The hall of the Thistle Sect was filled with smoke, dust, and the faint echo of murmurs.
Disciples lined the walls, some still bruised from earlier skirmishes. Jorin Vale stood near the front, smirking when AION was led inside with the binding talisman still clinging faintly to his wrists.
Elder Kase sat at the far end on his patched chair, his cataract eye clouded, his other sharp. His staff leaned against the dais, worn from decades of use.
"Bring him forward," Kase ordered.
The wardens pushed AION into the circle drawn on the floor. Chalk lines glowed faintly, old inscriptions layered over newer ones. Four stones anchored the directions.
> Status: Binding net 63% degraded.
Observation: Circle intended to test flow alignment.
Riven hissed in AION's mind. Don't fight it. Don't show your lines. They'll kill you for less.
---
The lantern-man placed incense sticks at three points. Smoke curled upward, then bent sideways as if searching.
Two disciples began chanting. The chalk warmed beneath AION's feet.
"Circle marks the false," one of the wardens muttered. "If it shines, he is no man."
The Qi threads inside AION stirred. The net tried to force them into a path they didn't belong. The mismatch burned like misfit gears grinding.
> Idea: misalign posture deliberately to mask divergence.
Risk: moderate fatigue, reduced credibility.
AION slouched slightly, adjusted the angle of his hips and spine. His breath cadence slowed, shallow and irregular. The Qi snagged, dimmed. The chalk flickered but didn't blaze.
"See?" the box-man said. "Circle dims. He's no monster."
"Or he's clever," another whispered.
Kase's sharp eye never left AION.
---
"Name," the Elder said.
"AION."
"Not Riven Tam?"
"Riven is gone," AION said evenly.
A ripple went through the hall. Some disciples whispered, others crossed arms. Jorin laughed softly. "He even admits it. A husk with a thief inside."
"Silence," Kase snapped.
He leaned forward, voice low but carrying. "What are you, if not Riven?"
"A lattice of intention and choice," AION said. His voice came flat. Then, seeing confusion spread, he added: "I learn."
The disciples muttered louder. Kase raised a hand and they fell quiet.
"What do you learn?"
"Patterns."
Kase's staff twitched. Just a fraction. His lips tightened. "Who taught you that word?"
"No one," AION said. "I saw it."
---
The hall stilled. The incense sputtered. Kase stood slowly, joints stiff. He stepped down into the circle, robes brushing chalk.
He raised a trembling hand and pressed two fingers to AION's forehead.
"You are not Riven. That much is true. But you are not nothing."
The touch lingered. The old man's good eye studied him as if weighing grain.
"You will take the Trial of Entry," Kase said at last. "If you pass, you eat at our fire. If you fail, the Hollow keeps your bones. Until then, no privilege. You sleep in the east sheds."
Jorin sneered, about to protest, but Kase cut him off with a barked, "Enough."
The talisman thread was cut. It fell limp to the ground. The ink bled into the chalk and died.
---
They led AION outside to the yard. A thin boy with shaved head handed him a bowl of millet and root. "Eat," the boy said quickly. "I'm Pell."
"AION."
"I know," Pell said. His voice dropped. "Jorin will try to kill you in the Trial. Don't be stupid."
AION ate. The millet stuck in his teeth, the root burned faintly. He logged calories, heat, texture.
Riven's whisper came tired. This is how the valley works. Body and blood. Qi is rare. Mages rarer. Don't speak of Origin. They'll stone you.
AION did not answer. He finished the food, then lay in the east sheds, straw under his head, shard hidden at his side.
The night was restless. He practiced breath cadence in silence, mapping the Qi threads. One slid a fraction further than before. Progress.
> Hypothesis: Lower channel partially opened.
Cost: fatigue spike.
Outside, dogs barked once, then fell quiet. Jorin's shadow lingered on the shed roof, watching.
AION kept still. He whispered only one word to himself before sleep claimed the body:
"Pattern."