The ancient records claimed that every pillar of the Ebonhart bloodline had once walked these steps.
Valdis stood before it in silence.
A staircase of obsidian-black stone rose from the heart of the awakening hall, its surface etched with runes so old they no longer glowed, yet the pressure they exerted distorted the air around them.
Each step was broad and unyielding, carrying the unmistakable weight of judgment.
There was no retreat once one stepped forward.
Valdis took a slow breath and placed his foot on the first step.
The world felt heavier.
The air grew still.
Not suddenly, not violently—but deliberately.
The weight pressed down through his legs and into his core, as if the world itself had chosen to lean on him.
His muscles tightened, instinctively bracing as the pressure deepened with each step.
It wasn't enough to crush him outright, but it was relentless in its persistence.
With each step, the weight increased, threatening to break his bones and turn them to dust, but he kept climbing steadily.
The burn in his calves crept upward, his thighs hardening beneath the load as his breathing grew deeper, more controlled.
Countless mornings of physical training flashed in his mind—endless runs through stone corridors, stances held until sweat pooled beneath his feet.
Others had screamed on these steps.
Valdis had not.
By the tenth step, his shoulders ached. By the fifteenth, his joints protested sharply with every movement. Still, his posture remained straight, his crimson eyes steady.
'Heavy', he thought calmly. 'But manageable'
The pressure shifted as he passed the twentieth step.
It seeped beyond flesh and bone, sinking into his blood, thickening it, slowing its flow. His heartbeat became dense and resonant, each thump echoing in his skull.
An invisible weight wrapped around his chest—not suffocating, but oppressive, as if his very existence was being evaluated.
Valdis's red eyes darkened.
"Another test?" he murmured.
Each step compressed his soul further, squeezing doubt into clarity sharp enough to cut.
His limbs trembled—not from physical exhaustion, but from the strain of having his soul under such pressure.
His skull felt like it was going to implode, and his soul felt crushed.
Many had fallen here, unable to endure the pain.
But Valdis pressed on.
As he neared the summit, the pressure lost its form.
His muscles screamed in protest, his joints felt brittle, and his soul stretched thin, as if one more step might tear him apart.
Yet worse than the pain was the creeping exhaustion within his mind.
As he approached the last ten steps, the pressure eased slightly but didn't disappear.
Soon, voices began surfacing in his mind, each one more seductive than the last.
Each tried to break his will and stop his steps.
Every step carried a quiet suggestion.
Stop.
Rest.
This is enough.
You've done your best.
It would have been easy to kneel, accept stagnation as fate, and let the steps claim him as they had so many before.
Valdis paused for a brief moment.
His mind wandered to his dreams and ambitions, and the difficulty of turning them into reality.
He let out a deep sigh.
Then he stepped forward.
Not out of pride.
Not out of fury.
But because stopping had never been an option.
The moment his foot touched the last step, the pressure disappeared.
Relief washed over him.
Then the world warped.
He stood alone within a vast hall bathed in crimson light, and before him stretched countless reflections of himself—older, stronger, crowned with power.
Each version looked down at him with quiet disdain, their presence heavy with judgment.
This is what you could have been.
The illusion did not press upon his body; it gnawed at meaning itself. No matter how much effort he poured forth, these versions would always stand above him.
Strength meant nothing here.
Bloodline meant nothing.
Only the tenacity of one's will mattered.
One of the reflections asked,
"What's your reason for struggling?"
"Why do you need power?" another reflection said.
"You should relax a little; with your talent and background, becoming a powerful figure is just a matter of time," another added.
Hearing all this, Valdis straightened, his spine rigid, his gaze unwavering.
"I want power, yes, but the reason I want power is simple.
I want to be able to control my fate with my own hands, not relying on anyone, so my presence can be felt and my voice heard," he said softly.
Each word resonated and strengthened his resolve.
"To meet my goals, I'll work hard to achieve them. Even with my talents, I'll work harder than anyone to reach the top.
But right now, I only need to move forward."
All the voices fell silent.
The hall fractured.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the crimson light as the reflections shattered like glass, collapsing into nothing.
Valdis took a single step—and the illusion completely disintegrated.
He found himself lying on the cold stone floor of the awakening hall, his breath steady, his crimson eyes sharp and alert.
The staircase had vanished, leaving only the silent gazes of the elders above.
The Trial had not granted him power,
but it had acknowledged his right to claim it.
...
Light returned to him gradually.
At first, it was just a dull glare pressing against his eyelids, unfocused and formless.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. He let his senses settle, letting the echo of pressure and illusion fade from his blood. When he finally opened his eyes, the world appeared in fragments.
Blurry shapes stood against the light—tall, unmoving silhouettes that seemed carved from shadow itself.
The glow of the awakening hall tinting his vision in muted reds and blacks. The light wasn't harsh but caused a faint sting, like needles brushing against his pupils as he adjusted.
Soon, Valdis felt all his strain and fatigue vanish as if they had never existed.
Before his eyes fully adapted, he heard voices in front of him.
"He broke your record in this trial, little Malrik," Grand Elder Thalor said.
"With ten minutes to spare, he really is a prodigy with potential greater than our little monster," Grand Elder Mircalla said as she looked at Malrik.
"As expected of my little brother. He's destined for greatness," Malrik said with a wide grin.
"His eyes give off the same frightening battle intent you and Dad possess. I hope he doesn't turn out like you both," Isolde said, her voice cool and enchanting.
Valdis's eyes finally adjusted to his surroundings. The first person he saw was the last speaker—a girl with a striking resemblance to his mother, Elanor.
She had her mother's pure white hair and blue eyes. Her aura carried a deep chill, ancient and relentless.
The cold radiated off her in waves, not just a chill to the skin but deep into the bones.
He instantly knew she was his sister.
"He's an Ebonhart. The desire for battle is a feeling etched into our bones from the day we're born.
From what I remember, you aren't any different, Isolde," Grand Elder Arkan said, a sly smile on his lips.
'Her name's Isolde…Isolde Ebonhart.'
Isolde looked at her grandfather and sighed helplessly.
"That's enough, we don't have all day," a calm, commanding voice rang out.
The hall fell silent immediately.
The voice belonged to none other than the duke and patriarch of House Ebonhart—Draven Ebonhart.
He slowly stood from his throne and approached Valdis. Soon, he reached him.
His face kept its usual warm smile.
He placed his hands on Valdis's shoulders and said,
"As your father, I'm proud. Passing the trial has granted you the right to use the primordial awakening pool to awaken your bloodline from its dormant state and will also help you build a foundation for your pursuit of power."
Valdis nodded, acknowledging his father's words, but deep inside, his heart was ignited with a fiery resolve, his eyes filled with battle intent.
Draven saw this, and his smile grew even wider.
"Let me properly introduce you to your siblings. The idiot with dark hair and an oppressive aura of laziness is your elder brother, Malrik," Duke Draven said.
Malrik's eyes twitched at that, but he didn't move from his seat.
"And the girl beside him is your big sister, Isolde. Since she was little, she's trained by the third ancestor, which is why she rarely spends much time at home.
Right now, she holds the title of student council president at the Obsidian Crown Academy, a school you'll join in a few years," he explained.
Isolde smiled at her father's introduction, a stark contrast to how he described her brother.
She tossed a mocking glance at Malrik.
Malrik started grumbling, but she ignored him completely.
The people behind them are the Grand Elders of House Ebonhart. Although two are currently out, those here are Grand Elders Thalor, Arkan, and Mircalla," the duke said, pointing at three figures.
One resembled a middle-aged man with a slight resemblance to his father, Draven.
The last was a beautiful woman who looked like she was in her early twenties, her aura distant yet regal.
Valdis looked their way and bowed his head respectfully, knowing that anyone who could be called a Grand Elder of a ducal house must be incredibly powerful.
"Good. At least this one comes with some manners," Grand Elder Mircalla said with a laugh.
Both Grand Elders Thalor and Arkan simply nodded.
"Grand Elder Arkan is my grandfather and your great-grandfather, my father and uncle aren't around at the moment but they are the last two Grand Elders of House Ebonhart"
Valdis went down on one knee and said
"I Valdis greet you, great-grandfather Arkan"
Grand Elder Arkan was stunned at first before he broke into a fit of laughter and said
"Good, good, good, I didn't know that there was an Ebonhart in this generation who is as respectful as you are," he said, glancing at Malrik and Isolde's direction.
"For that, I have a special reward for you after your awakening."
Duke Draven heard him and raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Thank you, great-grandfather Arkan."
"Now that the introductions are done, let's begin the ceremony," Duke Draven stated.