The sun burned low over the Flintclaw training grounds, throwing long shadows across the scarred dirt.
Captain Darius Valen stood before the gathered crowd, flanked by Dominion soldiers.
The chest of measuring crystals gleamed beside him, and before it, the chosen twenty-three warriors stood tall, waiting for the final seven to be named.
Ren Flintclaw paced behind them, arms crossed, his armor glinting in the orange light.
He wore the satisfied smile of a man who already saw himself as the tribe's future.
Darius's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.
"Those who believe themselves worthy—step forward. The last seven positions will be filled now."
A ripple passed through the onlookers. Some of the braver men hesitated, others shifted uneasily, but no one moved.
Then a small, clear voice rose from the back.
"I wish to participate."
Heads turned instantly.
Zac Terran stepped out from the crowd.
For a moment, silence. Then laughter erupted.
"The brat?!"
"Hah! The sickly one wants to join the Dominion?"
"He can barely lift a pickaxe!"
"Hey, maybe the Dominion needs someone to polish boots!"
Even some of the warriors grinned. Garrin's booming laugh echoed above the rest. "Kid, go home before you cough yourself to death!"
Ren Flintclaw didn't laugh. He simply smiled coldly, his eyes narrowing like a blade being drawn.
Darius, however, did not scold or mock. His gaze simply fixed on Zac—steady, appraising. "You wish to be tested?"
"Yes," Zac said, voice steady. "I am twelve."
Darius raised an eyebrow. "Twelve?"
The murmurs deepened.
Ren stepped forward with a mocking bow. "Captain Valen, forgive the disturbance. The boy is… confused. He's the sister's pet project—barely recovers from fever, picks stones for fun."
Darius's eyes flicked to Ren, then back to Zac. "Is that true?"
"No, sir," Zac said calmly. "I can prove myself."
The captain's expression didn't change. "Then show me."
Zac stepped forward. The laughter dimmed as he crossed the dusty ground to stand before the Dominion captain.
He took a deep breath and let his energy flow.
At once, his body shone faintly with golden light.
From the veins along his arms, shoulders, and neck, four glowing lines burst into view—bright, pure, and steady.
The air stirred. The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet.
Even the measuring crystal in Darius's chest flickered in response, humming as though recognizing the same pulse that flowed through Zac's body.
Gasps rippled through the square.
"Four… four veins?"
"That's impossible! He's a child!"
"Even Ren only reached three before his seventeenth year!"
Ren's smirk froze in place, his jaw tightening.
Zac stood silently, the golden veins pulsing in rhythm with his calm breathing. The glow bathed his dirt-streaked face in a faint light that made him seem older, sharper—something more than human.
Captain Darius studied him quietly, then nodded once. "Four Veins of Awakening. Convergence."
The words alone silenced the crowd.
For a long moment, Darius said nothing. Then, faintly, a hint of a smile touched his lips.
"Impressive. For a child of the frontier… very impressive."
He circled Zac once, his presence heavy but not hostile. "Tell me your name."
"Zac Terran."
"Terran," Darius repeated, testing the name. "You've walked the path of the Stone Serpent Flow, haven't you?"
Zac blinked in surprise. "Yes, sir."
"A crude form," Darius said, "but it teaches the body patience and the spirit rhythm. For someone your age to reach Convergence through such a primitive art… it seems this tribe is not entirely barren after all."
He turned to Ren and the Patriarch, his tone neutral but final. "This boy will be among the thirty."
Ren's face darkened, the tendons in his jaw twitching.
"Captain, with all respect, the boy is untrained. He's—"
Darius's gaze snapped toward him, and the words died in Ren's throat.
The Dominion warrior didn't need to speak; the faint flare of aura from his presence alone was enough to make Ren's knees tremble.
"I said," Darius repeated quietly, "he will be among the thirty. Do you object to the Dominion's judgment?"
Ren forced a smile, his voice shaking slightly. "Of course not, Captain. The Dominion's word is law."
Darius nodded, dismissing him with a glance. "Good. Then prepare your men."
Ren's fists tightened until the knuckles turned white, but he could do nothing. Not in front of the Dominion envoy. Not here.
The crowd parted as Darius motioned Zac to stand among the selected.
The men beside him eyed him with disbelief, some with jealousy, others with unease.
Lyra pushed through the crowd just in time to see her brother step into the line of chosen warriors. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
He turned and gave her a faint, reassuring smile.
She wanted to shout, to pull him back—but when she met his eyes, she couldn't.
There was something in his gaze now: resolve, calm, fire.
He wasn't the same boy who'd once coughed blood on their floor.
When the last name was called, Darius spoke again.
"These thirty will represent the Flintclaw Tribe at the Dominion examination. Train. Rest. Ten days from now, we march for the Citadel."
He turned, cape snapping in the wind. "And remember this: from this day on, you are no longer tribesmen. You are candidates of the Ironfang Dominion. Live—or die—as such."
The beast behind him roared, its thunderous bellow shaking the sky.
As the soldiers gathered the chosen for record, Ren Flintclaw's glare found Zac across the field, eyes burning with silent hatred.
Zac met his gaze, unflinching.
Inside his chest, the Yellow Amethyst pulsed once—cool and steady—as if whispering: Let him hate. Strength will answer for you.