Nilan woke just before dawn.
The room was quiet—unnaturally so—as though the night had not yet loosened its grip. Pale morning light slipped through the thin window and rested against the wooden ceiling above. For a long moment, he lay still, staring without focus, his thoughts refusing to fade with sleep. The dreams were gone, but the weight they left behind remained—unresolved, faintly oppressive.
He slowly sat up and pressed a palm against his chest. His heartbeat was calm, steady. Yet something inside him felt unsettled.
Questions surfaced again, just as they had the night before.
He had seen no dragon.
No phoenix.
No divine vision, no heavenly sign.
And yet, an urge had taken root within him—quiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore.
Nilan had always been ordinary. An outer disciple from a lower country, someone who blended easily into the crowd. Talent was not a word people associated with him, and he understood that better than anyone else.
Still, sometime during the night, a decision had formed.
If he did not understand something, he would ask.
If he lacked knowledge, he would seek it.
Remaining confused would change nothing.
By the time morning fully arrived, the choice had already settled.
He closed the door behind him and stepped outside. The familiar safety of the room was left behind as the morning air met him—heavier than usual. Dust drifted through the sunlight, carrying the mixed scents of damp earth and raw vegetables. His feet carried him forward, following the road that passed through the marketplace on the way to the sect.
The market was crowded.
Voices overlapped. Bargaining echoed endlessly. Footsteps never truly ceased. Everything moved constantly, yet beneath the noise lay a hollow weight. Goods were displayed openly, but scarcity lingered in people's eyes. They hurried not with excitement, but with calculation—with restraint learned over time.
Children played near the roadside. They laughed despite having no toys—only broken wood and scraps of cloth. One boy laughed too loudly, then stopped abruptly, as if the sound itself did not belong there.
An old man sat nearby, alone.
He was not begging. Nothing lay before him. People passed without slowing, without looking, as though the space he occupied was empty.
Something settled quietly in Nilan's chest.
Not anger.
Not sorrow.
Understanding.
This place did not reward hope.
It rewarded endurance.
Those who could adapt survived.
Those who could not were erased—not by cruelty, but by indifference.
The market noise faded behind him as the road narrowed and began to rise toward the hills. Ahead stood the wooden gate of the sect, its symbols worn smooth by time.
Nilan did not look back.
Questions returned—old ones he had never been able to silence. Why could he not shape wood as he imagined? Why did his thoughts refuse to take form? Why had he never seen anything extraordinary at all?
There were still no answers.
But now, he knew where to seek them.
He stepped through the gate.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the air changed. Not sharply. Not violently. But unmistakably. The world behind him felt distant, separated by more than stone and wood.
The path ahead stretched across uneven ground, bordered by low hills. Further inside, mountains loomed higher, their peaks half-hidden by thin mist.
Disciples moved through the outer grounds—some alone, some in small groups. Their robes were simple. Their expressions focused. No one spoke loudly. Even casual conversations were restrained, as if the place itself demanded discipline.
Nilan slowed his steps.
This place was ordered—but not gentle. Every movement felt measured. Every action deliberate. The buildings ahead were practical, worn by time, built not for comfort, but to endure.
Beyond the outer grounds, the path rose sharply toward the mountains.
Without being told, he could sense it.
What lay above was different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Not a place meant for everyone.
He stopped at the edge of the outer grounds and lifted his gaze toward the higher paths leading inward.
Only then did he truly understand—
Entering the sect was only the beginning.