Chosen by Fate
All the division heads had already taken their seats.
Below the platform, the surviving youths gathered in silence, eyes bright with a strange mix of fear and longing. For those born in the Forsaken Domain, cultivation wasn't just ambition — it was the only road forward.
To stand beneath the banners of the Celestis Academy was to stand a step closer to destiny.
Among them, one boy stepped forward.
He trembled, but forced himself to kneel, pressing his forehead to the cold floor.
"Respected one… please help us…"
His voice cracked through the quiet hall — grief spilling out like a wound finally splitting open.
With him leading the way, others followed.
One after another, children knelt.
They weren't begging for pity.They were begging for justice.
Their households had been torn apart. Lives burned away overnight. Pain pressed into every breath.
As the boy sobbed, emotion surged beyond control — and for a brief instant, something stirred between his brows.
A faint glimmer.
Hidden talent.
Subtle — easy to miss — but impossible to ignore once seen.
Several teachers behind Headmaster Mike exchanged glances.
Their gazes sharpened.
Like craftsmen spotting raw jade buried beneath mud.
Desire flickered behind calm expressions.
Mike let out a quiet sigh.
"Ah… poor children. Stand up first."
His voice was gentle — tired, carrying the weight of helplessness only someone who had seen too much could carry. He had spent an entire day investigating the beast riot at the foot of the mountain.
No trail. No clue. Just ruin.
He turned toward the hall.
"I already know your matters. Don't worry. This happened beneath the mountain of our Celestis Academy. We will investigate — thoroughly — to the very end."
He paused, glancing back at the gathered division heads before continuing:
"But you must not rush. Such investigations take time. For now, stay on the mountain and cultivate. If there is news in the future, I will inform you personally."
"Thank you…"
The kneeling boy choked out the words, bowing deeply before slowly rising.
In the crowd, a girl stood among the others — long silver-white hair falling over her shoulders, blue eyes full of shattered light.
Selena.
Her cheeks were still streaked with tears.
Mike's promise sounded reassuring.
But inside, her heart felt hollow.
She saw flames again.Her parents screaming.The world collapsing.
A blade of quiet resolve sank into her chest.
I need strength.
No one will truly carry this for me.
If I want revenge…I must walk that road myself.
There was only one path ahead:
Become someone's student.Learn. Endure. Grow strong enough.
Then take everything back.
Mike finally turned, facing the division teachers behind him.
"Fellow Brothers, what do you think?"
Everyone in the hall understood:
This was the moment.
The start of selection.
Those with talent would be raised high.Those without…
Labor. Chores. Years in obscurity — if they were lucky.
Kevin had already explained this to them earlier. Many of the youths now clenched their fists, breaths uneven.
Hope.
Fear.
Expectation.
A laugh broke the tension.
"Haha — Senior Headmaster, since you've spoken, I won't be polite."
Shera — head of the Secret Sword Summit — stepped forward. His robes swayed as he strode toward the very first youth who had spoken.
The boy's talent had caught his eye immediately.
Before Shera could even finish assessing him —
A round, heavy figure pushed forward.
Yaman, master of the Black Sword Summit, dragged his sturdy frame across the floor, eyes bright with open greed.
"Senior Headmaster, I think this child is fated with me. Why not let him become my student?"
Several division heads sighed.
There it was again.
The old "fate" trick.
No one believed it — but Yaman still loved saying it.
Shera's expression darkened.
"Junior Fellow Brother Yaman, I wanted him first!"
Yaman snorted.
"Does it belong to you just because you wanted him? What kind of logic is that?"
"You—"
"What? Want to take this outside and settle it?"
"So be it. Do you think I'm afraid of you?"
The tension thickened — not hatred, but fierce rivalry. Shera's temper burned hot; aside from Headmaster Mike and the long-gone Respected Zeon, he feared no one.
The two nearly stepped into an actual duel.
Meanwhile, other division heads, seeing the competition there was hopeless, shifted their attention to the remaining children.
Most of the brightest had already been marked.
What remained were those with duller roots — average or worse — still standing anxiously, praying for any chance at all.
Slowly, reluctantly, the division heads picked what they could.
And soon…
A quiet group stood alone at the back.
Unchosen. Unsure. Stomach-knot tight with dread.
Left behind.