It didn't take long for the atmosphere in the hall to change.
The air, once solemn and heavy, thickened as if an invisible mantle had descended upon everyone. The doors opened with firm precision, and a colossal man entered.
His hair was golden and straight, cut short in a disciplined, almost military style that reflected his rigid demeanor. But what truly tore through the air was not his stature — it was what he carried with him: golden wings that shimmered as though forged in the sun itself, and above his head, a burning red halo blazed like a living ember, spitting sparks of authority.
His piercing blue eyes swept across the table with the sharpness of blades, cutting through the seven siblings as if searching for cracks in their souls.
The impact of his presence was overwhelming, and my body reacted instinctively. Every sense sharpened, every muscle tightened, every breath was measured — I was ready to capture even the smallest twitch from my siblings' faces. I knew this was the moment when protocol ruled above all else, and a single mistake could carve an eternal scar.
And as I feared, the moment he reached the head of the table, all of my siblings rose at once in a perfectly choreographed motion. For a heartbeat, I hesitated then forced myself to stand, just barely missing their timing. I watched their fists press against their chests a gesture of reverence and loyalty. I mimicked them, my delay small enough to still pass as natural.
"Honor to the Kenshin!" they shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the grand chamber like the roar of a celestial army.
I stayed silent.
My lips didn't move, my voice didn't join lip-reading wasn't exactly one of my skills. I just held the gesture, motionless, cold, waiting for the collective cry to swallow my silence. Even so, deep down, a chill ran along my spine.
It was impossible not to feel that the man with the golden wings and fiery halo had noticed my mistake.
And though he said nothing, his eyes carved an invisible verdict into me.
'Shit, I've already been caught!'
The man's gaze fixed on me sharp as a freshly forged blade. He didn't need to speak to expose my error: everyone had recited the family's mantra, or whatever that chant of submission was everyone except me. That single detail was enough to shift the atmosphere in an instant.
The air seemed to rot, heavy, as though the entire world was collapsing onto our shoulders.
The three eldest siblings, seated closest to him, remained perfectly still upright as unbreakable pillars.
The other three the twins, a boy and a girl, and a slightly older young man — bent under the pressure, trembling, their bodies sagging as if gravity itself had multiplied tenfold upon them.
'Cute,' I thought, watching the scene with a trace of cynicism.
His aura was brutal, suffocating but still far from what I had felt under Kargath's wrath or in the overwhelming presence of Selene.
Then I noticed something unexpected.
The three older siblings were looking at me with raised eyebrows, surprised, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Even the golden-winged man at the head of the table that colossus radiating authority — revealed a flicker of disbelief in his gaze.
The pressure grew. Stronger. Colder. Heavier. The weight of that aura multiplied, space itself seemed to compress my bones yet I remained firm. The three veterans stayed unshaken, but the younger ones couldn't hide their agony anymore: their hands clawed at the arms of the luxurious chairs with such force that the wood creaked; their reddened eyes looked ready to burst, and blood streaked from their bitten lips.
'Still not enough,' I thought, unmoving, refusing to yield.
I was already in deep trouble, and judging from the situation, strength had to be the core value of this family. So, I decided to dive headfirst into the mess I was in.
The pressure intensified again now more deliberate, as if he feared breaking an expensive toy.
Then, the man at the head of the table seemed to grow tired of playing.
That was the only conclusion I could reach before the final wave hit me.
It wasn't just more force it wasn't raw intensity.
It was something else. Something I hadn't felt even before Selene's glacial majesty or Kargath's devouring fury.
It was death.
The room suddenly reeked of something foul — like coagulated blood left to rot under the sun. The air filled with the cries of unseen crows pecking at my flesh, rotting it piece by piece. My body froze. My hands trembled. For the first time, my legs threatened to give out.
'What the hell is this?' I thought as nausea burned up from my stomach to my throat.
"Honor… to the Kenshin…" I murmured, stammering, my voice barely more than a whisper.
The pressure vanished as abruptly as it had come, as if the weight of death itself had evaporated. The three younger siblings roughly the same age as the body I now inhabited gasped for air, veins bulging in their necks, faces flushed with anger as they threw me daggered looks.
The older ones, however, kept their expressions unreadable — enigmatic — as though they were assessing not only my endurance but also my place at that table.
"You'd better remember your place," the patriarch's cold voice sliced through the silence like polished steel. His blue eyes, glinting with icy authority, swept across the table before fixing on me once more. "How many geniuses have died to their own arrogance before earning their name? How many of your own siblings have fallen before they matured?"
Those words fell upon us like a sentence. The air in the hall, once heavy with oppression, now turned somber melancholic, almost mournful. The six siblings went silent at once, each expression marked by a fearful blend of respect and resentment.
'So this Áxis must be some kind of prodigy among them,' I concluded, analyzing their reactions. Not just another child of the family, but one who carried both higher expectations and greater risk.
The sharp sound of wood echoed as the chair at the end of the table was pulled back. The patriarch sat down with the solemnity of a monarch taking his throne, and the others followed immediately, returning to their seats in unison. The motion was so precise it could have been choreography a reflection of years of discipline and obedience.
Moments later, a line of servants entered, placing a sumptuous feast upon the table: golden fruits that gleamed like jewels, bread that released a sweet fragrance, and cuts of meat of colors and textures I had never seen before. There was a wealth there that couldn't be measured in gold alone.
Without ceremony, the siblings began to eat — some ravenously, others with the detached calm of those used to having the best set before them. I chose caution, observing. Then, keeping it simple, I filled my plate only with what the younger ones were eating. If I made an etiquette mistake, at least I'd make it alongside them.
At the head of the table, the conversation between the three eldest and the patriarch continued in low tones, nearly inaudible. The aura of seriousness around them was palpable, but I couldn't make out the details just fragments of words about preparation, names, and places.
Then, the only woman among the older siblings — seated near the patriarch — spoke. Her posture was upright, commanding, golden hair cascading in waves like threads of sunlight, and in her expression there was an innate authority.
"Everything is ready, Father," she announced clearly.
The word "Father" reverberated across the table, sealing the weight of her declaration.
The silence that followed carried centuries within it. The patriarch rose, his presence thickening the air. Each word that followed was a blade. When he finally spoke, there was no comfort — only decree.
"Today is the day that will define the rest of your lives." His voice was low, polished, yet sharp as steel. "You will either ascend to greatness and rule this world with iron fists, or be erased as irrelevant names — forgotten in the dust of history."
His lips curved into a cold smile that never reached his eyes.
"Alvin, Alexa, Aurora… Áxis."
With each name spoken, the hall responded in protocol. Each sibling placed a fist against their heart in reverence as their name was called. Thankfully, I was the last — apparently the youngest. Or maybe the eldest. Didn't matter.
"You are the final line of our generation. Today, you will undergo the Trial of the Phantom Moon."
The reluctance on the faces of the older three became visible he ignored it.
"The Kenshin family has no place for the weak or the useless. We demand absolute strength. Strength breeds glory. We… we are the glory of this kingdom." His declaration rang through the hall, merciless and final.
He paused — and the pause struck like a blow.
"You've endured training that tore away your skin and spilled your blood. That drained every fiber of your muscles and reshaped your fragile wills into what you are now. All of it was preparation. Nothing you've lived through compares to what awaits." The patriarch's voice didn't ask it declared brutal truth. "This will be a trial that will forge warriors… or crush bodies and spirits. It is not cruelty. It is selection. It is survival."
His tone grew even colder, like polished steel scraping bone.
"If any of you still desire vengeance for the seventeen siblings who fell before earning the name Kenshin, let that rage become your strength. Grow until I am forced to bow to you — or suffer the same failure that erased them."
The words hit like stones — heavy, unrelenting.
And then, the final threat came — not dramatized, just absolute truth.
"I, Aslan Kenshin, will be waiting. When one of you surpasses me — and I expect that you will do it before everyone. Let your triumph be clear, bloody, undeniable. Until then, I have no compassion. No excuses. I give no inheritance born of pity."
The hall froze. The patriarch returned to his seat as if setting a throne back into place, and with that motion, everyone understood: the age of excuses and weakness had ended.
The feast dissolved into silence like a cloud scattered by the wind. Plates were taken away, guards straightened their stances, and with a single sharp gesture from Aslan, the siblings' personal attendants lined up behind us like a fleet ready to depart.
"Take them to the preparation chamber," he ordered, and the servants obeyed with bows that sounded more like submission than respect. The patriarch departed, wrapped in his golden mantle; behind him, the hall felt as though a storm had passed through and left emptiness in its wake.
The woman who had announced the preparations stood.
Her eyes sharp and knowing, like beacons reading destinies passed over each of us with the calm of someone who understood fates better than the ones living them.
"Aura…" one of my sisters called softly, but was silenced by a gentle, firm gesture from the eldest. Then Aura spoke, her voice carrying both sternness and mercy.
"You may take your best armor and choose one weapon. From there on, only your flesh and will matter."
As the servants led us through the mansion, I felt the floor beneath my steps begin to change.
We passed through ornamented corridors, tapestries depicting ancient battles, portraits of ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow every move we made.
The servants moved like shadows who knew the mansion's bones — secret doors yielded to barely visible touches, and a cold, dark stone staircase opened downward, like the throat of another world.
The deeper we descended, the denser the air became — not from humidity or darkness, but from something else. A presence that lived within the stones themselves: tradition, blood, and oaths locked in iron and bone.
The servants lined us up before a series of reinforced doors — each leading to a separate chamber. We stood silently for a long moment, exchanging brief looks.
"Don't die," Alvin said simply — the second eldest of the group.
"Alexa and Aurora, this way," one of the servants gestured to a specific door.
"Alvin, Áxis," my attendant opened the one before us.
**
The door to the chamber creaked open, revealing an interior bathed in dim golden light, like that of ancient torches. In the center, two armors awaited one for Alvin, one for me each piece meticulously polished, reflecting the flames of the lamps as though alive.
Without a word, we began to equip ourselves. The sound of metal clasps and leather straps fastening echoed like a silent march.
When we finished, the space ahead revealed itself — a vast armory, where blades, spears, bows, and axes rested like predators waiting to be unleashed.
Alvin walked forward without hesitation, picking up a double-edged straight sword — a classic choice. I, however, stood still, scanning each weapon in silence.
Lesley had trained me in hundreds of styles. I could adapt to any of them. But this time, I wasn't looking for adaptability. I was looking for something that was mine. Something that spoke to me.
And then I saw it — a large, heavy sword whose blade seemed to breathe in the dark. My fingers closed around its hilt with instant recognition.
This body — tall for a fourteen or fifteen-year-old, nearly six feet — felt made for it. The blade was about four and a half feet long, but I didn't flinch.
The moment I lifted it, I felt its perfect balance. I gave it a light swing approving.
Alvin shot me a skeptical look, eyes narrowing.
"No dual blades?" he scoffed. "Woke up suicidal today, Áxis?"
'Damn it… so the old Áxis didn't use this,' I thought, forcing a faint smirk.
"It's a secret I've been saving for this moment."
He snorted, resting his sword on his shoulder.
"Fine. Just don't die, idiot."
With that, he turned toward the corridor where his attendant awaited, disappearing into the shadows below. I watched him go for a moment before moving myself.
I fastened the greatsword across my back, drew a long breath, and stepped toward the staircase descending even deeper — where my own attendant waited. The sound of my footsteps echoed like a prelude, each step carrying me not only deeper into the mansion, but into the very heart of the trial that awaited us.