The moment the pulse of Wads' Aetherial Eclipse dissipated, the world seemed to exhale as if the very air had been holding its breath. In the Trial Chambers, the faint echoes of the shattered reality lingered, a resonance of power that no ordinary student—or even seasoned representative—had ever encountered.
Klyden was the first to feel it, though he was miles apart in another chamber. His golden hair shifted with the gust of wind swirling through the trial hall, blue eyes narrowing as a familiar tremor prickled through his chest. It wasn't fear, not exactly—it was recognition. The kind of recognition that told him that the power he felt… it was beyond anything he could have imagined, beyond any mortal measure he had ever encountered. The heat of his solar energies, which usually flowed unopposed, felt minuscule against the magnitude of the surge that had just erupted.
Nearby, Liora stiffened mid-step, crimson and green irises widening as her senses picked up the aftershock. Her hand instinctively brushed against the hilt of her weapon, yet she found herself unable to move toward or even identify the source. The energy wasn't just strong—it was alien. It carried weight, presence, authority, and something else… a cold, analytical perfection that made her spine tingle. Even in her own strength, she knew that anyone capable of such a feat existed on a plane far above her own.
Whispers and gasps filtered through the hallways and chambers. Students paused mid-combat with trial chamber anomalies, their bodies frozen as if instinctively aware of the shift. A gust of wind swept through Ysoria's chamber, rustling leaves and vines she had manipulated for her nature-based powers. Even she, attuned to life and growth, felt a pressure suffocating in its intensity—a sheer gravitational pull on the aura itself, compelling respect and awe.
Thaddeus' green eyes narrowed as his fists trembled slightly, a subtle reaction that went unnoticed by most. He had trained against high-tier opponents, royal bloodlines, and noble combatants whose skill dwarfed common students, yet this… this was not something even he could quantify. The walls of the chamber seemed to distort for a heartbeat, shadows stretching unnaturally. Ashborne in his northern trials felt his dual swords grow almost impossibly heavy in his hands, as though some invisible hand weighed them against an unseen scale.
Even the animals and anomalies within the chambers shivered in response. The undead the others had faced in earlier trials hissed and recoiled, sensing an intangible predator in the distance. The five-headed wolf from a previous trial lifted its heads in unison, snarling at the invisible threat that had erupted across the expanse.
No one in the Trial Chambers knew the source. All they knew was that it carried a weight and authority beyond comprehension. The power didn't just displace matter—it displaced reality itself, bending the very fabric of possibility. It was undeniable: anyone capable of producing such an effect was on a different plane entirely, leagues beyond the capabilities of every student present.
Even Klyden, ever the optimistic and sunny spirit, felt his chest tighten. There was no fear, not in the ordinary sense, but a deep respect, awe tinged with the knowledge that the world could shift around them in an instant, should the wielder choose. Liora, though her hand never wavered from her weapon, felt the chill of humility and the bite of awe across her senses. This was no mere student. This was someone whose existence demanded recognition.
For a long moment, the chambers were silent—not a whisper, not a footstep. Even Reiyell, already standing beside the fallen Wads, let the faint echoes of the aura wash over her. Her arms rested near her ice-formed sword, her breath even, but her sharp eyes studied him as though reading an equation. Even the royal princess, accustomed to seeing impossibly skilled warriors across kingdoms, found herself unable to measure the scope of what had just occurred.
The chain of events drew out, and slowly, the chaotic vibrations of the chambers began to fade. And then, in the quiet, Reiyell knelt closer to Wads, her hands brushing lightly over the ground, ensuring her presence was steady. The cuff that had bound them together now lay broken, a faint shimmer of residual magic lingering for a heartbeat before vanishing entirely. Freedom from its restraint shifted the air, leaving her shoulders lighter, yet her gaze remained fixed on him.
"Wads," she murmured softly, almost contemplatively, as if the words themselves carried weight for him even in unconsciousness. "You… showed something that I have never imagined. That power—your command over it—it's remarkable. Beyond anything I have ever seen, even among the nobility and royal bloodlines." Her voice remained calm, observant, filled with a quiet admiration. She didn't reach for him in sentimentality, nor did she hesitate in judgment; this was acknowledgment, an intellectual recognition of his extraordinary capabilities.
She studied his face for a moment, noting the pale contour of his skin, the faint rise and fall of his chest, and the slight mess of his black hair from the exertion. He looked as serene as someone could while a storm of godlike energy had just passed through him, an image incongruous with the magnitude of his abilities. "Rest now," she whispered. "You've given more than anyone could expect."
For a heartbeat, the chamber remained still. Dust floated lazily through the streaks of light filtering from the cracks above, motes drifting as if time itself had slowed. The battle was over, the mage defeated, but the consequences lingered in the form of faint cracks in the walls, shattered debris, and the lingering hum of displaced energies.
And then, the dream began.
Wads' consciousness sank into an inky black void. The darkness was thick, almost tangible, like he was submerged in a fog that absorbed every fragment of light and sound. The emptiness seemed infinite, unending, and cold beyond any earthly measure. He tried to move, tried to sense, but his body was a forgotten memory, the threads of the waking world replaced by the oppressive weight of shadow.
A voice broke through, distant yet piercing. It had no tone, no gender, no warmth or malice—but it carried familiarity, threading itself through his mind with the pull of recognition. "Wads…" the sound whispered, stretching across the void, echoing in a thousand directions at once.
He turned, eyes searching, though there was nothing to see. "Who… who is there?" His voice felt weak, swallowed immediately by the darkness. The threads of his awareness, sharp as they were in life, strained against this mist, probing, careful, wary.
From the shadow, a figure emerged. At first, it was only a vague outline—a white silhouette, featureless, faceless. Its presence radiated calm authority, a soft aura that seemed both inviting and distant. And yet, Wads felt a pull, a recognition he could not immediately place. Familiarity settled over him like a second skin, a whisper in the back of his mind suggesting truths he could not yet understand.
"You… are…" he began, uncertain, cautious, though curiosity edged every word. "Who are you?"
The figure remained silent, drifting closer, yet no step seemed to touch the ground. Its outline shimmered faintly in the void, impossible to gauge in size or shape. Even so, Wads' mind cataloged the presence, every nuance, every fraction of energy. The familiarity was overwhelming, a puzzle his logic demanded to solve.
Finally, the voice returned, calm, measured, carrying the weight of inevitability: "It's just the beginning."
The words hung in the darkness. Simple, yet heavy with promise and warning. Wads' mind sharpened instantly, instinctive focus igniting despite his unconscious state. Something in that voice—the calm authority, the assurance, the faint pull of recognition—stirred something deep within him. His fingers twitched as though trying to grasp it, even in the void of sleep.
And then the darkness swallowed everything once more. Wads was alone again, surrounded by the impenetrable black mist, left with only the echo of the final words, repeating themselves in his mind: It's just the beginning.
Outside, Reiyell stayed still for a moment longer, kneeling beside him. Her gaze softened ever so slightly, a flicker of respect and acknowledgment crossing her face. No words could encapsulate the magnitude of what she had witnessed, and she let the silence hold its weight, allowing the young man beside her to recover in his own time, unaware of the monumental recognition that had just rippled through the Trial Chambers.