The young man remained still.
The center of the plaza embraced him without claiming him. His hands traced invisible measures; the air bent, obedient, to each curve of his broad, measured gestures.
"Alright, dear students… and promises."
The voice did not seek volume. It settled. He used his hands as one who marks invisible measures.
"My name is Ren-shi. Path of Transformation. My law object…"
He pulled the black cloth from the chest pocket.
He did not unfold it completely. It was enough to show a corner, obedient, still seeming to breathe.
"…is this napkin."
He held it with affected pride, as if presenting a relic or a joke too old to explain.
"It's called Dream-Catcher. I can transform into what I dream. And I will also be the one to teach you… and guide you to the most terrible hells."
The sphere All or Nothing vibrated behind Arhelia. She barely turned her head; a gesture, and the object obeyed, sliding out of the threshold without sound, as if it had always been there.
Crimson eyes tracked her. The pause fell from his lips. Silence stretched over the plaza like a shadow.
"Today, for example, I had a fabulous dream. Right with my dear companion. In bed."
The red of his eyes followed her, unmoving, like a promise hammered into the gloom. He traced his tongue over his lips with deliberate slowness, leaving a wet gleam that hinted at something deeper, darker.
His hand pointed to the figure beside him; the fingers slid with ambiguous intent, dangerously close to forbidden.
The woman looked at him.
It was not surprise. It was accumulated weariness. Her brow furrowed just slightly, like a controlled crack. The signal passed unnoticed; the smile remained intact.
She sighed.
A minimal sound, enough to cut the scene.
"Then," she said, "you are the new Zverkhān."
She took a step. Not toward them: toward the correct space.
"My name is Nixie. Path of the Elements. White Metal."
Her voice was clear. Unadorned. It did not impose: it affirmed.
"And don't pay attention to this idiot. Although, in other matters…" She inclined her head just slightly. "…he will be your master."
Silence fell over the plaza.
Not like a pause.
Like a rupture.
The low columns cast no shadow. The white grass reflected the light with indifference. The threshold bore the weight without reacting.
Kael scratched his forehead.
Not from discomfort. From habit. He diverted his gaze to an eroded pillar, as if the cracks demanded his attention. His body rested awkwardly on the crutch. He was learning.
Arhelia said nothing at first.
Her chest contracted. She coughed. The sound was wet, short. She spat old blood onto the white grass. She did not clean it. Did not apologize.
Nixie looked at her.
"How are you, Arhelia?"
"Bad."
The answer was immediate. Without drama.
"Good," said Nixie. "Your arm will recover in three days. Other injuries as well. You will rest for—"
Ren-shi interrupted with a brief laugh.
"For the other tasks you must complete if you wish to survive the Law Trials."
He pocketed the black cloth. The gesture was almost affectionate.
"Honestly…" he continued, "you passed this survival task with a seven."
He looked at both of them. Measured them again.
"For ordinary mortals… you performed acceptably badly."
Arhelia frowned.
She did not understand.
Kael turned his face toward him. Surprise was not fully hidden. Nor was oddness. Something didn't fit. Something had already been told without them knowing.
The threshold remained intact.
The measurement had begun.
"And now what should we do, master?" asked Kael.
The question did not advance. It stayed in the middle of the plaza, held by crutch and fatigue.
Ren-shi answered without looking at him.
"Learn the concepts."
The classics.
He sighed exaggeratedly, as one announcing a task unworthy of their talent.
"First: present your paths of law. Do not fear: knowing them gives honor. Gives respect to the rival. Even when defeat arrives, heavy, and sits without words."
Arhelia lifted her face.
The bandage across her chest tightened with the movement. She hesitated for an instant. Not from fear, but from calculation. Then she spoke.
"Elements. Light and darkness. I can manipulate both. And during those months wounded… the darkness responded better."
Ren-shi inclined his head, satisfied. Not approving: registering.
Kael cleared his throat.
"I…" He closed his eyes as he spoke. "I am of the laws of cutting, tearing, and gutting."
He smiled faintly. A thread of cold sweat ran across his forehead.
"Interesting," said Ren-shi.
He turned his face toward Nixie and made a minimal gesture. It was not a request. It was an order.
She nodded.
From her pocket, she drew an opaque nut. She put it in her mouth. The metal crunched between her teeth. She chewed deliberately, with a dry sound that seemed impossible. Then she spat.
On the ground, the spit moved.
The metal opened, bent, multiplied. Three seats emerged with a brief groan, accompanied by a low table. Everything was arranged with fine decorations, engraved lines that did not demand attention but held it.
The children opened their eyes.
Not for beauty.
For disturbance.
"Relax," said Ren-shi. "I was also surprised when I first met your law being."
Arhelia and Kael looked at him, puzzled.
Nixie opened her mouth.
Not like a yawn.
Like a release.
Something alive emerged. It came out slow, wet, forced, like a birth that should not repeat. A winged creature slid outward, floating awkwardly among threads of saliva dripping to the ground.
It had four arms, translucent wings like a fairy's, and an elongated, muscular head, similar to a horse. Its teeth were fine, innumerable, like sharp grains of sand.
Its back was arched. The spine protruded in blades of white metal. Living iron. Majestic. Wrong.
Nixie coughed.
"This is my law being," she said. "Dead law mage. Take a seat."
Kael obeyed.
Ren-shi sat with theatrical pride, occupying the space as if it had belonged to him from before. Nixie did the same. Then, without ceremony, reopened her mouth, and the law being returned to her, sliding inside with a wet, metallic sound.
No one commented.
It was normal.
Arhelia remained in the wheelchair.
It did not matter.
Ren-shi began speaking.
"As you can see, law objects and beings follow their own paths. Not always pleasant. But there are only five paths."
He raised one finger for each.
"Elements.
Laws.
Soul.
Time-Space.
Transformation."
He lowered his hand.
"All mysterious. All useful. If you survive long enough to understand them."
Arhelia and Kael did not react. Something had clicked. Not well. But enough.
Kael spoke:
"And the law objects… what are they?"
Ren-shi opened his mouth to respond, but Arhelia went first.
"They are remnants of the gods. They died leaving their power embedded in the world. From that arose the path of law. The materials. The creatures. Everything."
The explanation was simple. Almost uncomfortable.
The masters looked at Kael.
He blushed. Diverted his gaze to a bare wall, as if the dust demanded attention.
Ren-shi smiled and leaned slightly forward.
"I'm surprised you're so shy. I've heard other things about you, promise."
No response.
Kael let his pupils speak. They did not tremble. They fixed.
His jaw tensed, hard as a lock, and the air between them narrowed, uncomfortable, sharpened by a question he did not want to accept.
Ren-shi continued.
"To understand your law being or object, you must learn certain principles…"
"But first—" interrupted Nixie.
Her voice did not rise. It hardened.
"I want to know something. Did you tame the trial… or just pass it?"
Silence returned to the table.
Arhelia answered first.
"Yes."
She did not explain.
Kael took longer.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down. The memory did not come whole. Something was missing. He made an awkward grimace.
"I don't remember well," he said. "But I feel it did obey."
He nodded toward the door.
Beyond it, a nurse held his sword as if it were a statue in custody.
"It does what I order."
"Although it has a flaw," he added. "Every time I use it… it pushes me back."
He paused briefly.
"I suppose that's why the only law I can handle well is the law of cutting."
No one laughed.
Silence fell. It was not wind, leaf, or metal: it was the weight of bodies, dust, stone settling. The air held the wait like a fragile object, tense, about to break.
Arhelia looked at them. She said nothing.
Curiosity barely opened her eyes: a watchful, almost childish gleam. Her gaze lingered without hurry, as if observing a new form.
Measuring.
Recording.
Weighing time and distance.
Ren-shi tilted his head back. The gesture was broad, cutting: a grimace where contempt and understanding coexisted. Neck muscles tensed like metal strings.
"Tsk," he snorted. Short. Exact.
He turned his eyes to Kael. He observed him like one reads the axis of a vertex the body still does not recognize.
"Now I know the rumors were not false," he said, voice dry, measured. "To heal you, they hired that cultivator. Not my concern."
Arhelia barely turned her eyes to Kael. Contained curiosity, alert. Something in him called her, but nothing more.
Ren-shi whispered, a thread of air cut in contempt. Returned to the measure:
"Right now you are special. Or, in the sacred language of the Golden Dragon, Zverkhān."
His fingers tensed the air. Like marking an invisible measure no one listens to.
"You must understand your law. Submit it. Master it. Survive the hells of the trials."
"And you have already passed the first: the labyrinth of law."
He turned to Kael, measuring.
"Now you must see if you are completely prepared… or if"—he yawned, with the lightness of one who bores the world—"you will change your law object and…"
He stopped. Tilted his head to his companion, waiting for a gesture. Nixie shook her head slowly, almost ceremonially. Ren-shi frowned, the temple marked by a line of tension, and returned to the children:
"This is boring. Listen: when you are ready, you will be taken to another place for three days. Rest. Remember, when you are level 1…"
He rose. A short hand gesture indicated Kael should stand. He obeyed. Nixie remained. Her eyes were clear, sharp, needing no words.
"We must understand four things," she said:
The Law of the World Thread.
The Law within your object.
The Law within yourselves.
The Gates of Law.
Arhelia closed her eyes. The sphere All or Nothing returned to her side, spinning softly, as if responding to the speech.
Kael received his crimson sword. He gripped it, and the blade vibrated. A thread of wet, metallic, painful sound ran through his palm and forearm. The tool wept.
Ren-shi smiled. Long. Dry.
"You two, children, should not yet exist on this planet."
"But the Law… has a strange sense of humor."
He swung the cloak. Left through a door with a four-step mini staircase. His absence was not felt: the air still vibrated with his gesture.
Nixie did not leave. She looked at them a second longer and spoke:
"Do not desert the expectations of our clan."
She pulled something from behind her sash. Two yellow metals, sickly, but with an aura that made them strangely familiar.
She put them in her mouth. Chewed. The sound was wet, metallic, impossible to place. Inflated like a balloon. Then, it burst.
On the ground fell: armor plates, two shields, two curved knives. They did not shine. Did not demand attention. They simply existed. And that was enough for the dust, the light, the ground—even the bodies—to bow toward them.
Arhelia and Kael raised their eyes. The disturbance weighed in the air more than any beauty.
Their hands trembled slightly, their breathing shortened.
Then, they turned toward the space where she had been.
Nixie was gone. As if she had never existed, as if the threshold itself had swallowed her.
Silence returned, heavy with expectation.
The nurses entered the threshold. Their movement was exact, measured, ritual.
"We have prepared your rooms," they said. The sound was flat, without resonance. Only words and bodies.
Arhelia remained in the wheelchair. Her fingers brushed the seat. The touch was enough to hold the attention of dust, light, and blood.
Kael adjusted the sword in his hand. The metal still vibrated. Slow. Constant. Painful.
The threshold remained. It did not breathe. It did not judge. It waited.
The nurses guided them through white corridors. They did not walk: they measured the space with their bodies. Every step fell in its exact place. The floor accepted it. The walls listened.
Arhelia advanced in the chair, pushed with technical care. Kael went beside her. The crutch marked an irregular rhythm: wood, pause, body. Wood again. The crimson sword, sheathed, vibrated under the cloth like a sleeping animal that did not trust.
The silence was not uncomfortable. It was useful.
Kael spoke first, like one testing a foreign wound with the back of the hand.
"Arhelia… you know our master, right?"
He raised an eyebrow. The gesture did not ask for a response: it opened space.
"He is the son of my progenitor's friend."
Kael tilted his head.
"Ah… isn't it cold to call your father that?"
Arhelia did not look immediately. The corridor reflected light on hard panels. The dried blood across her chest tugged with each breath.
"I do not care," she said. "He raised me this way."
Pause. Her body adjusting to the phrase.
"I have to admit it worked. Though I still dislike it."
The crutch struck. It stopped. Struck again.
"…."
Arhelia spoke without turning her head.
"What illness did you have?"
Kael hesitated. Air weighed on his neck.
"It's not an illness… or so I think. It is something from birth."
He fell silent. His face hardened. Something closed like a valve.
"I caused a lot of harm to my family. And to all who cared for me. Because of that thing they call illness. But it wasn't, Arhelia. It wasn't."
She barely turned her face. Not compassion. Attention.
"So, what was it?"
Kael tightened the grip on the crutch. The wood creaked.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about my past. I don't remember. I only heard rumors. Servants. Guards of my clan. My siblings."
He breathed. Chest rising poorly.
"When I asked my parents… they kept the secret. I don't know. I don't know."
The corridor narrowed. The walls seemed to approach a finger. The nurses did not intervene. Their steps remained exact.
They kept silent.
Arhelia broke it. Her laugh was short, dry, unexpected.
"Ha ha ha… Kael, I like you."
He looked at her, surprised.
"You are not like the others. I still doubt why you saved me. I would have left you behind. But you… you risked yourself."
Arhelia's face tilted. Her voice lowered.
"Not for fame. I don't have that. Though I desire it too much. But you don't want it either."
She smiled faintly.
"You are… the only one whom greed did not blind."
The chair moved. The ground gave way.
"I want to know something," she said. "What is your ambition, Kael?"
He blinked. His body took time to adjust to the question. Then he smiled, timid, as if the answer weighed more than his voice.
"To be the leader of my clan. Surpass my siblings. Improve the conditions of my people."
He breathed. The sword vibrated.
"And make a fun life."
He turned to her.
"And you, Arh—?"
She interrupted with an open, almost cruel laugh.
"Interesting, Kael. But it's not enough. You must be more pragmatic."
The corridor ended at a wide door. The light changed.
"My dream…" she continued, "is to be the most known. The most famous. To prove I am not a monster."
Her brow tightened. Her voice did not tremble.
"I want recognition. I want to be something. The greatest on this planet."
Kael observed her. Not with fear. With care.
"That is… formidable."
He hesitated.
"Although you fight as if you didn't want to. Your body… I think you're not the monster the rumors say."
Arhelia stopped. The chair stood still.
"You believe it," she said. "But it sounds like a lie, Kael. Don't lie. Understood."
Her furrowed brow was a precise line. Kael opened his mouth. Closed it. The answer found no form.
The nurses stopped.
"We have arrived," they said.
Arhelia's door opened. Inside smelled of clean metal and imposed rest.
They looked at each other. Surprise. Something unsaid, heavy, suspended between them.
No promises. No long farewells.
The door closed.
The first day