The descent twisted on for hours, winding deeper beneath Lumeria's skin than any of the four had ever dared tread. At first the tunnels were narrow, lined with forgotten piping and shattered glyphwork—echoes of an era when magic flowed openly through the city's roots.
Now, the air was colder. The walls were smoother. Old sigils pulsed at intervals—faint, stuttering, like memories struggling to awaken.
Qin Shui gripped the orb tighter beneath his jacket, each pulse matching the rhythm of his steps. Around him, the others moved with quiet precision. Mei Lan muttered translations under her breath, scanning murals etched into the stone with spells that glowed like frost. Jian tapped encrypted feeds and layered surveillance masks as they walked, decrypting residual magical currents woven into the architecture. Wei led silently, every footfall deliberate, eyes locked ahead.
"This place feels… old," Qin Shui said softly, voice hushed despite the silence.
Mei Lan nodded, brushing dust from a carved archway. "It predates the Institute. Predates even the formation of the Arcane Houses. This was a chamber built when Lumeria's founders still believed magic and memory were sacred."
Jian snorted. "Then they buried it. Figures."
They reached the convergence chamber at last. It wasn't a grand hall, nor a throne room—it was a dome, vast and quiet, built from layered crystal and blackstone, its ceiling etched with constellations that didn't match any known sky. In the center stood a pedestal, empty but thrumming with quiet energy.
Qin Shui stepped forward instinctively.
As he neared the pedestal, the orb flared.
Threads of energy burst from its surface—living filaments of light that arched toward the crystal dome. They didn't just illuminate the chamber; they awakened it. The murals changed shape, symbols morphing mid-motion. Stone creaked. Somewhere below, mechanisms long dormant began to stir.
Mei Lan gasped as her glyphbook flew open on its own, pages flipping until they landed on an unfinished rune—the same one she'd seen in Qin Shui's dreams, the same shape encoded into the orb's pulse.
"This chamber… it's syncing," she whispered. "It recognizes him."
Wei tensed. "Which means others will, too."
He wasn't wrong.
Alarms were never sounded in Lumeria's depths—but ripples were felt.
Above ground, in the quiet offices of the Arcane Council, a blue gem blinked unexpectedly on a sealed console.
In the lower circuits of the Tech Syndicate's surveillance vaults, encrypted threads burst open with unknown signatures.
Even the Shadow Consortium's listening spiders paused, skittering toward cables that thrummed with a forgotten language.
Someone—something—had awakened power that hadn't spoken in centuries.
Down in the convergence chamber, the orb floated from Qin Shui's hands, drawn to the pedestal. It hovered, then lowered itself gently into the socket at its center.
The room shifted.
The dome darkened, then pulsed once—waves of energy expanding like breath. Threads danced across every surface, forming a lattice of memory.
And then the voice returned—not Echo alone, but something deeper. Layered. Ancient.
"Qin Shui."
He flinched, but didn't step back.
"You have passed the Threshold. What comes next will not be given—it must be proven. Within this chamber sleeps more than knowledge. It holds tests woven from truth, fear, and sacrifice."
Jian shook his head. "Tests?"
Mei Lan stepped closer. "Not tests like the Institute—these are ancestral rites. Runes speak of it. They're crafted to measure the soul, not just the skill."
A soft wind moved through the dome, though no doors were open.
Stone cracked.
The walls reshaped.
Suddenly, each of the four stood in a different part of the chamber—no longer side by side. Partitioned by shimmering veils.
Wei reached for his blade. Jian activated a pulse shield. Mei Lan summoned a protective ward. Qin Shui raised his palm, feeling heat stir behind his ribs.
But the orb remained silent now—watching.
"To wield what was sealed," the voice said, echoing through each veil, "you must see what cannot be taught."
In Qin Shui's space, a single light flickered—then split. Before him, two mirrors rose from the ground. One showed him as he was now—scarred, cautious, quietly determined. The other showed a version of him clothed in regal robes, power crackling from his hands, arrogance gleaming in his eyes.
He stared, breath caught.
A choice?
A warning?
Meanwhile, Jian faced a console—part magic, part tech—built from an architecture he didn't understand. It glowed with temptations: access codes, surveillance maps, doorways into the Institute's deepest vaults. But the interface required more than skill—it required surrender.
Mei Lan stood in a circle of floating scrolls, each one humming with lost language. She could read them, if she offered something personal—a memory, a truth, or a dream she'd never spoken aloud.
Wei's space was darker. He faced no objects—only the figure of a child crying in the shadows. A memory? A ghost? Or something deeper?
Each trial was personal. Psychological. Built not to test power—but *integrity*.
Qin Shui knelt before his mirrors.
"I am not the boy in rags," he whispered. "But I must not become the man who forgets."
He touched the mirror that reflected his true self.
The orb responded.
A beacon of light exploded from the pedestal—breaking the veils, reuniting the four. They stood, gasping, as the chamber returned to silence.
And the orb pulsed once more.
"You have begun to awaken the lattice. One thread is formed. Thousands remain."
Qin Shui turned to Mei Lan, Jian, and Wei.
"We passed?"
"No," Wei said. "We started."
Above them, the stars etched into the dome shifted position—subtle, but unmistakable.
Something had changed.
And Lumeria would feel it.