravings. No pulse of energy.

The stone remained cold beneath his hand, its symbols still and lifeless.

A few chuckles broke the silence. Then whispers.

"Nothing? Not even a flicker?"

"He’s probably a commoner with no potential… what is he doing here?"

Aaryan kept his face blank, but inside, his thoughts raced.

Why? He had seen the stone react to everyone else, even those with low affinity. But for him… nothing.

Even Aaryan didn’t knew what had happened inside his body much less others around him. Confused , Just as he was about to withdraw his hand—

A sudden shift.

Not in the stone.

In the first elder.

Seated atop the raised pavilion, the first elder, who had remained motionless with his eyes closed throughout the test, suddenly opened his eyes.

A faint glimmer flickered across his gaze, barely noticeable—but it was there.

The masked disciple hesitated before finally announcing, "Affinity score: 0."

Snickers broke out among the contestants.

"Zero? He’s got no talent at all."

"What a waste of time."

Aaryan ignored them, stepping off the platform without a word. He could feel their mocking gazes, but they didn’t matter.

But amidst the growing noise, one of the elders—the one with the half-moon mask—spoke, his voice sharp and laced with curiosity.

"This is… unusual." He turned toward the other elders, his gaze lingering on the still, lifeless stone. "I have never seen anyone without any affinity at all. Even mortals, those without cultivation, possess some connection to Urrja—however negligible."

Another elder, the old woman with dark tattoos curling up her arms, narrowed her eyes at Aaryan, studying him as if he were an anomaly rather than a failure. "Then what does that make him?"

The half-moon masked elder exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "I don’t know."

As the elders shifted their attention to the next contestant, only one of them remained still.

The first elder’s silver eyes lingered on Aaryan, barely narrowed. For just a moment, a flicker of something—doubt? Interest? —crossed his face.

But then he closed his eyes again, saying nothing.

Aaryan exhaled slowly, walking toward the waiting area. His hands clenched.

Aaryan sat in the waiting area, his back against a cold stone pillar, his arms resting on his knees. Around him, contestants whispered, some still laughing about his zero score, others discussing the high affinity of the City Lord’s son.

But their words barely reached him.

His hands lay open in his lap. Empty. Just like the stone had declared.

Zero. Not low. Not weak. Nothing.

“Nothing. The stone felt nothing from me.”

He had expected a low score, but zero?

Was it possible that he truly had no connection to Urrja? That he had been chasing something he was never meant to have?

For the first time in a long while, doubt crept into his heart.

He had spent his life believing he could rise above his circumstances, that he could carve a path forward through sheer will. But what if willpower wasn’t enough?

“What if fate had already decided that I wasn’t meant for this?”

A flicker of doubt wormed its way into his mind.

The thought burned, twisting deep inside him. He had always fought against the scorn, the mockery—but this was different. The Stone of Affinity was no cruel villager or arrogant noble. It was a tool of the Evernight Pavilion, a treasure that had never been wrong before.

His fingers curled into fists.

So, what does that mean for me? That I’ll always be weak? That I should just accept my fate?

A sharp exhale. His heart pounded, his thoughts spiraling—but then he stopped.

No.

His grip tightened.

“No. That can’t be it. I refuse to accept that.”

The stone had given him nothing, but that didn’t mean he had nothing.

Power isn’t just something you’re born with. It’s something you take. Something you earn.

He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening.

I don’t need talent. I don’t need the stone’s approval. I just need a way forward.

His gaze hardened.

And there’s only one way forward now. I must take first place in the second round.

He pushed himself to his feet. A slow, determined breath.

“If talent won’t open the door, then I’ll break through with will.”

He looked up, his gaze sharp, unshaken.