The morning mist clung to the streets like a fragile curtain, softening the edges of the town and turning familiar buildings into silhouettes. The world had that quiet calm again—the same calm that had always felt ordinary—but Aeryn noticed the difference immediately.
The air smelled faintly of wet stone and pine, mixed with smoke from the few chimneys daring to wake early. Even in this calm, there was a subtle tension—a sensation that the day was watching him as much as he was watching it.
The town was quieter than usual. Most people stayed indoors, avoiding the plaza. Word of yesterday's inconclusive result had spread, but only as whispers. For the first time, some of the townsfolk looked at Aeryn with curiosity rather than indifference.
He moved through the streets deliberately, barefoot brushing against the damp cobblestones. There was no rush. That had never been his way. Step by step, he reached the stone bridge once more—the one spanning the river that had become a quiet companion in his thoughts.
The water below rippled lightly, catching the dim sunlight. For a moment, he thought he saw the faint shimmer again—the same pattern from the previous night—but it disappeared before he could confirm.
It isn't my imagination.
He arrived at the Evaluation Grounds later than most, but the officials made no comment. Today was different. Today, the pillar would not decide in public. Today, it would measure individuals privately.
The private assessment was something rarely spoken of aloud. Only those who received inconclusive results in the public evaluation were summoned. It was an honor, though it did not feel like one.
"Step this way," an official said, his voice low, neutral, almost bored. He wore the same plain robe as the day before, but today, his eyes lingered on Aeryn a fraction longer than necessary.
Aeryn followed him to a side chamber, a small, circular room built around a miniature replica of the pillar. Its surface glimmered faintly, cold and smooth as marble, with tiny symbols etched deep into its structure.
It was quiet here. Too quiet. Even the faint hum of the town outside seemed to vanish. Aeryn felt it again—the subtle pressure in the air, like the world itself had drawn a breath and was holding it.
"Place your hand," the official instructed, stepping back.
Aeryn obeyed. The surface of the miniature pillar was colder than he expected, almost icy to the touch. As soon as his palm rested against it, he felt it—a sensation not entirely physical. Not warmth, not electricity. Something else.
Recognition.
The symbols etched into the pillar seemed to shift imperceptibly beneath his fingers. Lines of light traced patterns too complex to follow, moving against the current of thought itself. Aeryn's mind instinctively tried to comprehend them, to categorize them, to find order in what should have been chaos.
He could not.
But he felt… aligned.
It was subtle, like a lock turning just slightly, not opening, but acknowledging the key.
Minutes passed.
The official remained silent, watching, waiting. Aeryn could hear the faint ticking of some unseen mechanism somewhere in the room. He didn't flinch. He had learned patience.
Then, the pillar pulsed.
Not a glow. Not a flare. Just a quiet pulse that ran from the base to the top, as if it were breathing. Aeryn felt it travel up his arm, through his chest, and settle somewhere deep inside. He did not move. He could not move. He was a part of that pulse, and it was a part of him, however briefly.
And then—
A soft whisper.
Not in the air. Not in his ears. It came from within the pulse, from within the pillar, from somewhere he could not name.
"Awaken."
The word did not command. It suggested. It invited.
Aeryn's breath caught. For the first time, he realized that the world he had always known—the silent, ordinary world—was only a surface. Beneath it, a system stirred, ancient and patient. And it had noticed him.
The pillar's pulse faded, leaving the air heavier, colder, and yet expectant. The official finally spoke.
"Your aptitude… is unusual," he said slowly. "Rare. But incomplete. You require guidance."
"Guidance?" Aeryn asked, his voice calm, but his mind raced.
The official inclined his head slightly. "The world does not give its secrets freely. Those who are noticed are… chosen. Follow me."
Aeryn followed him to a hidden staircase at the back of the chamber. The door was cleverly disguised, blending seamlessly into the stone walls. It led downward, into darkness.
The air grew cooler, damper. The smell of earth and stone replaced the faint smoke and pine of the town above. A single torch flickered, casting shadows that danced across walls carved with faint patterns. Symbols similar to those on the pillar, yet far older, far more intricate, decorated every surface.
Aeryn's eyes moved across them automatically, trying to memorize what they meant. He could not. But he felt that if he returned here again and again, over days, months, years—he might begin to understand.
At the end of the corridor, the official stopped. A small chamber opened before them, illuminated by a soft, pulsating light that seemed to emanate from the floor itself.
"You will begin your training here," the official said. "No one else will see it. No one else will know. This is where the world measures you in full. And where it will test whether you are capable of more than survival."
Aeryn nodded once. He did not ask questions. He did not need to.
The moment he stepped forward, the chamber responded. Symbols glowed faintly beneath his feet, tracing invisible patterns in the air. The pulse returned, steady and calm, reaching deep into his chest.
And in that instant, he knew—the world had marked him. And whatever path lay ahead, it would not be ordinary.
He closed his eyes, feeling the quiet hum of something immense beneath the surface, and whispered to himself:
I am ready.
Outside, the town continued its morning routines, oblivious. Birds chirped. Merchants called to one another. Children ran along the cobblestones.
The world remained silent.
But beneath it, something had begun to awaken.
And Aeryn Vael had already taken the first step.