Time to go.
Time to walk into the hall where destinies were carved, where the lucky few received the first key to immortality.
And this time, no malformed boss was going to interrupt.
There had been a reason for the delay. It wasn't just caution, it was survival. Introducing Cultivation Scriptures too early could cause serious damage. The abilities they awakened during the Walk were still foreign to their bodies, unanchored, unstable. Piling on the pull of a Scripture, an entirely different force of cultivation, onto that chaos would be like lighting a match near leaking gas.
That was why, after the First Trial, or the First Walk as it was called here, every new Walker underwent intense physical and mental training. Because once the abilities took root, everything from growth to mastery would hinge on physical toughness and mental control.
Now that the results of all the tests had come in, and every peer had been cleared to move forward, it was finally time.
They were ready to receive their Cultivation Scriptures.
Vikram, who hadn't even expected to make it past the First Walk, had no complaints. He hadn't demanded his Scripture early. He hadn't acted like he was owed anything. In fact, he was just thankful he wasn't dead in some bloodstained pit.
He brewed a cup of bitter coffee, freshened up, changed his clothes, stuffed a pack of cigarettes into his pocket, and made his way toward the great hall.
The cigarettes were a recent addition. One of the new products distributed after the latest system update by the Mother System. Vikram hadn't meant to pick up the habit. It had started on a strange day, one filled with too many questions and no answers. He had been lost in the flood of change, his thoughts scattered and heavy, and in that moment, the cigarette had helped.
Just a bit.
It wasn't something he had ever done before, not even as a pastime. It was a snap decision, nothing more than a whim. But since that first stick, it had become a pattern. Whenever emotions welled up that he didn't want to confront, his fingers found their way back to the packet.
He told himself it wasn't dangerous. The System-certified cigs were free of nicotine, made from some engineered plant-based concoction that didn't harm the lungs or create physiological dependence.
But even so, there was something addictive about it.
Not the substance.
The ritual.
The flick of the packet. The press of the filter between his lips. The pause it offered, just long enough to not feel what he was feeling.
When he arrived, most of his peers were already seated.
But the mood wasn't right.
The room buzzed with the faint hum of quiet whispers and sidelong glances. Vikram paused at the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the gathered teens. It didn't take long to see it.
Separation.
In just two weeks, the seeds had already sprouted.
Vikram watched as a group of smug teens who had entered late forced others who had already taken seats to stand and give up their spots. There was no outrage, no rebellion. Just bitter silence and quiet submission.
At the far back of the hall, Vikram spotted someone familiar.
Alex stood alone, half-shrinking into himself, awkward and exposed. His eyes flicked around the room as if searching for a crack in the floor he could fall into.
And Vikram saw why.
Near the front, a small cluster of elites were turned in their chairs, pointing at Alex and snickering like hyenas. Their mocking gestures were exaggerated, loud enough to draw attention, but just quiet enough to escape the instructors' notice.
Alex had been outcast.
And Vikram knew that feeling too well.
It coiled like a knot in his gut. He had spent enough of his childhood standing in that exact same place, on the edge of the room, trying to disappear.
He clenched his fists.
But then he stopped.
His jaw tensed as he weighed the situation. He wasn't special. He wasn't powerful. Among this group, he was one of the weakest. Every single one of them had abilities. He had none. That made him vulnerable, regardless of how much fight he had in him.
Still, a faint glimmer of something burned inside him. A trick. A detail. A flaw in the system he had discovered while sparring with Kayala and Brunus over the last few days. Something subtle, but real.
Vikram cracked his neck, closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing.
His body relaxed, but his mind sharpened.
"Please, God... Let it work."
In the past few weeks, Vikram had noticed something strange about his body. Not just strange, but bizarre.
Every day, his reflection looked different. Fat melted away without effort, and lean, sharp muscle took its place. His arms no longer looked like the limbs of a drifting slacker, but carved tools of precision. His back was no longer narrow. His shoulders had widened, his waist had tightened, and his entire frame looked like it belonged to a combat specialist, not a late bloomer.
At first, he chalked it up to the regular training. Everyone was going through it. But even among his peers, none seemed to change as rapidly as him.
Except the few with innate abilities tied to physique augmentation. And Vikram had none.
What made it even more baffling was that Kayala, noticing his unnatural growth, had slipped him a tempering Scripture in secret. Something subtle. Something that compressed and condensed the fibers of muscle and bone without drawing attention. She had claimed it was a gift. She had also muttered something about making sure he didn't turn into another Brunus.
That part confused him.
But the results didn't lie.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette packet. Tapped the bottom gently with two fingers. A couple of cigs nudged forward from the rest. He grabbed the one sticking out farthest with his lips, clenched it between his teeth, and let it rest there, unlit.
His eyes remained fixed on the front of the hall.
Alex.
He was standing there, awkward and alone, surrounded by mockery. The elites hadn't stopped their snickering. One of them pretended to mimic Alex's walk. Another exaggerated a fall, laughing like a lunatic as others joined in.
Vikram's jaw tightened.
He didn't like people messing with his friends.
No, it was more than that.
It was like someone was messing with him.
And that made it personal.
His pride was not loud. It didn't boast or scream. But it was there, rooted deep in his chest, harder than steel and sharper than spite. It had been one of the only things he had left during the worst parts of his life.
Everyone here knew that Alex was his friend. They had seen them spar together, eat together, stand side by side during announcements.
And despite that, they chose to humiliate him.
They wanted Vikram to see it. They wanted him to feel helpless. Disrespected.
If that wasn't an insult, Vikram didn't know what was.
The cigarette shifted between his lips as he bit down lightly. He took a deep breath through his nose and stepped forward, heading toward the seats with steady, unhurried steps.
He wasn't thinking about the consequences.
Only about the fact that no one, absolutely no one, got to trample on what was his.
Not anymore.