Kael stood on the lip of the platform, the vast expanse of the Sky Ascension Arena spread out below like a great, silver disc hanging in the void. Above him, streams of starlight spilled from artificial constellations, feeding the arena with energy that shimmered in the air like heat haze. He could feel the hum of it beneath his boots—the quiet, predatory pulse of something ancient watching him.
The Elders' voices still echoed in his mind. *"This trial is not about speed, nor strength—it is about how much you can bear."*
He didn't fully understand what that meant until the moment his foot crossed the threshold.
A crushing force slammed into him like an invisible mountain. His knees buckled instantly. His breath tore from his lungs, and his vision warped as if the arena floor were tilting away from him. The starlight that had looked so beautiful now pressed on him like molten lead.
He gritted his teeth and took another step.
Pain lanced through his legs—sharp, deep, like someone had driven spikes into his bones. Each heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his muscles screamed for release. The spectators watching from the stands leaned forward, murmuring to one another, some already smirking. They'd seen dozens of hopefuls crumble before reaching the tenth step.
*Just weight,* he told himself. *It's just weight. I've carried worse.*
But this wasn't normal weight. It wasn't physical alone—it was inside him, in his mind. Memories pressed forward, unbidden: his mother's face the day she realized their home was being repossessed, the hollow silence after his father's funeral, the sneers from cultivators who'd laughed when the crystal declared him trash-tier. Every doubt, every failure—woven into the invisible gravity.
The Sky Ascension Trial wasn't testing his body alone. It was dragging every burden he'd ever carried into the open.
He swallowed, his throat dry as sand, and forced himself forward again. Step after step. His body trembled violently now, his bones aching under a pressure that felt like the wrath of planets. By the seventh step, sweat was streaming down his face, blinding him, and his jaw hurt from clenching.
Somewhere to his right, a voice cut through the roar of the crowd.
"You're wasting your time, Saran! You'll crack before you see the halfway mark."
Kael didn't need to turn to know it was Ren Torvas—one of the academy's rising prodigies, his face etched into the Sky Hall's record wall. The man's tone dripped with smug certainty, the kind born of privilege and perfect bloodlines.
Kael took another step. Eighth.
The weight increased again, folding over him in layers so dense he felt his ribs might shatter. He staggered, one knee nearly buckling. His fingers curled into fists so tight they cut crescents into his palms. His vision tunneled.
*One more.*
The ninth step. His entire body screamed at him to stop. The audience's murmurs turned to sharp, curious whispers—few reached this far on their first attempt.
And then, something strange happened.
Through the suffocating weight, he felt… a pulse. Not from the arena, but from deep inside his core. It was faint at first, like the heartbeat of something buried beneath centuries of dust. The God-Seed. The force within him stirred, its voice silent but its presence undeniable.
The pressure didn't lessen, but his mind cleared. Each burden that had been pressing down on him—the grief, the shame, the failures—shifted slightly, as if the weight were no longer crushing him alone.
Tenth step.
The crowd erupted into a low roar. Ren Torvas' voice faltered.
Kael lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the Elders watching from their elevated seats. He could feel their scrutiny, the subtle stirrings of interest.
"Good," murmured one of them, stroking his beard. "He's not just carrying himself. Something's carrying him."
The weight redoubled for the eleventh step. The arena floor shimmered, and ghostly silhouettes began to form at the edges of Kael's vision—illusions drawn from his own mind. He saw his father again, but this time standing tall, not broken. His mother, smiling through tears. Friends he'd lost. Enemies who'd mocked him. All of them watching.
His legs trembled so violently now it was a miracle they didn't give out entirely. His heartbeat was a drum, relentless, and his lungs burned as if breathing molten metal. But he took another step. Twelfth.
And then the pressure simply… stopped increasing.
Not gone—never gone—but stable, as if the arena itself had acknowledged him. The crowd's roar swelled, a wave of disbelief and excitement.
Kael straightened, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to collapse. His eyes found Ren Torvas in the crowd, and for the first time, Ren's smirk was gone.
Kael didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Because this was only the first trial, and he had just declared himself a contender.