'What?'
Not the Hollow Realms. Not his world.
Something else entirely.
His gaze swept across the floating island - perhaps two hundred paces across, irregular in shape. The ground beneath his feet was solid stone, dark and pitted as if carved from a single massive slab.
The manor rose at the island's center - three stories of dark stone and timber, windows glowing with warm light that seemed wrong against the crackling void beyond.
Behind him, the rift sealed with a sound like tearing silk played backward.
Violet light collapsed inward, edges crackling as they consumed themselves. Within seconds, nothing remained but the void.
No way back.
The realization settled in his chest like ice.
Esrin's boots clicked against stone as she moved toward the manor without a word. Not checking if he followed. Simply expecting it.
Cel's legs obeyed before his mind caught up, carrying him after her.
Esrin's hand met the manor's door and pushed it open in one smooth motion.
Warmth spilled out - actual warmth, impossible in this place. Light painted the threshold in gold.
Esrin stepped through.
Cel hesitated at the entrance, his pulse quickening.
Then he crossed into light and the sight of nine figures arranged throughout what appeared to be a common room.
His breath caught.
Ashen-blue hair gleamed near a window, catching firelight. The man stood with casual arrogance, light yellow eyes tracking the room with predatory amusement.
'Draven Goldwind.'
The Mercenary King. Leader of the only organization that rivaled the Great Clans in power and influence.
Cel's gaze snapped to the figure seated in a chair near the fireplace. Ashen brown hair, dark green eyes that carried exhaustion like a physical weight.
'Lucien Stellarion.'
The second prince of the Stellarion Empire. The one nobles spoke of in tones mixing disappointment and reluctant longing.
Here.
With Draven Goldwind.
The contradiction made his thoughts fracture. The Royal House and the Mercenary Guild maintained cordial relations at best - careful neutrality that could shatter into conflict with one wrong move. Seeing representatives of both powers in the same room was unusual.
His gaze swept across the others.
A small girl sat in an oversized chair, feet dangling above the floor. She straightened as their eyes met, chin lifting with unexpected dignity despite her childlike stature.
Near the far wall, a red-haired woman stood rigid, arms crossed. Blue eyes locked onto him with naked contempt, her entire posture screaming barely restrained contempt.
Beside her, an older man leaned against the stone. Weathered face, scars visible even in the firelight. He watched Cel the way someone watches a potential threat - calm, assessing, ready.
A young man, perhaps Raven's age, lounged near the fire with blue hair that caught hints of purple in the light. Green eyes studied Cel with open curiosity, head tilted slightly as if examining something interesting.
A woman with blond hair held herself with perfect stillness near the opposite wall, her expression carefully neutral.
And at the center—
A hooded figure. Dark fabric concealed most of his face, but reddish-brown eyes gleamed from within the shadow. Authority radiated from him despite the concealment.
All of them turned as Esrin entered.
"Well, well." Draven's voice carried across the room, amused. "Back already? Don't tell me the Prince of Death gave you—"
His gaze found Cel.
Silence crashed down.
Nine pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying degrees of surprise, confusion, and - in some cases - hostility.
The small girl's feet stopped swinging.
The young man by the fire straightened slightly.
Even the still woman shifted her attention.
"Esrin." The red-haired woman spoke, blue eyes narrowing. "Who is this?"
Draven's laugh cut through the quiet - sharp and mocking. "Oh, this is rich. The great Esrin brings home a stray."
Esrin ignored him. "This is Celvian. A Chosen of the Moon Goddess whom the Children of the Voidmother threw into the Hollow Realms to seal a rift."
The information hung in the air.
"A Chosen?" The older man's voice was rough, skeptical. "Moon Chosen are weak. How did he survive?"
"That's irrelevant." Draven stepped forward. "He's seen our faces. That makes him a risk." His hand drifted to summon his weapon. "He dies. Simple as that."
Cel's body went rigid, hand moving toward where Silent Moon could manifest—
"I want him to join the Reckoning." Esrin's statement cut through the rising tension.
Draven barked a laugh. "Join? You can't be serious."
"He's a Chosen One," Esrin continued. "He was thrown into the Hollow Realms and survived. That demonstrates capability."
"Does it?" Draven gestured at Cel with casual dismissal. "Everyone here can sense that this boy has no divine energy. Not even a whisper." His grin widened. "So either he's the weakest Chosen to ever exist, or he's not Chosen at all."
The words landed with sickening weight.
Cel had known he couldn't sense his own divine energy. Had struggled with that limitation since receiving his blessing.
But to not even possess it?
His mind raced. That made no sense. He could use Frostmark. Could manifest Silent Moon and Cinderward. If he had no divine energy at all, how—
"Haha, yeah!" The small girl's voice dripped with exaggerated enthusiasm. "We can all sense it so clearly. It's super obvious to everyone here!"
Draven's attention snapped to her, his grin sharpening. "Sorry, I meant nearly all." The correction was pointed. Cruel. "Those of us who actually have divine favor, at least."
The girl's expression darkened, but she said nothing.
"It's the armor," Esrin said, drawing attention back. "An artifact that suppresses his divine signature. I witnessed him using an authority - ice-based power. He is a Chosen."
"An artifact that completely masks divine energy?" The young man by the fire leaned forward, interest sparking in his green eyes. "That's... actually impressive."
"Or it's a lie." The red-haired woman spoke for the first time, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Why should we trust anything she says about him?"
"Because I have no reason to lie." Esrin's tone remained neutral. "Killing him serves no purpose. He's young, inexperienced, and was thrown into the Hollow Realms by a cult we all want destroyed. Making him an ally makes more strategic sense than making him a corpse."
"Strategic sense?" Draven's laugh was harsh. "What's strategic about adding dead weight to—"
"Vote." Lucien's voice came quietly from his chair, almost resigned. "That's how this works."
Silence fell as attention turned inward.
The older man spoke first. "Kill him. We don't need complications."
The red-haired woman's voice came sharp and immediate. "Agreed."
Draven's grin widened. "Obviously kill him."
The still woman with blond hair simply nodded once.
Four votes to kill.
"He should join." Esrin's statement was flat. Final.
"Agreed," Lucien said quietly, dark green eyes tracking between Cel and the others.
The young man by the fire straightened, blue-purple hair shifting. "I vote for joining too. He survived the Hollow Realms at such a young age. That's worth something."
The small girl's feet swung once. "I think he should join! Anyone who makes Draven this annoyed can't be all bad!"
Four votes each way.
The central figure remained silent, his gaze tracking between Cel and the others with careful assessment.
The silence stretched.
"Four to four," Draven said quietly. "Which means Veyron decides. And we all know he's practical."
He moved.
"So why don't we skip the formality and I'll just kill the boy now?"
Esrin blocked his path.
"Touch him, and you'll lose your hand."
Draven laughed, genuinely delighted. "Should I test that?"
The temperature dropped.
White lightning began to crackle across Esrin's shoulders, arcing down her arms. Her ruby eyes held nothing - no anger, no fury. Just cold, absolute promise.
"He's a child," she continued. "A child thrown into the Hollow Realms by a cult. And you want to murder him because it's convenient."
Draven's grin widened, golden light erupting around him like a solar flare. "I want to kill him because he's a risk we don't need." He leaned forward slightly, matching her intensity. "But please, continue the moral lecture. It's adorable."
The manor groaned.
Divine energy pressed against divine energy - white lightning meeting golden radiance. The floor beneath them cracked. Windows rattled. Books tumbled from shelves as the building itself protested the weight of their power.
"Enough."
The older man's voice cut through the pressure - rough, worn, but carrying the weight of someone who'd survived worse than this.
He hadn't moved from his position against the wall, but his weathered face held no fear. Just tired disgust.
"This is why we vote," he said flatly. "To avoid this." His gaze tracked between them. "So let Veyron decide."
The pressure didn't dissipate immediately.
Esrin and Draven remained locked in their standoff, lightning and gold still blazing around them.
Then Esrin's energy pulled back. Not slowly - just gone, as if someone had closed a door.
Draven held his power for a heartbeat longer, eyes studying her. Then the golden glow faded, leaving only the man beneath.
His grin returned, casual and mocking. "How disappointing."
He turned away without another word, moving back to his position near the window.
The cracks in the floor remained. Evidence of how close they'd come.
Cel's pulse hammered in his throat. His hand trembled slightly as it dropped from tension.
The central figure - Veyron - had watched the entire exchange without moving. Now his gaze settled on Cel with renewed assessment.
Cel's throat worked. Words formed before conscious thought caught up.
"My priestess is a Divine Oracle."
The statement landed like a stone into still water.
Draven's laugh came immediately. "Of course she is. And I'm secretly the Mountain God in disguise."
But Veyron had gone still.
Not frozen. Just... perfectly motionless. His attention fixed on Cel with sudden, sharp intensity.
"Describe her." The command came quiet but absolute.
Cel's pulse quickened. "White robes. Silver mask covering the upper half of her face. Long silver hair. She..." He hesitated, then pushed through. "She's the most beautiful person I've ever seen."
Silence answered him.
Veyron studied him for what felt like eternity.
Then his lips curved - not quite a smile, but close.
"Welcome to the Reckoning, Celvian."