The sky above the floating arena bled into twilight, streaked with indigo clouds that shimmered faintly from the leftover mana of the day's hunt.
The test had ended, but the battlefield still trembled with echoes of what had taken place.
Dozens of young bloodline heirs and scions returned through the shimmering gates scattered around the arena's perimeter—each emerging bruised, panting, or bloodied.
Some carried the crystalline monster cores with pride, others with shaking hands.
And yet, among all of them, one figure stood perfectly calm.
His black trench coat fluttered in the wind, eyes steady, face unreadable.
Eryndor Nasarik-Vaelith—the young man whose very presence had begun to warp the expectations of both families and enemies alike.
He wasn't even breathing heavily.
The blood on his knuckles wasn't his own.
High above, inside a levitating crystal chamber, the patriarchs and elders watched through the massive projection screens.
The faint hum of magic filled the air, reflecting fragments of the hunt—beasts collapsing, storms forming, lightning carving mountains.
And in one corner of the screen, the figure of Eryndor, surrounded by the corpses of monsters that should have torn through entire squads.
A low murmur passed through the observers.
"That… was supposed to be impossible,"
whispered one of the Vaelith elders, leaning forward.
"The third branch tampered with that sector. Those monsters were meant to be drawn to his scent," another hissed under his breath.
But Zephyr Nasarik, the patriarch of the main branch, didn't flinch.
His silver eyes stayed fixed on the image of Eryndor, reflecting none of the astonishment that consumed the others.
Only a faint smile curved his lips—a mixture of curiosity and deep, ancestral recognition.
"He reminds me of your father, Aldric," Zephyr said softly, glancing toward the man seated beside him.
"The same calm before chaos. The same reckless defiance."
Aldric Vaelith, Eryndor's father and the patriarch of the second branch, gave a short exhale that might've been a laugh—or pride barely contained.
"He's his grandfather's shadow," Aldric murmured.
"But sharper. More… awake."
Across the chamber, a darker energy stirred.
Figures cloaked in black robes sat apart from the others—silent, distant, and yet, present in every sense of the word.
The Solvik Branch.
At their center sat Lazarus Solvik, head lowered, fingers interlaced before his face.
He hadn't moved or spoken throughout the entire trial.
But the faint smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed his interest.
"Tampered monsters, redirected scents, specialized hunts…"
Zephyr's voice cut the air like a blade.
"And yet he won."
Lazarus raised his head slowly, his crimson eyes glinting beneath his hood.
"Won?"
His tone was smooth, amused.
"I wouldn't say won, Patriarch Zephyr. He merely survived the test that should've crushed him. But perhaps… survival is victory enough for a hybrid blood."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the faint whirring of the projection crystals.
Eryndor, unaware—or perhaps unconcerned—of the tension above, walked to the collection platform where cores were being counted.
He tossed his bag down lazily, the metallic thud echoing across the stone.
When the attendant peeked inside, his jaw fell open.
The cores weren't just many—they were radiant.
Each one pulsed with energy that belonged to monsters ranked at least two tiers higher than the average expected for the test.
The light refracted through them bathed Eryndor's calm face in shades of gold and blue.
From the stands where the younger participants waited, murmurs rose like a wave.
"He fought those alone?"
"That's impossible—those things were corrupted beasts!"
"He didn't even use a weapon…"
Eryndor turned slightly, eyes flicking toward the murmuring crowd.
Then he smiled—half-amused, half-challenging—and looked up toward the sky, as if he knew who was watching.
His fingers slid into his pockets, shoulders relaxing.
That simple motion—casual, fearless—was enough to make several observers, even seasoned warriors, blink in disbelief.
Aldric's inner monologue flickered quietly as he watched his son through the projection.
"He's standing there like it's nothing… that's just like him.
Gods, even when he was a child, the more pressure he faced, the calmer he became."
Next to him, Zephyr chuckled softly.
"He smiles at danger the way most men smile at a lover.
I see why the others can't read him."
And beneath them, within the Solvik seats, Lazarus tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
"That arrogance…" he whispered. "Or confidence.
It's in the bloodline, after all."
A faint ripple of mana pulsed from him, spreading through the air like a scent of old blood and ash.
Even the weaker elders of other families shivered, but Eryndor—far below—merely looked up, that same defiant grin widening as if he felt it.
For a single instant, their eyes met through the invisible layers of space—Lazarus's predatory crimson against Eryndor's stormy blue.
The sky crackled.
And for that moment, every branch, every patriarch, and every young heir watching the feed knew—
something more than family rivalry was stirring.
The blood of the Nasariks was waking again.
Zephyr rose slowly from his seat, robes whispering against the marble.
"Enough," he declared, his voice echoing with the command of generations.
"The hunt has ended. Record the scores, dismiss the participants, and prepare the grounds for the second trial.
The test of cores was only the beginning."
As the sound of the closing gates thundered across the sky, the clouds above the arena churned like restless beasts.
Eryndor tilted his head back, feeling the wind ripple across his face.
He could sense something brewing far beyond the horizon—something vast and dangerous.
And yet, he smiled again, whispering under his breath:
"If this is just the start… then I can't wait to see the rest."
The camera of fate pulled away—past the glowing clouds, the radiant lights, and the countless watching families—until all that remained was that solitary figure in black standing at the center of the floating arena, his shadow stretching far beyond the limits of the sky.