The shadow fell across the plaza like a cloak — wide, silent, crawling slowly over the mist-slick stone.
Riven tilted his head up. High above, wings beat against the air — huge and leathery, dark as midnight. A beast. A flying one. It looked like a misfigured hawk, except around 100 times bigger. A harness and flat platform were strapped across its back.
The beast dropped lower. The wind stirred robes. Mist scattered. Several disciples near the front flinched as the creature touched down with a low thoom, its claws flexing into the stone to absorb the landing.
A voice rang out soon after.
"Board."
It was clipped. Sharp. One of the sect elders stood beneath the beast's neck, robes fluttering in the backwash. His face was impassive. He didn't even raise his voice.
"You have ten breaths."
The disciples scrambled.
Riven was among the last to climb onto the platform. The beast rumbled again beneath them — its carapace warm underfoot. A moment later, the elder tapped a sigil at the beast's collar.
With a jolt, the world dropped.
Riven barely had time to clutch the railing of the platform.
The beast launched into the air. Wings thundered once. Twice. Then they were soaring over the cliffside, the sect shrinking behind them into mist and pine.
The wind howled around them, tearing past Riven's ears.
A moment later, the elder stepped forward to the front of the platform, coat snapping in the gale. He didn't bother raising his voice — the qi in his lungs made every word ring clear across the back of the beast.
"I'm Elder Syen. You fall off, I don't catch you."
There were a few uncomfortable shifts. Someone near the back grabbed the railing a little tighter.
Riven couldn't blame them. He had reacted similarily the first time his dad took him flying.
"This is a Stormwing. The sects carrier beast."
The Stormwing gave a sudden drop — not much, just enough to send a few startled yelps echoing from the younger disciples.
Syen smirked. "Takes about half an hour to reach the trial location. I'll tell you more once we're there. Until then, rest up as much as you can. And look around. Everyone you see won't just be your sectmates during the trial — they'll be your teammates. Or your opponents."
He turned, cloak flaring as he walked back to the helm of the platform, planting himself on the ground.
Riven shifted closer the railing, making sure he had a solid hold and then let his eyes drift. There were about fifty disciples on board — all new blood like him.
Except… not really like him.
They'd all been here for six months now. He was from a newer batch of disciples that were supposed to join in around one week. But he had joined early — just two months ago, having skipped most of the onboarding process due to his talent.
Most of the disciples aboard the beast were around his age — ten or eleven. But in the cultivation world, that already counted as young adult territory. As soon as your dantian developed enough to hold qi — usually around age ten — you were treated like one. Maybe that was why even beginner cultivators, while technically still children, often looked older. More mature. At ten or eleven, most of them already carried themselves like they were thirteen or fourteen. Maybe the surroundings really did shape a person.
Riven narrowed his senses. Faint traces of qi leaked from the other disciples — not on purpose, just a byproduct of poor restraint. Still, it told him a lot.
Most of them were middle-stage Inner Essence Realm. Same as him.
Over the past month, Riven hadnt cultivated a lot, dedication most of his time to practicing combat or skills. But he did reserve a section of the day, the evening, to work on his cultivation. And just three days ago, hed finally broken through, reaching the mid stage Inner Essence Realm.
His dantian now pulsed with qi, roughly the size of a clenched fist.
This placed him on even footing with most of the disciples that had joined in the previous recruitment and are now undertaking the trial with him.
But not everyone here was equal — three disciples stood out.
Their qi was denser, more refined — just barely restrained. Late-stage. They had eyes that didn't even treat the others as competition.
One was a girl with sharp eyes and short-cropped hair, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Another stood tall with her hair in a high ponytail, and eyes aimlessly drifting around.
The last was a broad-shouldered boy, thickset and quiet, who hadn't moved once since boarding.
Small groups had formed around each of them.
Not quite subordinates — but not equals either.
Disciples talking quieter. Standing a little closer. Looking toward them before looking at each other.
Even this early, lines were forming.
But there was one more anomaly.
Riven.
He felt the glances like flickers of heat on his skin. Quick. Constant.
No one approached him. No one said anything.
But heads turned just often enough to be obvious.
A core disciple.
Among outer disciples.
With no escort. No fanfare.
And — judging by how he'd nearly lost his balance during the takeoff — apparently no legendary strength to justify it.
He kept his expression blank and looked ahead, ignoring the whispers that didn't quite start.
Suddenly, somewhere behind him, a disciple shouted, "I can see my village from here!"
A few others crowded toward the edge, pointing out landmarks, laughing — light and fleeting. The somber athmosphere from before was gone in a blink as their childlike energy returned. Considered an adult or not, they were still young afterall.
Riven didn't move at first.
But the words stuck.
Village.
He blinked. Then stepped toward the railing, hands gripping the wood with force as he leaned out to look.
Maybe he could find something familiar.
A way back.
But the more he scanned the horizon, the more he realized that that was just wishful thinking.
There were cliffs. Rivers. Farms like scattered moss. Tiny, distant shapes of houses.
But nothing familiar.
No sharp green walls. Golden pavillions. Or flying cultivators. No simple abode hiding in the midst of a verdant forest.
His heart beat a little harder as he looked.
But still he couldn't find anything familiar.
Eventually the terrain shifted.
Ahead, a darker shape unfurled across the landscape — thick and wide, like something spilled across the mountains.
The trees changed.
What had been pine and oak turned black-barked and gnarled. The canopy grew denser, higher — an endless weave of shadow and silk-thin mist. Even from this height, he could see it.
Spiderwebs.
Gleaming silver lines strung between tree limbs. Stretching across cliffs. Draped like banners between stone pillars swallowed by time.
The beast began to descend.
Wind gusted over the deck and Riven stepped back from the railing, hands loosening.
Still nothing familiar.
Of course not.
His gaze dropped a little as they finally landed.
Then the elder spoke.
"We are here."
The Stormwing gave a final heavy beat of its wings as the elder descended first.
"This place," the elder began, while gesturing for the disciples to descend, "is the Whispering Hollow. It's under the sects jurisdiction — has been since our founding, almost a century ago now."
Riven stepped off the platform with the others. In front, dark trees spread out like a sea of thorns, their canopies thick, their trunks wrapped in pale threads. Webs. They caught the morning light with an oily shimmer.
"It's an important location for us," the elder continued. "A colony of Silkspine spiders lives here — highly intelligent, extremely territorial. They produce silk strong enough to resist sword strikes. We use it in protective wear and even flying beast reins."
He gestured toward the collar on the giant winged mount behind them.
"But production has limits. The spiders don't like humans. And they're not fond of losing their silk."
A pause. His gaze swept the gathered disciples.
"Every six months, the spiders let us into their territory. We clear out their natural predators — in exchange, they share a portion of their silk. It's a mutual arrangement."
Riven stared at the elder.
How do you make an arrangement with spiders?
"Praying mantises," the elder went on. "Sharpclaws. Fast-breeding, fast-moving, aggressive beasts. Normally they're not much trouble — but they swarm, they hunt, and they eat spiders."
A murmur rippled through the group.
"That's your prey," the elder said. "In a moment, you'll spread out along the edge — at least a hundred meters between each of you — and enter on my signal."
He held up two fingers.
"You'll have one day. At dusk tomorrow, I'll send out a sound-pulse."
He clenched his fist.
"If you're not back at the edge within thirty minutes of that… we'll leave. Don't expect a second call. Don't expect rescue."
The tone was calm. Informative. Like he was reading off a checklist.
But Riven knew how dangerous this could get. If he couldn't make it back in time, he was sure he wouldn't survive long alone in a forest with beasts around every corner.
This god damned sect.
"The spiders will be watching. They'll count your kills. The sixteen with the highest count will move on to the final phase — a tournament. One-on-one. Winner takes the top spot."
Riven's brow twitched slightly.
He can talk to the spiders?
He didn't ask. But he wasn't the only one thinking it.
But more importantly his eyes burned with determination now. He couldnt be dejected of not seeing anything familiar on the beasts back. He needed to be in the top 16 so hed have a chance of making it farther in the trial. A chance at going to the city and gathering a map.
"And one more thing," the elder said, turning to pace along the front of the group.
"The spiders will not help you. They'll only observe. They don't care who lives or dies. What they care about…"
He stopped walking.
"…is that you don't piss them off."
A few chuckles. Nervous ones.
"They have no loyalty to you. If you burn their webs, attack one of their own, or even step too close to a young brood…"
The elder looked toward the trees.
"Well. Don't."
Silence.
"Now. Spread out. One hundred meters between each of you. When I call, you enter."
He didn't repeat himself. Just turned and stepped back toward the flying beast — waiting for the disciples to spread out.
The group began to shift.
Some adjusted their belts. Some gave half-hearted glances to their neighbors before stepping away. But no one said a word.
They just moved — quietly, quickly — spreading out along the edge of the forest like pieces on a game board.
Riven walked until the closest person on either side faded behind the trees. On the right and left, he could still sense faint qi fluctuations — mid-stage. Like him.
Not the late-stage ones.
He exhaled once. That was good enough.
Then the call came.
A sharp, high whistle — unnatural, and too loud for any human mouth. It pierced through the forest like a blade.
The signal.
Riven looked ahead.
The treeline loomed before him, thick with shadows and threads of silver. Pale strands curled like mist through the lower branches. Beyond that… only black.
He stepped forward.
The first footfall crunched softly against dry needles and tangled undergrowth.
Then another.
And another.
The sound behind him faded. The sky vanished behind webs and canopy. The air turned cool — still — damp with the quiet of things that watched but did not move.
It took just ten steps for the forest to change.
No more wind.
No birds.
Just the sound of leaves settling — the hush of webs brushing against his shoulder.
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small, round stone. Smooth. Cool to the touch. The Illuminating Stone the sect had issued for the trial.
Riven poured the slightest pulse of qi into it.
Light bloomed.
A soft, cold-blue glow flared from the stone's surface, casting uneven shadows against the trees.
Now he could see it.
The dark wooden trunks. The thorny bushes clawing at his boots. The veins of webbing that crisscrossed through the leaves like veins in paper.
And something else.
The light got blocked just in front of his face.
Mere centimeters away.
Spiders.
Three small dangling spiders, hanging motionless from nearly invisible silk threads, suspended just in front of his face.
Shit.