The Crucible — Common Hall
The noise hit Ryton first.
It was a tidal wave of sound—clanging metal, shouted orders in a dozen guttural languages, the roars of beasts from distant pens, and the low, ever-present hum of dense mana saturating the air. He stepped out of the silent trial corridor into what looked like a cross between a medieval fortress courtyard and a futuristic transit hub.
The space was cavernous, the ceiling lost in shadows hundreds of feet above. Floating platforms moved along invisible tracks, ferrying figures of all shapes and sizes between towering structures of stone, metal, and crystalline growths that jutted from the walls. He saw hulking, four-armed giants laden with sacks of glowing ore, lithe beings with skin like polished bark whispering to floating plants, and humanoids in sleek armor that flickered with holographic displays.
And they all had one thing in common: power. It radiated from them, thick and varied. Some felt like walking bonfires, others like deep, cold wells, others like swirling storms.
No one paid him any immediate attention. A kid in a bloodstained jacket was apparently not the strangest thing here.
[Welcome to the multiverse's dumping ground for gifted problems. Try not to stare. It's rude.]
Ryton closed his gaping mouth and schooled his face into a mask of casual observation. The charm was automatic now—a relaxed posture, an easy expression that suggested he belonged here, even as his heart hammered against his ribs. He walked forward, following the flow of foot traffic toward a central plaza dominated by a massive, rotating hologram that displayed shifting runes and symbols.
As he walked, he tested his new senses. A gentle mental nudge activated Wargrave Eyes at its lowest setting, just enough to get an overlay.
The world exploded with information. Mana flowed everywhere—in vibrant rivers through the air, in dense pools around certain individuals, in complex circuits within the floating platforms. He could see stress points in the stone archway ahead, weak junctions in the armor of a passing warrior, and the faint, flickering exhaustion in the mana signature of a robed figure hurrying past. It was overwhelming, like trying to drink from a firehose. He dialed it back to a bare trickle, letting the information become a subtle background hum.
He needed to get his bearings. Find Liora. Understand the rules of this place.
A hand fell on his shoulder.
He didn't flinch. He turned, the movement smooth, his body already analyzing the threat before his eyes registered it.
The man was human, or close to it. Late twenties, with a tired but sharp face, short-cropped brown hair, and eyes that held the same wary intelligence Ryton saw in his own mirror. He wore simple, durable clothes—a grey tunic and pants—that were clean but showed signs of wear. His smile was tired but genuine.
"New meat," the man said, his voice a low, friendly rasp. "Just came through the trial gate, right? Saw the light show. Sentinel Golem usually doesn't end in a pile of gravel. Nice work."
Ryton assessed him. Wargrave Eyes, at this low level, showed a mana core—smaller than Liora's, but dense and tightly controlled. No immediate hostile intent. The golden thread of connection he'd seen with Liora wasn't there. Just… recognition.
"Thanks," Ryton said, letting his charm do the work. He offered an easy smile. "It was having a bad day. I just helped it along. I'm Ryton."
"Kael," the man replied, releasing his shoulder. "I'm what passes for a welcome committee around here. For the humans, at least. You look like you've been dragged through a portal and a rock fight. Come on. There's a refectory. You look like you could use something that isn't… whatever that is on your jacket."
Ryton glanced down at the dried blood and frost giant ichor. "It's a new fashion. 'Apocalypse chic.'"
Kael snorted. "It's not catching on. Follow me."
He led Ryton away from the main plaza, down a side corridor that was quieter, lined with simple wooden doors. The atmosphere shifted from chaotic grandeur to something more… utilitarian. Like the barracks of an extremely strange army.
"So, The Crucible," Ryton ventured as they walked. "It's a school?"
"It's a holding tank," Kael corrected bluntly. "A sanctuary, they call it. Really, it's where the major powers send the awakenings they don't know what to do with. The ones too powerful to ignore, too dangerous to keep in their own backyards, and too politically tricky to just kill. You get trained, assessed, and then… placed."
"Placed."
"Recruited. Indentured. Adopted. Whatever you want to call it." Kael pushed open a heavy door, and the smell of stew and fresh bread washed over them. The refectory was large, filled with long tables. Maybe two dozen people were scattered around, eating in small groups or alone. They were a mix—some clearly human, others with pointed ears or faint scales or odd eye colors. All young. All wearing that same look of wary adaptation.
"You're all… like me?" Ryton asked quietly.
"Awakened from a Mortal plane? Yeah, most of us. A few are from higher planes but were deemed 'unmanageable' at home." Kael grabbed a tray from a stack and handed one to Ryton. "Grab food. It's not great, but it's infused with low-grade mana. Helps with recovery."
They served themselves from a steaming pot—a thick, hearty stew with chunks of unknown meat and root vegetables—and took a seat at an empty table near the back.
Ryton ate. The food was bland but filling, and he could feel a gentle warmth spreading through him, soothing his still-healing bruises and replenishing his stamina. The simple, normal act of eating in a quiet room was surreal after the last hour.
"So what's your deal, Ryton?" Kael asked between bites. "Earth, right? I'm from a world called Terra-7. Got pulled in six months ago when our mana tide hit. My system's Aura-weaving. Not flashy, but useful." He gestured, and a faint, shimmering field of light flickered around his free hand for a second before winking out. "What did you get? The gravel trick suggests something punchy."
Ryton chewed slowly, weighing his options. Complete honesty was foolish. But complete isolation was too. Kael seemed like a potential ally—a guide in this madness.
"Something like that," he said finally. "Combat-focused. Still figuring it out." He decided to test the waters. "Have you seen an elf? Silverwood clan, maybe? Named Liora?"
Kael's eyebrows rose. "Liora? You came in with her? Yeah, she's around. High-tier observer. Not many people get personal escorts from an Alfheim scout. You must have made an impression." He studied Ryton more closely. "What are you, some kind of elemental prodigy?"
Before Ryton could fashion a reply, a commotion erupted at the entrance to the refectory.
Three figures strode in. They were humanoid, but taller, their features too perfect, their skin seeming to glow with a soft, inner light. They wore robes of pristine white and silver. Angels, Ryton's mind supplied, though they looked more like arrogant bureaucrats than divine warriors. Their presence immediately chilled the room. Conversations died.
The lead angel, a male with cold blue eyes and wings of condensed light folded behind him, scanned the room. His gaze passed over the other tables and landed unerringly on Ryton.
"You," the angel said, his voice melodious but devoid of warmth. "The new emergence from Earth. You will come with us. The Seraphic Conclave has questions."
Every instinct in Ryton screamed. This wasn't an invitation. It was an extraction order.
Kael tensed beside him. "Caelum," he muttered under his breath. "They're from the Seventh Celestial Plane. Think they own the place."
Ryton didn't stand up. He took another spoonful of stew, chewing slowly. He swallowed, then looked at the angel with a politely curious expression. "I'm eating. Do you have an appointment?"
A faint ripple went through the room. Someone choked back a laugh.
The angel's perfect features tightened. "This is not a request, mortal. Your energy signature is an anomaly. You will be examined for stability and compliance with Cosmic Law."
"See, that sounds an awful lot like 'dissected,'" Ryton said, his voice light, conversational. He set his spoon down. "And I just got here. I haven't even had the tour. How about you leave a leaflet, and I'll get back to you?"
The angel took a step forward. His two companions fanned out. "Your defiance is noted. And foolish. You are in no position to refuse."
The calm of combat settled over Ryton. He was still seated, at a disadvantage. The refectory was full of potential collateral damage. His new skills were untested against beings of this tier. But yielding wasn't an option.
He was about to speak when another voice cut through the tension, warm and familiar.
"He's with me, Caelum."
Liora stood in the doorway behind the angels. She had changed from her scout leathers into simpler, dark green robes, but her spear was in her hand, its tip resting casually on the stone floor. Her expression was calm, but her emerald eyes were hard.
The lead angel, Caelum, didn't turn. "This does not concern Alfheim, scout."
"It concerns a being I vouched for and brought to sanctuary," Liora said, walking forward. The other occupants of the refectory watched, rapt. "The Crucible's charter grants a one-week grace period for assessment by neutral parties before any faction can make a formal claim. You are in violation."
"Anomalies supersede charter," Caelum said dismissively. "His duality is a breach. A danger."
"Then petition the Crucible Council," Liora said, stopping a few feet away. Her tone was final. "Until they rule, he is under my observation. And I say he stays here. Now, you are disturbing our meal."
For a long moment, the air crackled with silent power. Caelum's wings gave a single, sharp flick. He finally turned his head slightly, looking at Liora with disdain. "This is not over, elf. The Conclave will be informed of your obstruction."
"I tremble with anticipation," Liora said dryly.
With a last, icy glare at Ryton, Caelum turned and strode from the refectory, his retinue following. The door swung shut behind them, and the room seemed to exhale.
Liora walked over and sat down across from Ryton, ignoring Kael's stunned look. She looked Ryton up and down. "You're intact. And you've already made powerful enemies. Efficient."
"It's a gift," Ryton said, his heart still pounding. The combat calm receded, replaced by a buzzing awareness of how close that had been. "Thanks for the save."
"I didn't save you. I enforced the rules." She nodded at his bowl. "Finish your food. Then we talk. You have a lot to learn, and very little time before the vultures circle in earnest."
Ryton picked up his spoon. His hand was steady. He caught Kael's eye. The man was looking between him and Liora with a new, deep curiosity.
"So," Kael said slowly. "Not an elemental prodigy, then."
Ryton just smiled and took a bite. The stew was getting cold, but it still tasted better than being an angel's lab specimen.
After he finished, Liora led him out of the refectory and up a series of winding stone staircases to a small, spartan chamber with a single window that looked out over the chaotic vista of The Crucible. It was clearly a temporary quarters—a bed, a desk, a chest.
"This is yours. For now," Liora said, closing the door. She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. "The angels won't be the last. The demons will come, offering power. The dwarves will come, offering gear in exchange for service. The independent factions will make their pitches. Your one-week grace period is both a shield and a timer."
Ryton sat on the edge of the bed. The fatigue of the day—the awakening, the fights, the planar jump, the trial—was finally catching up to him. "What do you suggest?"
"You need a patron. A faction to back you, to provide training and resources, and to shield you from the worst of the politics."
"And you're offering? On behalf of Alfheim?"
She shook her head. "No. My people are observers. We don't recruit Primordials. It's… politically volatile. But I can guide you to make a smart choice."
He looked at her, really looked. With his normal eyes. He saw the elf who had fought beside him, who had stepped between him and angels. He saw not just a guide, but someone who, against her better judgment, had gotten invested.
"Why?" he asked, the charm dropping for a moment, revealing genuine curiosity. "Why help me? You said I complicate your report."
Liora was silent for a while, gazing out the window at the floating islands under the broken sky. "I've seen countless awakenings," she said quietly. "I've seen the hungry, the arrogant, the terrified. You're different. You fight with a smile. You face world-ending threats with a joke. And when you looked into the pool to find The Crucible… I saw the eyes of something old and terrifying in your reflection. But you're still the boy who tried to deliver my curry." She looked back at him. "The multiverse is full of monsters and gods. It could use someone who remembers what it's like to be human."
The words hung in the air, more profound than any system notification.
Ryton felt a strange tightness in his chest. It had been a long time since anyone had seen anything in him worth protecting.
He broke the moment with a grin, leaning back on his hands. "So, you think I'm cute and terrifying. I can work with that."
She rolled her eyes, but a smile touched her lips. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins. You have a week to get strong enough that when the offers come, you're choosing them, not begging for them."
She turned to leave.
"Liora," he called out softly.
She paused at the door.
"Thank you. For the curry order. It was a hell of a first delivery."
This time, her smile was real, bright and warm. "It was extra spicy. Just like I wanted."
She left, closing the door behind her.
Ryton lay back on the thin mattress, staring at the stone ceiling. The events of the day played through his mind like a fever dream. He brought up his system interface, his eyes lingering on the 50 Destruction Points and the locked ??? item in the shop. On the descriptions of his bloodline and physique.
He was in over his head. He was a target. He was alone in a universe of predators.
But he was also alive. He had power. He had a snarky system, a guide who seemed to believe in him, and a room of his own that wasn't a foster home or a street corner.
He thought of Kael's weary camaraderie. Of Liora's unexpected loyalty. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest, pushing back against the cold calculation of survival.
For the first time since he could remember, Ryton Dragonheart wasn't just surviving. He was building something. And he'd be damned if he'd let some angels, demons, or cosmic laws tear it down.
He closed his eyes, a faint, genuine smile on his face as sleep claimed him.