The barrier shimmered like a living wall, its translucent threads weaving across the skies of Aethrion, sealing the realm from the lurking chaos outside. Inside the grand courtyard, silence fell as Rudraen turned toward the four who stood before him—faces tense, hearts pounding under the weight of everything that had happened.
"Listen carefully," his voice cut through the still air, sharp yet calm. "From this moment, the path ahead will not forgive weakness."
Vaishnavi's brows furrowed. She stepped forward. "What about me? Do I train too?"
Rudraen's crimson eyes softened, but his tone remained firm.
"No, Vaishnavi. You do not possess any Veil power. But that doesn't make you insignificant." He paused, watching the flicker of confusion in her gaze. "Your destiny lies with the Soul Transferring Unit. You are the future head of that division. Your role… is greater than any weapon."
Her breath hitched. The words struck heavier than any blade. Future head? She clenched her fists, a storm brewing inside her chest. "So I'm the only one without strength?"
Rudraen shook his head slowly. "Strength isn't measured only on the battlefield. Aetherion breathes because of balance—souls, power, and order. You will understand soon."
Before she could respond, Rudraen's gaze swept to the others.
"Neel," he called, and the boy stepped forward, calm as ever.
"You've mastered your energy control," Rudraen said. "Impressive for your age. But your Seventh Form… still locked away."
Neel's expression remained unreadable, but his fist tightened slightly at his side. "I'll unlock it," he murmured, voice low like a promise.
"You will," Rudraen replied. "But for now… you rest. Your next trials are different."
Then his eyes burned toward the last two—Ariv and Rohit.
"You both… come with me. From now on, your blood, sweat, and pain will decide if you live in Aethrion."
Ariv smirked faintly, his locket glinting against his chest, hiding the monster that slumbered inside. Rohit swallowed hard, his confidence cracking under Rudraen's tone.
---
The Training Dome
The vast dome stretched endlessly, its walls glowing with an eerie golden hue. Glyphs floated mid-air, spinning like fragments of an ancient code. The ground pulsed with energy—the perfect crucible for warriors.
Rudraen stood at the center. "Before you break your limits, you must understand what you hold," he began, his voice echoing against the dome. "The Veil System is not just raw strength. It is precision, evolution, and survival."
He raised his hand, and seven luminous symbols appeared above him, forming a radiant circle. Each symbol burned with a different essence—blazing crimson for Fire, shimmering blue for Water, silver for Lunar, emerald for Terra, golden for Solar, obsidian for Shadow, and a swirling vortex for Aether.
"These," Rudraen said, "are the Seven Forms every Veil wielder must master. Each one is a threshold, a door to your true nature."
Ariv's eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening as Rudraen's voice rolled like distant thunder.
---
The Seven Forms
"First Form," Rudraen continued, "Essence Grip. This is the birth of control. Until you can channel energy into every strike, every movement, you're a child with a blade too sharp to hold."
"Second Form—Pulse Drive. Channeling power into your fists, converting energy into destructive force."
"Third—Manifest Edge. The energy sword of your Veil, bound to your soul."
"Fourth—Vorath Edge. When your blade becomes a storm, cutting through even gods."
"Fifth—Veil Armament. Your armor, forged from fragments of pure energy, forming around your body like living steel."
"Sixth—Eclipsera. The unleashed form, a storm of energy so vast it tears the air apart."
"And Seventh Form…" Rudraen's voice dropped, his crimson gaze piercing theirs. "…*If you dare to open it uncontrolled, you die. Instantly. If you master it… you become an endless storm. A god among mortals. The Seventh merges all Forms into one, with no weakness. But if your energy collapses for even a second—it consumes you."
A hush fell. Even the air felt heavier.
Rohit shifted uneasily, his throat dry. "So… if we fail, we die?"
Rudraen smirked coldly. "If you fail, Aethrion eats you alive."
Ariv's jaw tightened. His pulse thundered, but fear never touched his face. Instead, his voice cut sharp and steady. "Then stop talking. Show us what we have to kill."
---
The First Clash
A snap of Rudraen's fingers—and the dome exploded with light. Dozens of spectral figures emerged, shadows of Kalaraks snarling with twisted grins, their claws shimmering with raw energy.
"Until you master the First Form," Rudraen declared, his voice like steel, "you will not eat. You will not rest."
Ariv lunged first, his foot slamming into the ground as he dashed toward the nearest Kalarak phantom. His fist crashed into its chest, bursting it apart—but the fragments reformed instantly. His eyes flared with frustration. Why won't they break?
Behind him, Rohit summoned his Terra Veil, jagged spikes erupting from the floor. The Kalaraks shattered, but as dust cleared, more appeared. Sweat dripped down his temples. Damn it… why is it so slow?
"Energy control!" Rudraen's roar shook the dome. "Without it, you're just animals tearing at shadows!"
Ariv gritted his teeth, energy swirling wildly under his skin—but the locket burned against his chest, choking the storm within. His attacks grew sharper, faster—but still unrefined.
Rohit stumbled, his breath ragged. "This… this is insane…"
From the shadows near the dome's edge, Neel watched silently, arms crossed. His calm eyes glimmered with something deeper—knowledge no one else had.
They don't even know what's coming beyond the Forms…
---
End of Chapter Hook:
The dome dimmed, Kalaraks fading into smoke. Rudraen stood unmoving, his presence heavier than mountains. "You have a week," he said. "Survive—and the First Form will be yours."