The dawn air was crisp as Kaelith walked through the academy's winding stone paths. His body was sore from the Vermilion Pill's violent cleansing, but his spirit blazed with focus. Today marked the start of his training under Vice-Master Sylara.
But as he made his way toward her training hall, whispers began to follow him.
"There he is."
"The so-called disciple."
"Hah! Vice-Master Sylara must have gone blind."
Laughter followed him like a shadow.
A group of Zenith heirs stood near the path, their golden robes gleaming in the sunlight. One stepped forward, his voice dripping contempt. "So the failure has the gall to strut toward the training halls? Tell me, Aurelius branchling, do you think her shadow will make you a sun?"
Kaelith ignored them and walked on.
Drakonis disciples flared their dragon auras, smirking. "Careful, Zenith. If you mock him too hard, he might bleed to death on the stones. Weaklings are fragile."
Even a few Aurelius youths, bitter that their family's shame had become Sylara's chosen, sneered openly. "Useless trash. He'll only humiliate our clan further."
Their words clawed at him, echoes of his body's old memories. But Kaelith Varion did not break stride. His steps were steady, his face calm.
Mock me all you want. The time will come when your laughter dies in your throats.
---
The path opened, and before him loomed Sylara's training hall.
It was no hall, but an arena — vast enough to hold a thousand disciples. The floor was engraved with formation arrays that pulsed faintly with spirit light. Obsidian pillars stretched skyward, each inscribed with suppressive runes that could amplify gravity a hundredfold. Racks of weapons, boulders larger than houses, and pools of medicinal liquid lined the walls.
Kaelith stepped inside. The door sealed shut behind him, silencing the outside world.
Sylara sat cross-legged on a dais, her silver eyes watching him like a hawk. "Begin."
That was all she said.
---
The days blurred together.
He ran weighted laps until his bones cracked.
He lifted iron bars thicker than tree trunks until his muscles tore.
He trained his breath under crushing arrays that multiplied gravity tenfold, twentyfold, fiftyfold, until every inhale felt like drowning.
He immersed himself in pools of liquid spirit fire that burned his skin raw but tempered his veins anew.
And through it all, Sylara watched. She never offered comfort. Only cold commands, sharper than blades.
"Again."
"Too slow."
"Focus."
"Your body breaks, but your will must not."
Kaelith never complained. He pushed until blood replaced sweat, until his vision blurred black, until his lungs felt like collapsing. And when he collapsed, Sylara would simply stand over him, silent, until he rose again.
This was no training. This was forging.
---
Seven weeks passed. One week remained until the second trial.
Kaelith stood in the center of the arena, his body trembling under fiftyfold gravity. His fists slammed against a boulder, each strike cracking stone. His spirit power churned within him, unstable but climbing, edging closer to Tier Seven.
He was drenched in sweat and blood, yet his eyes burned.
And then… the world changed.
---
The sky outside darkened.
At first, Kaelith thought it was dusk — but the sun was still high, and yet shadows swallowed the academy.
Sylara's eyes narrowed. She rose from her dais, her aura flaring instinctively. "This is…"
Every disciple across the academy looked up as the heavens rippled like shattered glass. Clouds twisted into spirals. Lightning crackled, but without thunder. And then, descending slowly from the rift above, came a shape.
A perfect circle.
No beginning. No end.
A symbol of nothing, glowing with light that seared the soul.
Even gods, had they been watching, would not have known its name. For this was no divine treasure of their making. This was older. Purer.
The Zero Sigil.
It drifted downward, silent, ignoring Zenith, Drakonis, Aurelius — ignoring all, until it hovered directly above Kaelith.
Gasps erupted outside the hall as disciples shouted in confusion and awe.
"W-what is that?!"
"Even ancient texts mention nothing like this!"
"Why him?! Why the Aurelius failure?!"
Kaelith stared upward, his body trembling. The sigil pulsed once — and then, like a falling star, it shot downward, piercing his chest.
Agony exploded through him.
Light erupted, filling the training hall until it shone brighter than day. Kaelith screamed as his blood boiled, his veins igniting with alien fire. He collapsed, clutching his chest — but then, the light etched itself into him.
A mark appeared on his sternum. A symbol like the number zero, infinite and eternal, yet within it swirled stars, void, and time itself.
And then, a whisper echoed in his soul.
Origin Sigil: Nihil Aeternum.
The Eternal Nothing.
His bloodline roared. His spirit shook. His very existence warped as the sigil fused with him.
A single drop of his blood rose into the air, suspended, glowing. The sigil devoured it — and in return, it branded him as its bearer.
Then, silence.
The light vanished. The sky cleared.
Kaelith collapsed, unconscious, the sigil still glowing faintly upon his chest.
---
When he awoke, he was lying on a soft bed, wrapped in clean robes. The familiar scent of spirit herbs filled his lungs.
He sat up sharply, disoriented.
But before he could rise, a cold voice spoke.
"You finally wake."
Sylara stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, her silver eyes unreadable.
Kaelith blinked. "Master…? What… what happened…?"
"You tell me," she said softly. "The sky split. The academy trembled. A phenomenon that has not been seen even by ascendants or gods manifested. And then you collapsed. Do you know how long you lay unconscious?"
Kaelith frowned. His body still felt heavy, but his spirit pulsed with strange new depth. "…Hours?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Three days."
His breath caught. "Three…?"
She stepped closer, her gaze sharp as a blade. "Kaelith Varion, what fused with you?"
Kaelith lowered his eyes. The whisper of the sigil still echoed in his blood, but he doubted any words could truly explain.
Finally, he answered quietly: "It called itself… the Origin Sigil. Nihil Aeternum."
For the first time since he had met her, Sylara's mask cracked. Her eyes widened, just slightly. Her breath slowed.
"…Origin?" she whispered, as if tasting the word.
The silence stretched, heavy with weight. Then her gaze hardened again.
"Whatever it is, it has chosen you. That makes you more dangerous — and more hunted. Do not speak of this to anyone. Not even your clan. Do you understand?"
Kaelith met her eyes and nodded. "Yes, Master."
She studied him for a long moment, then finally turned away. "Good. Rest now. One week remains before the second trial. And if you cannot control that sigil…"
Her voice trailed off, cold as ice.
"…then even I may not be able to protect you."
Kaelith lay back, his chest burning faintly where the sigil pulsed. His fists clenched beneath the sheets.
Origin Sigil. Eternal Nothing.
The gods had cursed him. The clans mocked him. But the heavens themselves had just branded him with a name greater than gods.
And for the first time, Kaelith wondered if his journey was not merely to defy the gods — but to surpass the very origin of existence.