"The Star-Stone does not awaken you.It records whether the universe already has."
Morning mist clung low to the floor as students gathered—commoners and nobles alike—though the line of destiny between them was invisible, already drawn within their souls.
The Star-Stone Pillar rose at the center of the hall.
Not a crystal.Not a gem.Not a divine relic glowing with mercy.
It was a towering monolith of thunder-stone fused with veins of celestial ore, its surface absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Runes spiraled along its length, not carved but remembered, as though the stone recalled every hand that had ever touched it.
This was not a blessing.It was a mirror.
The commoners were processed first.
They never approached the Star-Stone; they were not permitted to. Their evaluation unfolded in silence and ink—written trials of logic, ethics, restraint, and judgment. For these children, power would come later, through temple awakenings at the age of ten. Today measured only the clarity of their minds and the strength of their character.
Before the nobles were summoned, the written results were finalized.
Names appeared one by one upon a suspended slate, glowing faintly as an instructor read them aloud. There was no applause. No ceremony. Only acknowledgment. Those who passed were assigned to academic tracks—strategy, administration, support disciplines, or future combat theory—paths meant to prepare them for awakenings still years away. A handful of names bore additional sigils, subtle markers of rare composure or exceptional judgment.
Quiet glances followed. Whispers were quickly silenced.
Those who failed were not shamed. Their slates dimmed gently, and instructors guided them away with measured respect. Vajraśila did not discard potential lightly—but it did not lie to children either.
When the final name was recorded, the slate dissolved into motes of light.
Only then did the instructors turn toward the sealed doors.
"The commoner evaluation is complete," one announced.
The hall was cleared.
And the second test began.
When the nobles returned, the atmosphere shifted.
These children had already undergone awakening rituals in their temples, their chakras open. At seven, the rarest among them could channel elemental power naturally—but even they required the Star-Stone to verify alignment, control, and truth.
A tall instructor stepped forward, robes the color of weathered stone, a ledger floating beside him, quill already poised.
"Elemental and Constellation Verification will proceed in order," he said. "Touch the Star-Stone. Do not resist. Do not perform. The Stone does not respond to effort."
Kael Rithvar stepped forward first.
Tall and sharp-jawed, ash-brown hair tied neatly behind his head, he carried the confidence of one trained from birth. His boots echoed once as he approached the pillar. He pressed his palm to the stone.
For a heartbeat—nothing.
Then the pillar answered.
Yellow light surged upward, veins of lightning cracking along the stone. Static snapped faintly in the air as sparks danced before settling.
Behind Kael, a floating electric-blue circle formed. Wings unfolded. Talons struck.
Sky Talon.
The quill hesitated.
A low murmur rippled through the hall. Several nobles leaned forward. Others shifted, weight redistributing unconsciously.
Kael did not look back. He walked past with straightened shoulders, eyes following him—some narrowed, some calculating, some unreadable.
Myra Valencrest followed.
Silver hair framed her calm face as her hand touched the pillar. Deep blue light pulsed—gentle, controlled. A Moon Koi spiraled behind her within a pearl-white circle, water flowing with living intent.
Fingers tightened around ledgers. Breaths were held, then released.
Renn Althoros stepped next. Broad-shouldered and disciplined, he pressed his palm to the stone. Earth hummed. Umber light crawled upward as a Mountain Ox emerged in bronze. The ground vibrated faintly.
Across the aisle, posture shifted—subtle, deliberate—an unspoken challenge taking shape.
Elira Sunfall's touch brought radiant white-gold light. A Phoenix Ember appeared in soft gold. Heads tilted. Shoulders squared. Calculations began long before any blade would be drawn.
Veyron Kaas followed. Smoky violet radiance spread as a Veiled Serpent formed in dark amethyst. The hall dimmed by a fraction, enough to be felt.
Liora Mistwyn's pale cyan light summoned a Gale Sparrow in sky-silver. Thane Morik's steel-silver glow shaped an Iron Bear—quiet, scarred, immovable. Seris Halwyn's emerald light formed a Verdant Stag, pressure bending the air just enough to force a step back.
Then came Caelum Rift.
Cosmic indigo spread—deep, vast. A Rift Whale formed in void-teal.
The room stilled.
Nyssa Korrin followed, dull crimson-violet light seeping into the stone. A Weeping Wolf hovered behind her in faded rose.
Several nobles shifted at once. No one spoke.
Then the triplets approached.
Aditya stepped forward first.
Orange light flared—dense, alive, tightly controlled. A Flame Dragon unfurled behind him within a silver floating circle, coiling once before dissolving.
Quills moved faster.
Sasi followed.
Yellow light burst forth, sharp and precise. A Thunder Dragon manifested within a matching silver circle. The air thrummed, contained but restless.
Then Aryan placed his hand.
Green light flowed steadily from the Star-Stone. A Nature Dragon formed—massive, graceful—its presence filling the hall without pressing against it.
Silence fell.
Tiny movements betrayed inner disturbance—tightened jaws, clenched fingers, brief glances quickly withdrawn. No one spoke. Everyone measured.
The nobles were led to the outer grounds.
Fire shaped into arcs. Thunder struck with economy. Nature bent subtly to Aryan's will, roots and leaves responding as though they had always been waiting.
Many performed well.Some were remembered.
As dusk settled, the instructor closed the ledger.
"Results will be announced tomorrow. Element. Constellation. Control. Judgment."
The three brothers returned to their room.
Not triumphant.Not anxious.
Only quiet.
The Star-Stone had not chosen them.
It had merely confirmed what the universe already knew.
And tomorrow, Vajraśila would decide whether such truth was meant to be sharpened—or feared.