"Arman, you're coming with us—to the Order of Aethen."
The woman's voice was flat, calm, and unnervingly certain. Her face was unreadable, like a statue carved to conceal emotion, and yet her words carried an invisible weight — the kind that made the room feel smaller.
The fluorescent light above his bed flickered, throwing brief shadows across the walls. The faint scent of incense still hung in the air from the stick he'd burned earlier, now cold and lifeless in its tray. His blanket clung damp to his legs, twisted like a rope, a reminder of the uneasy sleep she had just broken.
Arman shot upright, eyes narrowing.
"What the hell is the Order of Aethen?" he snapped. "And what are you doing in my room? Who the hell are—"
He never finished.
THUD!
A sharp, blinding pain erupted at the base of his neck. The world spun sideways, his breath caught in his throat, and the floor seemed to lurch upward to meet him.
What the hell just happened? he thought, seconds before the darkness swallowed him whole.
He didn't even see her move.
One moment, she was standing across the room. The next, she'd crossed the distance in a blur, striking a precise point at the base of his neck with the edge of her hand. His body was out cold before it even hit the ground.
The boy standing beside her shifted uneasily. "Miss… why did you knock him out? We could've just explained everything."
She rolled her eyes with the kind of impatience that said she'd rather be doing anything else. "That would've been a pain. This is faster. Besides…" she glanced at Arman's unconscious form, "…we'll tell him everything once we reach the Order."
With casual strength, she slung him over her shoulder like a sack of rice. A faint, unnatural hum filled the room. The air warped in front of her, distorting like heat rising off summer asphalt, until a shimmering rift tore open — a jagged oval of rippling light.
She stepped through, and the distortion sealed behind her with a hiss.
The room was left in perfect stillness, save for the faint flicker of the ceiling light.
Later…
"Hey, kid. Wake up."
SPLASH!
An icy shock slammed against Arman's face. He jerked upright, gasping and sputtering as cold water dripped down his chin and soaked into his shirt.
The same woman stood before him, a smug smirk playing on her lips. "You weren't waking up, so I figured… what better way than a splash of water, right?"
Arman wiped his face with his sleeve, blinking hard. "What the hell, lady?!" He scrambled to his feet, fists clenching. "Where am I? And yeah—you knocked me out!"
She raised her hands in lazy mock surrender. "Easy now, kid. First, we're just here to talk. Second—I don't want to kill you… well, not yet, at least."
Arman froze, scowling. "Not yet? Are you insane?"
Before she could answer, a calm voice resonated in his mind — a voice that never failed to steady his breathing.
"Easy, Arman. Don't do anything reckless. Observe first… then act."
Master Ievon.
Arman exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. He lowered his fists, though his eyes remained sharp. "Fine. Miss, why did you bring me here? Where exactly are we? And who are you?"
She smirked, folding her arms. "Now you're talking like a gentleman. Name's Sarah. Come on — I'll show you."
They stepped into a wide corridor lined with dark stone, veins of glowing blue light running through it like pulsing veins. The air was cold, carrying the faint scent of metal and something older — something that felt like it had been here long before either of them existed. Blue torches flickered on both sides, casting shifting shadows across the carved runes in the walls.
They passed archways that opened into twisting halls, staircases that climbed into shadow, and balconies that overlooked a sprawling expanse below. Arman slowed, his eyes widening.
The underground city stretched like a labyrinth — buildings of stone and crystal connected by narrow bridges, courtyards, and elevated walkways. People moved with purpose through the maze, their steps sharp and confident. Some looked younger than him, yet each carried themselves like a trained fighter, their bodies outlined in faint, shifting auras.
In the center stood the grand structure.
Not quite a castle, but no less imposing — towering spires rose like spears, and crystal-laced pillars shimmered faintly under a pale blue glow that radiated from the cavern's unseen ceiling.
Flying high above was a massive flag. The design stole Arman's breath.
A diamond-shaped emblem glowed at its center, its core swirling with ethereal light. Four symbols surrounded it — Mind, Body, Spirit, Duty — each etched with delicate precision. A silver ring encircled the design, as if binding fate itself. The banner's fabric shimmered in hues of silver, deep blue, and violet.
Sarah followed his gaze. "Welcome to the Order of Aethen. This is the beginning, Arman. And there's no turning back now."
He tore his eyes from the flag. "Why did you bring me here?"
Her tone sharpened. "We brought you here for your Trial."
"Trial? What's that supposed to mean?"
"You'll know soon enough."
A squad approached — men and women clad in black tactical suits, sleek and reinforced with glowing spirit-weave that pulsed like living circuitry. The one in front, a tall man with a presence that demanded silence, studied Arman for a moment before speaking.
"So this is the kid?" he asked Sarah.
She nodded.
The man turned to Arman. "Come with us."
Arman glanced at Sarah.
"You don't have a choice," she said flatly.
He sighed and followed, boots echoing on the cold stone. The captain walked beside him.
"You'll now be presented before the Supreme Council," the man said without looking at him. "Choose your words carefully. One mistake, and your fate could change forever."
They stopped before massive double doors, each forged from black steel and etched with runes that pulsed in rhythm with the faint hum in the air. The guards stepped aside.
DANG!
The doors swung inward.
Only the captain entered with Arman. The chamber was cavernous, the curved desk at the far end carved from silverstone, catching the blue torchlight like liquid metal. Ten Elders sat behind it, their robes heavy and dark, their eyes sharp enough to pierce through bone. The weight of their presence pressed down on him — invisible, but crushing.
One Elder spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "The Trial now begins."
He studied Arman like he was measuring a blade. "As a newly awakened Spiritbound, you have shown potential. You have committed no crime. You have even tried to protect others. For this, we offer you a choice."
He leaned forward, the torchlight casting long shadows across his lined face. "Join the Order of Aethen. Train. Learn. Fight for this world."
The pressure in the room thickened, wrapping around him like chains. Old geezers or not… these guys are monsters, Arman thought.
"Master Ievon… what should I do?" he asked in his mind.
"I think you should agree," Ievon replied, his tone calm but urgent. "This place can help you grow stronger. And you'll need strength, Arman. The Voidborn will come for you again."
Arman's jaw tightened. He looked the Elder straight in the eye. "Alright… I accept."
The room went still. The Elders exchanged looks, surprise flickering in their expressions.
"You accept so easily?" one asked.
Arman lifted a shoulder. "I don't see why not."
The Elder sitting at the far left — hair half white, half black, tied into a neat ponytail — smirked. "Well, Samarth… he is your grandson, after all."
Arman blinked. "Wait… what?"
Samarth rose with a booming laugh. "Hah! I knew it the second I saw him! Kid, your father Rafiq is my son — which makes you my grandson."
Arman's jaw dropped. "My dad told me you died before I was born."
Samarth's grin faltered, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, he said that, did he?" Then he slammed a hand on the desk, making the silverstone groan. "That brat! He could've said I was off doing important things! But no, he tells you I'm dead?! Unbelievable!"
Arman lifted his hands. "So… you're not dead?"
Samarth leaned forward with a smirk. "Do I look dead to you?"
Arman muttered, "Honestly… not sure."
Some of the Elders chuckled. Samarth ignored them, straightening. "You can call me Granddaddy."
"Yeah, no thanks," Arman said flatly. "Gramps will do."
Samarth gasped. "Gramps? That makes me sound ancient!"
"You are ancient," Arman shot back.
The chamber erupted in laughter, the tension easing for the first time.
When the laughter died down, Arman cleared his throat. "One condition. I'm not staying here forever. I need to be able to go home."
Samarth waved a hand. "Relax, kid. Think of this place like college. You'll train here in sessions — then you can go home. But when you're here, you give it everything."
Arman exhaled. "Alright. That works."
"Good." Samarth grinned. "Your first day of 'college' starts tomorrow."
"Great," Arman muttered. "Back to school all over again."
As Arman left the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind him, Ievon's voice echoed in his mind.
"You just met your grandfather, and I didn't sense a drop of excitement from you."
"Because I didn't feel anything," Arman replied. "If my father never told me, there's a reason. And I trust him more than anyone."
Ievon was silent for a moment. "Hmph… maybe you're right. But the truth, kid… sooner or later, it'll find you — whether you want it or not."
Arman said nothing, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked the cold, rune-lined corridor. The laughter of the Elders faded behind him, replaced by the quiet hum of the ancient stone.
Tomorrow, his Trial would truly begin.