Her gaze then swept across them like frost. "The river will push against you. The distance you walk decides your talent. The further you go, the brighter your future."
Everyone answered together, though some voices cracked.
"Yes, Elder!"
The elder unfolded a list.
"Mycella Harthwyne"
A girl stepped forward, her jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might break. The river reached her knees, and for the first moment, she looked relieved, thinking it would be simple.
Then her face twisted.
An invisible pressure slammed down on her shoulders, and her knees shook violently. She took one step, then another, her breath turning ragged as moon orchids around her legs trembled and released faint light that sank into her skin.
She forced a third step.
Then her body froze.
No matter how she tried, she couldn't move again. Her face turned red, sweat sliding down her forehead as she fought against something she couldn't even see.
The elder shook her head. "Three steps. No talent."
Mycella stumbled back onto the shore, her eyes hollow. She didn't cry, but the disappointment clung to her like cold mist.
The second youth lasted four steps.
Another failure.
The third lasted five.
A D-grade.
One by one, names were called, and futures were decided in seconds. Some returned shaking with humiliation. Some returned smiling with relief. Most returned silent, as if they had just realized how cruel the world really was.
Aria watched with calm detachment.
Talent was currency here.
And most people were born poor.
Then the elder called another name.
"Kylan Harthwyne ."
A tall youth stepped forward with steady footsteps. The orchids near his feet glowed brighter the moment he entered the river. He walked ten steps, then twenty, his expression tightening but his posture refusing to bend.
The cavern grew quiet as he reached thirty.
Thirty-five.
Thirty-six.
He stopped there, trembling slightly, breath heavy, but his eyes bright with pride.
The elder nodded. "Thirty-six steps. B-grade talent."
Excitement rippled through the crowd.
"B-grade!"
"He's going to the inner academy!"
"Elder Philip's grandson… no wonder!"
Kylan returned to shore with the ease of someone who had just been handed a new life. In the shadows above, Elder Philip smiled broadly, making sure his rival, Elder Caius, saw every bit of it.
Aria's gaze flicked upward briefly.
She saw the pride.
The rivalry.
The hunger.
Then she looked away.
More results followed.
Some C-grade.
Some D-grade.
Many with none at all.
Each new name pulled hope and despair through the cavern like tides. Elders watched from the shadows, their expressions tightening every time someone failed, their eyes brightening whenever a promising seed appeared.
Then the elder's voice rang out again.
"Valerius Harthwyne ."
Every gaze shifted toward Elder Caius. The old man's hands trembled slightly as his grandson stepped into the river. Valerius walked steadily, his expression calm, and the orchids around him glowed as if welcoming him.
He reached thirty-six steps.
The cavern erupted again.
Caius let out a triumphant shout, loud enough to shake the stalactites. He laughed openly, as if he had already won the clan's future.
Aria touched her chin lightly.
She remembered this boy.
She remembered the lie.
Valerius's real talent was only C-grade, but with his grandfather's influence and a hidden trick, he had forced the Spirit River to give a false result. It was sloppy, and it would eventually collapse, but for now, it gave Caius a weapon to swing in every meeting.
Aria could have exposed it today if she wanted.
But what would that gain her?
A temporary victory.
And temporary victories were for people who didn't know how long the game truly lasted.
She filed the observation away.
Caius's ambitions, Valerius's fraud, and Philip's pride were all pieces on a board. She would rearrange them later, when it benefited her.
A silence fell as the elder called the next name.
"Aria Harthwyne!"
The cavern shifted.
Curiosity, jealousy, irritation, hope, all mixed together like poison and perfume. Heads turned as if pulled by strings, and whispers spread instantly.
"She's finally going."
"The so-called genius."
"Let's see if she's worth the rumors."
Aria stepped forward.
The luminous river waited before her, calm and glowing, like it had been carved from moonlight. Moon orchids swayed gently around her ankles as she approached, their glow reflecting in her eyes.
She didn't hesitate.
She didn't breathe faster.
She simply stepped into the river.
When Aria stepped forward, the cavern seemed to inhale with her. The whispers thinned until even the smallest breath sounded loud, and more than a hundred pairs of eyes followed her like invisible chains. She could feel their expectation pressing against her back, but she didn't slow.
The river lapped softly against her legs as she entered, cold and luminous, like moonlight poured into water. Each step sent ripples of pale blue outward, and the fish beneath the surface scattered as if sensing something dangerous. Aria's expression stayed calm as she crossed toward the opposite bank.
The moment she stepped onto solid ground, the pressure arrived.
It wasn't sudden like a punch. It was steady and heavy, like an unseen palm pressing down on her chest. The primeval qi in this cavern was thick enough to choke, rising from the spirit spring buried beneath the flower soil.
The weak would buckle.
The strong would grit their teeth.
The gifted would advance.
Aria took one step into the sea of moon orchids, and the flowers reacted.
Petals trembled as if a wind had swept through them. Soft white lights peeled away from the orchids, rising in flickering strands like fireflies escaping a jar. The lights floated toward Aria, circling her once before sinking into her skin and disappearing.
Aria's eyes narrowed slightly.
The Spirit Cauldron of Hope.
A story from a time when humans were still prey.
She remembered it clearly because she had once laughed at it as a child. Later, she stopped laughing. Legends only sounded foolish until they became real.
The story spoke of the First Spirit Warrior.
Azrael.
In the beginning, the world had been savage, and Azrael had wandered through forests where beasts stalked him day and night. There were creatures even worse than beasts, Predicaments, born from cruelty and misfortune. They hunted Azrael not because they were hungry, but because they enjoyed it.
Azrael had no claws, no fangs, no armor.
Only legs to run.
Only lungs to scream.
Only a fragile body that could be torn apart.
When he could no longer escape, when his ribs showed, and his breath turned thin, three Spirit Cauldrons appeared before him. They floated in the air like tiny stars, watching him like predators.
"Give us your life as nourishment," they said, "and we will give you a way to live."
Azrael had nothing but the thin flame of his existence. Death was already reaching for him, so he made a choice. He gave his youth to the strongest of the three Spirit Cauldrons, and in return, it gave him strength.
His muscles hardened.
His bones thickened.
He could fight.
He could hunt.
He could carve a place for himself.
But battles wore him down quickly, and Azrael realized strength alone was brittle. It shattered easily without something to guide it. So he offered his middle years to the most beautiful Spirit Cauldron among the three.
This Spirit Cauldron gave him wisdom.
His mind sharpened like a blade.
He learned patterns.
He learned traps.
He learned how to outwit Predicaments that once made him tremble.
But because he had traded away his youth and adulthood, old age swallowed him early. His steps slowed, his hands shook, and his sight dimmed. The Spirit Cauldron of strength abandoned him. The Spirit Cauldron of wisdom drifted away as well, no longer interested in feeding on a failing life.
Azrael was left alone again.
And the Predicaments returned.
They gathered in a ring around him, smiling with teeth that weren't meant for mercy. Azrael lay helpless, waiting for the end.
Then the third Spirit Cauldron appeared.
It was the smallest.
The plainest.
The quietest.
"Human," it said, "give me your heart. That alone will sustain me. I will help you escape."
Azrael wept.
"I have nothing left," he begged. "If I give you even my heart, I die now. Even these beasts will need time to kill me. Let me live one more breath, even if it is painful."
But the Spirit Cauldron only repeated, "Your heart is enough."
So Azrael gave it.
The small Spirit Cauldron glowed, swelling with light until the world itself seemed to brighten. The Predicaments recoiled as if burned, screaming in terror.
"The Spirit Cauldron of Hope!"
"We fear hope above all!"
And they fled.
From then on, whenever Azrael faced despair, he offered his heart to hope.
That same light now gathered inside Aria.
The Hope Spirit Cauldron that touched her didn't simply vanish. It sank deeper, settling beneath her navel, forming a small glowing cluster inside her body. With every step she took, more flickers of light rose from the orchids and joined it, feeding the growing mass like fuel feeding a hidden flame.
The pressure on her chest eased slightly.
Not much.
Just enough to move forward.
Across the river, elders watched closely from the shadows. Their expressions were unreadable in the dim light, but their eyes were sharp. They saw the faint glow entering her, the weak reaction of the orchids, the slow build of energy.
Too few.
Not enough.
This wasn't an A-grade response.
Even the clan head's brows tightened.
Aria ignored them.
She already knew their standards.
Under ten steps meant no talent.
Ten to twenty meant D-grade.
Twenty to thirty meant C-grade.
Thirty to forty meant B-grade.
Above forty meant A-grade.
The numbers were simple.
The consequences weren't.
Aria continued forward, her footsteps steady against the invisible pressure.
Twenty-three steps.
Twenty-four.
Twenty-five.
Twenty-six.
Twenty-seven.
When her foot landed on the twenty-seventh step, something inside her burst.
It wasn't loud to anyone else. There was no flash that lit the cavern. But inside Aria's body, it was like thunder cracking open the sky.
The cluster of Hope Spirit Cauldron detonated into a shockwave of light.
Her muscles tightened like drawn bowstrings. Her pores sealed shut, and her heart clenched once before releasing. For a single breath, her mind felt stretched thin, as if something had reached into her and pulled open a door that was never meant to open.
Then it ended.
Breath returned.
Sweat rolled down her back, sudden and cold.
Aria steadied herself, her expression calm even as her heartbeat pounded.
She closed her eyes and focused inward.
Beneath the chest, in the space between flesh and spirit, something new shimmered into existence. A hollow sphere formed quietly, delicate and pristine, like a pearl cradled in darkness. It was small, but it felt like an entire world folded into her body.