The ten chosen disciples stood in a half-circle, their expressions a mix of excitement, apprehension, and quiet determination. Before them, a carved stone platform pulsed with silver inscriptions, glowing faintly like the veins of an ancient beast waiting to awaken.

A robed elder stepped forward, his deep blue garments embroidered with faint constellations. His presence alone silenced the murmurs.

"This is a temporary teleportation array," he announced, his voice smooth yet absolute. "It is not a spatial gate, nor does it allow you to traverse boundless distances. It is an anchor, tied to Evernight Pavilion’s receiving array. The process will not harm you, but..."—his sharp gaze swept over them—"it is not pleasant for the unprepared."

A few disciples tensed.

"For a moment, you will experience nothingness—no air, no ground, no senses. Do not resist it. The more you struggle, the worse it will be."

A hesitant voice rose from the group. "Elder, what if something goes wrong?"

The elder arched a brow. "Then you will be lost between realms, wandering an endless void until your mind shatters and your body turns to dust."

Silence.

Then—he smiled. "But that has never happened."

Before anyone could protest, his hand lifted. The silver inscriptions beneath them flared brilliant white, enclosing them in a seamless dome of light.

And in the next instant—

Nothing.

For the briefest moment, existence unravelled. No air, no self—just an unspoken question, lingering in the darkness.

Then—

Reality snapped back.

Aaryan staggered as his feet met solid ground, his mind swimming from the disorienting transition. Around him, the other disciples fought for balance, dizziness clinging to their senses. But as their vision cleared, all words died on their lips.

Before them stretched Evernight Pavilion—a place that defied the laws of the world.

It was not built upon land, nor nestled within mountains. It floated.

They stood upon a vast stone terrace, neither rock nor jade but something more—something alive, pulsing with an ancient rhythm. Bridges of woven light arched across the sky, linking towering spires that vanished into swirling mist. Silver-leafed forests stretched into the distance, glowing faintly, while rivers of glittering mist cascaded like slow, dreamlike waterfalls.

Above them, the sky was an endless indigo expanse—no sun, no stars, just a soft ambient glow that seemed to exist within the air itself. Shadows stretched long and unnatural, shifting without wind.

And in that quiet, Aaryan felt something. Not Urrja—something deeper. A presence. Watching. Listening.

A hum resonated through the space—not a sound, but a vibration in their bones.

Then—

"Welcome," the elder spoke, his voice calm, yet heavy with meaning. "This is Evernight Pavilion."

The disciples followed the elder toward a distant floating island, atop which stood a grand ceremonial hall. Figures in dark robes moved swiftly in and out, their movements efficient, their faces unreadable.

"So, other cities had selection competitions like ours," Yash muttered.

"Of course," Devika scoffed. " So many weaklings here… you’ll feel right at home, Yash."

Yash’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Devika smirked.

Inside, the ceremonial hall loomed with quiet authority. Towering pillars lined the space, their shifting inscriptions whispering of those who had stood here before… and failed. The ceiling stretched into a starless void, a vastness untouched by mortal hands.

A figure stepped forward.

The elder’s silver eyes glinted like moonlight on steel, his voice smooth but unyielding.

"You have stepped into a world beyond what you know."

The murmurs died instantly.

"Here, strength is not given—it is earned. Respect is not demanded—it is taken. And survival?" His gaze swept across them. "It is a privilege."

Tension settled in the air.

"You may believe you are gifted. Talented. Destined for greatness."

"You are mistaken."

Unease flickered across the group.

The elder lifted a hand. Three glowing symbols appeared in the air, each pulsing with a rhythmic beat.

"Evernight Pavilion follows three unbreakable laws. Forget everything else if you must—but remember these."

Rule 1: Strength Dictates Everything

The first symbol flared brightly before dissolving into embers.

"Cultivation resources will be given—but they can also be taken. After your first month, you will fight not just for progress, but for survival."

Several disciples shifted uncomfortably.

Aaryan’s fingers curled slightly. I will not fall.

Rule 2: Respect the Hierarchy

The second symbol pulsed.

"Evernight Pavilion is structured—Experimental Disciples, Outer Disciples, Inner Disciples, Core Disciples, and Elders. Your rank defines your privileges."

"Challenge someone above you without permission, and you will be punished—unless you seek to take their place."

Aaryan noted the immediate shift in expressions. Some disciples smirked, already plotting their ascension. Others grew uneasy, suddenly realizing how low they stood. “The ambitious ones are easy to spot. They’ll either rise fast—or be the first to fall.”

"You may resent your place, but here, your worth is decided by your own hands."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Rule 3: Betrayal is Death

The final symbol turned a deep crimson.

"Colluding with outsiders. Revealing sect secrets. Harming fellow disciples outside sanctioned battles. These are not mistakes."

"They are choices. And choices have consequences."

A pause.

"You may leave the sect if you wish. But if you betray it—there is only one path left for you."

“There are no warnings. No second chances. The sect does not ask for loyalty—it assumes it. Break that assumption, and you won’t even have the time to regret it.”

The crimson symbol shattered into dust.

Aaryan watched the faces around him. Some were unnerved. Some defiant. But they all understood—this was not a place for the weak-willed.

"Now that you understand your place," the elder continued, "let us speak of your future."

With a wave of his hand, a massive projection of a cultivation diagram appeared, glowing softly.

"The First Stage—Anima. First, you will purge impurities. Then, you will open your meridians, laying the foundation for true power. This process is slow—but vital..."

"The Second Stage—Mahima. Here, your Urrja awakens. Your affinity will determine your strength. Your choices will define your path."

Aaryan listened carefully. This was it—the path to power.

The elder’s gaze darkened.

“Beyond that lies a realm you are not yet ready to understand. Some of you will thrive. Some will crumble. The sect does not care. Only the strong will move forward."

The First Challenge - Separating the Strong from the Weak

Just as the weight of the rules settled, the elder’s tone shifted.

"To ensure that only the worthy progress, a test awaits you."

Several disciples straightened, tension rising.

"At the end of your first month, you will face a test.”

The reaction was immediate—some eager, some nervous, some calculating.

"Here, weaker disciples will be tested. Stronger ones will claim better resources. And those who cannot defend what is theirs…"

The elder let the words hang in the air before finishing.

"…were never meant to have them in the first place."

“If you believe your rank is unfair—prove otherwise. Defeat a disciple above you, or break through your cultivation. If you fail to advance, you will be cast aside. The sect does not wait for the weak.”

The Reality of Their Journey

The hall remained silent for several moments. No one moved.

Aaryan exhaled slowly. He understood now.

This was not a place where people survived on kindness. Everything would have to be taken.

And he would take what was his.

“You will be taken to residences now which are also based on your standing in the sect”

The elder turned, his robe swaying with effortless grace.

"Now, go. Your first day has begun."

With that, the gathered disciples were left with their thoughts. Some excited. Some afraid. Some determined.

Aaryan simply clenched his fists.

One of the elder led the disciples across a grand stone bridge suspended over a mist-laden abyss. Below them, the floating islands of Evernight Pavilion stretched across the sky, like shattered fragments of a celestial realm, each piece held in place by unseen forces.

The first islands they approached were stark and simple. The air here was thinner, the structures utilitarian—rows of low, unadorned stone dwellings lined winding paths, their walls rough and unpolished. There were no ornate carvings, no glowing runes—only bare necessities. Some dwellings even bore signs of abandonment, as though previous occupants had either left or perished.

A few disciples wrinkled their noses as they noticed faint scorch marks on some walls, cracks in the stone, and training grounds littered with broken weapons. The air here carried an unspoken message: struggle or be forgotten.

“These islands belong to the Experimental Disciples,” the elder announced. His tone was even, yet devoid of sympathy. “Here, you are given shelter, but nothing else. You must reach the third level of Anima within two years, or defeat an Outer Disciple to remain. Fail, and you will be removed.”

A few among the group tensed at the words. Aaryan remained silent.

Moving further, the landscape began to change. The next islands were closer together, bound by wide, reinforced walkways of dark stone. The structures here were larger, made of polished black rock, each dwelling fortified with obsidian-like etchings that faintly pulsed with Urrja.

Unlike the stark emptiness of the Experimental Disciples’ quarters, this area thrummed with activity. The sound of sparring echoed through the air—disciples clashed on open training platforms, the force of their techniques shaking the very ground. Others practiced Urrja refinement near obsidian monoliths engraved with swirling runes, drawing energy from their surroundings.

“The Outer Disciples reside here,” the elder continued. “They have earned their place, but if they cannot continue proving themselves, they will fall just as easily as they rose.” His gaze swept across them. “Only those who reach the sixth level of Anima—or defeat an Inner Disciple—may ascend further.”

Aaryan observed the way the Outer Disciples carried themselves. Some wore expressions of quiet focus, completely immersed in their training. Others looked predatory, watching the newcomers like hunters assessing their prey.

Already, the divide was clear. This was not just about talent. This was about who had the will to keep climbing—and who would be cast aside.

The elder’s gaze flickered toward the next set of islands, suspended in perfect alignment, as though drawn toward the very heart of the sect. These islands were not only closer together but also larger, more fortified, their edges connected by bridges of seamless silver stone. The structures here were taller, layered in dark wood and engraved metal, exuding an air of quiet power.

“The Inner Disciples reside here. Those who step into sixth level of Anima or claim victory against an Inner Disciple may ascend to these ranks.”

A silence settled over the group as their eyes drifted toward the final stretch of islands—ones that seemed just outside the reach of all others.

Encircling a single colossal island wreathed in deep mist, these lands were few in number, but their presence was overwhelming. Here, massive stone citadels stood against the sky, each marked with ancient sigils of Evernight Pavilion. Even from a distance, the power radiating from these islands felt oppressive.

“The Core Disciples live here. They are not just cultivators; they are the future of Evernight Pavilion.”

“The Core Disciples do not concern you. If you ever become worthy enough to see them, you will understand.”

His voice carried the weight of finality, silencing any further questions.

Beyond them, suspended in absolute solitude, was the main island—the true heart of the sect. It loomed above them all, an untouchable domain of ethereal light and veiled shadows.

The elder’s voice dropped, final and unwavering.

“You do not need to concern yourselves with that place. Not yet.”

With that, the disciples were left to stare at the world before them—their journey had only just begun.

As they reached the entrance to the Experimental Disciples' quarters, the elder’s gaze swept over them one last time.

"Your time here is limited. Prove yourselves, or disappear.”

As the elder left, The disciples rushed forward, eager to claim their dwellings. Most gravitated toward the central pavilions, where the lakes reflected the endless twilight sky, creating an illusion of tranquillity. Others settled in stone chambers near the inner pathways, forming small clusters—a silent acknowledgment of their need for allies.

Aaryan, however, moved in the opposite direction.

He followed a narrow, winding path that led to the outermost edge of the disciple quarters, where the ground grew uneven and the air felt heavier—not with energy, but with emptiness.

No grand structures. No rivers of Urrja. Just silence.

At the end of the path, he found a small, cave-like dwelling carved into the mountainside. It was barebones—just a single stone chamber with a bedding slab and a space for meditation. The walls were rough, unpolished, and unlike the pavilions in the centre, there were no signs of past occupants.

Aaryan stepped inside, running his fingers along the cool stone.

No one wanted this place. No one saw value in it.

That made it perfect.

----------------------------------------

Sitting cross-legged on the hard bedding, Aaryan let out a slow breath. His mind replayed the elder’s words, the rules of the sect, and most importantly—the silent hierarchy among the new disciples.

Many of them had already begun their cultivation journey. Some had strengthened their bodies, reaching the First Level of Anima, while others had pushed further, refining their endurance and resilience at the Second or even Third Level.

He, however, had nothing.

Among the new Outer Disciples… I am the weakest.

It was not a bitter thought. Not something that required frustration or resistance. It was simply the truth.

They’ve walked this path longer than I have. It makes sense that they’re ahead.

I will move at my own pace.

There was no need to compare, to rush, to prove anything to anyone. His path was his own.

He leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes for a moment.

Strength would come—not as a gift, not as a privilege. But as something he would carve out of this world with his own hands, and when it does, no one would see it coming

Tomorrow, he would begin.

That was enough.

As Aaryan settles into his bare cave, he could glance toward the distant core islands, where a single pulse of energy ripples through the mist, like the heartbeat of a sleeping beast.