A giant, almost transparent orb drifted into being above the platform—smooth, round, and slowly spinning as if moved by a quiet invisible current.
*whirrr...
It hovered only inches over the heads of Razan and the other Eshari, close enough that its soft hum could be felt in the chest.
Pale streaks of light rotated inside it like rings, crossing and weaving through one another.
Wherever the light passed, faces, armor plates, and fabrics picked up a faint shine, giving everything a calm glow.
Heads tilted up across the crowd at the same moment, and a hush fell as people stared, waiting for what it would do.
"You all must now be tested," the elder announced, his voice carrying easily over the gathered.
He watched the orb like an old friend, then looked back at the sea of faces.
A small, knowing smile formed—no mockery, only certainty.
The staff in his hand gave a mild pulse, and the orb's hum answered, steady and even, as if the two were linked.
"As you may all know," he went on, pacing a few steps along the platform's edge,
"before arriving here, you must have seen a projection-like image that emerged before the returning commenced."
The reaction came in waves.
A human near the front rubbed his temples and muttered, "...Aye, we did… I thought that was a trick of the eye…"
Beside him, an elf in travel leathers narrowed his gaze.
"...It was the first I have seen such a thing… such magic is akin to those Illusion arts from House Irideth…"
A younger voice somewhere in the middle—likely human—let out a shaky laugh.
"...Yeah, it's like those system things I've read in fiction…"
The comments stacked and overlapped, small pieces of the same truth expressed in a dozen ways.
Razan kept his eyes on the orb, feeling the low vibration it set into the stone under his boots.
Haeryn, close at his side, followed the elder's every word while sneaking quick glances at the different races around them—
horned, red-skinned, long-eared, broad-shouldered—
each reacting with the same mix of caution and fragile hope.
The crowd's murmurs rose, thinned, and rose again, until they matched the orb's rhythm like a shared breath.
The longer they listened, the clearer the pattern became.
People from different worlds, different histories, different names for the same strange event—all describing an identical moment that had marked the end of their old lives and the start of whatever this was.
Voices and murmurs filled the area as the Eshari had varying reactions.
Yet they all agreed into one thing.
They too saw the abnormal projection emerge in front of them when their world had fallen.
The elder did not hurry.
He shifted his footing on the platform, raised his staff, and let it hum—
*whirrr…
a low, steady sound that felt like it came from inside the stone itself.
Fine threads of light ran up the length of the wood and gathered at the crystal.
With his other hand, he pressed his palm flat to his chest and closed his eyes, as if checking the rhythm of his own life before calling on the power above.
The orb answered at once:
its slow spin quickened;
its surface rippled like a calm pool touched by a single drop;
*vwoom!
then a clear tone rang out and spread through the air in even waves.
When the tone settled, the orb brightened.
Gold poured across it from within, not blinding, but full and warm, and the glow rolled outward until the whole terrace took on a faint, sunlit color.
The light carried heat like a summer morning.
Shadows softened.
Edges gleamed.
Razan could see the glow settle along armor buckles, bowstrings, horn ridges, and the polished heads of dwarf hammers.
Dust motes turned to tiny sparks and drifted up, caught by the orb's pull.
Gasps broke first from the front rows.
"...S-Class! The elder is truly one of the disciples of Vrynn!" a voice blurted, half whisper, half shout, the words tumbling over themselves.
Another voice—older, steady—followed with a firm note of respect:
"...A master sorcerer, and a powerful one at that…"
The sound of it spread, and with it the mood of the crowd shifted from fear to awe.
People who had been crouched on their heels stood up straighter.
Those gripping weapons loosened their hands.
Even Haeryn's shoulders eased a fraction as she watched the light steady and hold.
The denizens of the Origin showed their regard each in their own way.
Common folk covered their mouths, eyes bright, some craning for a better view, others bowing their heads as if the light itself were holy.
Adventurers and warriors traded short nods and simple looks: the wordless agreement of people who recognize raw force and the control behind it.
A few tested their stance, as if feeling how the energy pressed on the ground.
On the other hand, Nobles and their retainers did not gasp, they simply watched.
Their faces stayed calm, their hands still, their eyes moving from the orb to the elder to the mass of Eshari and back again, weighing the pattern of the moment.
They already knew how powerful the elder was, so this sight wasn't foreign.
.
.
.
After a few more moments,
The elder then opened his eyes, and the glow pulsed once in answer, like breath.
He did not boast or posture; he simply let the working stand.
In that calm display, the purpose of the test became clear to anyone paying attention:
not trickery, not a show, but a measure.
A scale to weigh the Eshari, and what power they could possess—in which in return, assess the benefits they would gain.
And that was what the nobles waited for.
The gleam in their eyes said more than words ever could.
They were not here to admire an orb of light or witness some sacred ritual—
They were here for assets.
For them, every "test" was a marketplace, and every Eshari that stepped forward was a potential weapon, tool, or investment waiting to be claimed.
When opportunities like these presented themselves, it was only natural that men and women of noble blood gathered like hawks circling prey. Influence was a currency, and this event was the exchange.
Power, after all, meant little without the hunger to take more of it.
As what is power without greed for a man that bleeds blue?
And by "blue," it meant those who were born into noble blood—a phrase that had echoed through generations across the continent of Vrynn.
It was a saying used by the proud and repeated by the ambitious:
a reminder that nobility was both privilege and poison.
The murmurs grew louder as the testing finally began.
One by one, each Eshari stepped forward and lined toward the Elder, their forms bathed in light as the orb above spun faster, humming in response to the strength within them.
The air thrummed with a strange energy—anticipation mixed with fear, awe, and greed all at once.
The light reflected in the nobles' eyes like a sea of fire.
Razan and Haeryn found themselves joining the growing line, their place among the countless others waiting for judgment.
Haeryn's gaze flicked toward Razan, a small breath escaping her lips.
"Funny turn of events huh?," she murmured.
"Yeah," Razan replied with a half hearted scoff, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at the glowing orb that pulsed above like a waiting heart.
"Let's see what fate's got planned this time."