The arena was still shaking with whispers when Kaelith left the stage. Blood dripped steadily from his lip, his ribs screamed with every breath, but his steps never faltered.
He had defeated Crimson Lotus.
He had defeated Zenith.
He had proven himself before the entire academy.
And yet, he knew this was only the beginning.
---
In the quiet of the corridor, a familiar presence approached.
"Reckless," Vice-Master Sylara said, her voice calm but edged. She appeared at his side, her robes flowing like silver flame, her sharp eyes scanning the bruises, burns, and fractures littering his body.
"You could have died."
Kaelith's mouth twitched into the faintest smile. "But I didn't."
Sylara sighed, a rare sound from the usually untouchable Vice-Master. She extended her hand, and light surged, soothing some of his injuries. "Do not think willpower alone makes you invincible. Will is a blade. Without tempering, it breaks."
"I'll sharpen it," Kaelith replied, steady.
Her gaze lingered on him, then softened slightly. "Good." She gestured. "Come. The rewards are to be distributed."
---
The trial hall glittered with light as the victors gathered. Students whispered among themselves, sneaking glances at Kaelith — no longer mocking, but wary, curious.
On the dais, Master Orion himself stood tall, flanked by Sylara and Kaelen. His booming voice filled the hall.
"You have endured the second trial. Through blood, through will, through strength, you have proven worthy to continue in this academy. From today onward, your path is no longer that of children, but of cultivators who may one day step into the heavens themselves."
He raised a hand, and attendants stepped forward with trays.
"Each victor shall receive rewards fitting their achievement. A Fifth-Grade Cultivation Pill, to temper your foundation. A martial arts manual — your choice between sword, fist, or movement technique. And a spirit-forged manual, suited for your path."
The trays gleamed with jade bottles, scrolls, and books bound in golden seals.
When Kaelith's name was called, the hall fell into hushed silence.
He strode forward, calm as ever, though the sting of a hundred gazes pressed against his back. The attendant presented his tray: a small jade bottle glowing faintly, and three manuals etched with shimmering sigils.
Orion's voice echoed. "Choose."
Kaelith studied them. One bore the image of a blade, another a clenched fist, the last a cloud-like swirl of movement.
He reached for the fist manual. His path was one of direct force, will carried through knuckles and bone.
His hand closed around the book, and for a brief instant, he felt it hum — as if acknowledging his choice.
Orion nodded. "Kaelith Varion. You have fought not only with strength but with spirit. See that your future does not squander this chance."
Kaelith bowed slightly, then turned, rewards in hand. The whispers followed.
"He chose fists…?"
"He doesn't even need a weapon?"
"…He's mad. Or he's onto something."
---
Later, in the solitude of his assigned dorm, Kaelith set the items before him.
The Fifth-Grade Pill shimmered faintly, its fragrance filling the room. The manuals pulsed with latent power, their knowledge sealed within.
He exhaled. Step by step. One victory at a time.
Lying back, exhaustion finally claimed him. He sank into deep, dreamless sleep.
---
When dawn came, sunlight spilled across the academy grounds. Kaelith rose, his body still battered but his spirit steady.
He left his dorm, manuals tucked at his side. The air was different today.
Disciples who once sneered at him now glanced with hesitation. Some even nodded faintly in acknowledgment. A few younger students whispered as he passed:
"Is that him? Kaelith Varion?"
"The one who beat Zenith…"
"…He's terrifying."
Not all were convinced — glares still followed him, hatred simmered in jealous eyes — but for the first time, respect threaded the whispers.
And then, as he crossed the courtyard, a group of students approached.
They were not from Aurelius, nor from the top clans. Their robes marked them as disciples from mid-ranked houses, ones who had fought and bled in the trials but lacked the glory of Zenith or Drakonis.
The tallest of them scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh… Kaelith, right? That was… that was insane, what you did."
Another chimed in, a small grin on his lips. "Stormborn, Crimson Lotus, even Zenith — you shut them all up. Respect."
Kaelith paused, studying them. Their smiles were uncertain, their eyes careful. Not mockery. Not pity. Genuine recognition.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he gave a single nod. "Mm."
The group exchanged glances, relieved. One even laughed. "Guess the rumors were right — he doesn't talk much."
They left with lighter steps, their laughter lingering.
Kaelith watched them go, his lips curving into the faintest smile.
Not everyone saw him as a failure anymore. Some, at least, had begun to see him as he was.
And though the path ahead was long, bloody, and filled with gods who wished his end, Kaelith Varion knew one thing:
For the first time, the multiverse itself had begun to whisper his name not as scorn… but as promise.