We followed the attendant deeper into the palace where we he eventually opened a pair of double wood doors leading to a private arena/trial ground. There we found the emperor himself with dozens of shimmering strands of spider silk anchored from floor to ceiling. When we assembled before him, he smiled warmly. "I would first like to thank each of you for making it to final feat. Each of you are true champions!" and he applauded us briefly. He then motioned to the single strands of spider silk anchored from the marble floor to the ceiling above. "This is the final feat, the feat of wisdom. As you can clearly see behind me are strands of spider silk." The emperors smile deepened. "Climb them." We all stood dumbfounded. "I'll even be generous; I'll give each of you three chances to successfully climb to the top of a silk strand.
The five of us exchanged glances, half incredulous, half wary. Above dozens of silk strands descended from an unseen heaven above. "Climb spider Silk?" Seymoure said, "Surely the Emperor jests." Yet the Emperor's expression was one of calm amusement — that of a man who knew more than he was letting on. The air in the private arena shimmered faintly, charged with some subtle energy.
Still, the emperors challenge hung heavy in the air. I tilted my head back, squinting at the silk strands. They seemed impossibly thin. "Three chances," the Emperor repeated. "Fail all three… and your path ends here."
A murmur rippled through the five. Calvin cursed under his breath. Ken Renzo of the cloud continent gave a crooked grin, Seymour crossed his arms, Prince Edwards eyes narrowed in calculation. I only exhaled slowly, my pulse quickening with the familiar mix of anticipation and dread that always came before a trial.
I stepped forward looking up at the strands as they disappeared into a golden mist above, "And what happens," I asked, "if one reaches the top?"
The Emperor's smile turned enigmatic, the faintest spark glinting in his ancient eyes. "Then, my son… you will see what the greatest treasure in all the land truly is."
The silk strands swayed again, as if stirred by an unseen wind. The trial of wisdom had begun.
The next moment stretched taut — who among them would dare to climb first?
I half-smiled, my focus already split between two worlds, the delicate metaphysical geometry forming in the theatre of my mental energy pool. I sent wisps of intent into the Philosophers stone opening the Heavenly Origami scroll! It unfurled in my inner vision — an endless expanse of golden parchment inked in folding patterns that seemed to move when not looked at directly. Each origami array shimmered, whispering instructions not in words, but in intuition.
I needed to become as light as a feather, that much was clear I reminded myself, searching through the scroll I found what I was looking for, the ''Cloud of Intent'' origami. It required 125 folds! Each fold required precision of intent. I could feel the shape of the fold more than see it, like folding sunlight with thought alone. The first few creases came easily, rippling through the luminous field of my mind. But soon, the complexity rose. The 37th fold required an advance fold, a 'petal fold' these folds were the building blocks for countless origami designs, from simple to complex.
"Oi, Ash!" Prince Edward called, breaking my concentration. The others had formed a loose circle on the marble floor. Ken Renzo was already flexing his fingers with theatrical bravado. "You in or out, friend? Winner gets to pick their silk first."
My gaze flicked toward them, still half in the realm of folds and currents. "In," I said simply. My tone was distracted but confident — the kind that made others wonder what hidden cards I kept up my sleeve.
I took my place in the circle, folding yet another layer of the mental paper. The 72nd fold was a 'reverse fold' — the point of soft convergence — pulsed faintly in my mind, a sensation like catching a snowflake before it melts.
Seymour laughed, shaking his head. "Our boy's already scheming."
I offered a faint grin. "Always."
As we chanted in rhythm — "Rock, paper, scissors!" — I was folding mental energy, I continued silently. 91 folds now. The origami cloud was beginning to shimmer within my mental space, like a vaporous sigil of translucent light. By the time the final round was decided, and Prince Edward's triumphant cheer echoed through the hall, my cloud array was nearly complete — 118 folds and counting.
The air trembled as laughter faded and the echoes of bare feet padded against marble. Prince Edward swaggered toward the nearest strand of taut silk, the others watched him with varying degrees of confidence and doubt, while I stood still — halfway between two planes of thought.
Ten folds remained. Each demanded more than technique; they required surrender. Folding intent was easy when one's mind was steady — far harder when engaged in a royal contest of silk rope climbing. I could feel the threads of my spirit tightening as I guided the invisible crease through fold 120. My inner world thrummed with resonance, light bending through shapes that shouldn't exist in three dimensions.
Edward gave a dramatic stretch of his arms, cracked his neck, and stepped up to a silk strand. He placed his fingers on the taut silk strand tentatively as if it might break in his grasp, to Prince Edwards surprise he found it taut and resistant. He focused his intent and circulated a breath of mist technique, soon his body was enveloped in a pale teal mist that enshrouded his body, shrouding and obscuring his form within. The ball of teal mist started to climb!
Prince Edward through the Veiled Mist movement technique started climbing the anchored silk! He actually ascended — a prince climbing toward triumph.
Seymour muttered, "So it isn't about strength…"
Ken Renzo grinned. "Then it's my kind of game." He crouched, gathering his internal energy, and tried next. Ken grasped the taut silk line and circulated his wind qi, a mini twister generated around him and Ken Renzo began to ascend the strand of silk into the unseen fog above.
Meanwhile, inside my mind, the 125th fold took shape. The Cloud of Intent was now a living construct — glowing faintly in my spiritual sea, radiating gentleness and boundlessness. I exhaled and extended my king level mental energy, inserting the cloud of intent into the spiritual plane above a taut silk line, already I could feel my physical weight begin to slip away by degrees as I fed just a few thin wisps of intent to it.
"Your turn, Ash," Calvin said, show us what schemes you've cooked up this time."
I stepped forward, every movement deliberate. The Emperor watched in silence, his expression unreadable, but I swore I saw the faintest flicker of amusement cross his lips.
Reaching toward the silk line, I fed more mental energy to the array Cloud, and I felt myself-drift off the floor! My legs swung up and out behind me as I held onto the line,
When my fingers touched the strand, it did not resist. It welcomed me.
And as my foot left the marble floor, I rose — not climbing, but drifting. The silk rippled beneath my touch as though recognizing something familiar. Gasps rose below. Seymour's voice carried upward "He's… floating!"
My ascent looked wrong in the most bewildering way possible. My body was tilted midair as though gravity had lost interest in me entirely—legs drifting upward, torso parallel to the floor, one hand lazily gripping the silk strand that rippled like liquid moonlight. My hair floated around my face like I was underwater rather than in a palace arena.
"What in the world!" Calvin shouted, stumbling backward a step, eyes wide.
Seymour squinted up. "Is he—climbing sideways?"
"No," emperor Ichikawa said smiling, "he's using a mental array."
Seymour barked a laugh. "Bloody hell, Ash! You trying to reinvent gravity mid-competition?"
"See you at the top!" I said smiling down at them, from the floor, my movements looked serene and uncanny, my every reach into the next length of silk was smooth, precise—each motion folding into the next as if I and the strand shared some private rhythm.
The Emperor's eyes glittered with delight. "Marvelous," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "He is an array master. Instead of resisting the heavens… he joins them."
Calvin blinked, utterly lost. "He's a what?"
Seymour folded his arms, trying and failing to hide his awe. "He knows how to fold his mental energy to create arrays and domains!"
The silk itself began to hum faintly, a sound like a harp string plucked by the wind. Ripples of pale light spread down its length, illuminating my body in ethereal silver.
Seymour elbowed Ken Renzo. "Guess we're all idiots who brought muscles to a wisdom fight."
Calvin sighed, grinning despite himself. "Speak for yourself. I brought charm."
I said nothing. I only continued upward, the Cloud carrying me higher, fold by fold, until the Emperor's voice reached me — deep and resonant, layered with power.
"Excellent, young one. You found a path not of force, but of understanding."
I glanced down. His gaze pierced me like sunlight through mist.
"Continue then," he said softly, "and see whether your wisdom holds when you reach the unseen."
Above me, the silk strand vanished into light. The true test, it seemed, was only beginning.
Calvin cracked his neck and swaggered forward, clearly determined not to let Ash's display of mystical anti-gravity nonsense steal the show. "Alright, enough of that sorcery," he muttered, gripping one of the silk strands. "Time to show how a real man climbs." He crouched, exhaled sharply, and leapt upward with all the power of a mountain-bred physique. For a moment it worked—he shot up three meters, muscles bulging, hands locked around the silk—but then the strand shivered. It slipped through his fingers like smoke. His grip faltered, and he dropped flat on his back with a thud that echoed across the marble.
Seymour winced. "That sounded expensive."
Calvin rolled over, glaring at the silk as if it had personally insulted him. "It's slicker than eel skin! Must be some kinda illusion enchantment!" He tried again, this time slower, methodical, veins rising along his forearms as he hauled himself up. For two breaths he made progress—until the silk flexed, rippling like water. His hands passed through it, his body tumbling backward in an undignified spin. He landed face-first, arms sprawled out.
Seymour gave a low whistle. "That's two." Calvin pushed himself up, breathing hard now, sweat beading on his brow. "Fine. It's got tricks? I got tricks too." He backed up, drew in a deep breath, and summoned a pulse of earth qi. His skin took on a faint, stony sheen; his legs compressed like coiled springs. Then—with a roar—he launched himself upward one last time. The air cracked from the force of it. He reached halfway before the silk glowed. Its light pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat—then turned translucent. Calvin's hands went right through.
Gravity did the rest.
He hit the ground for the third time, this one hard enough to leave a shallow crater. For a long moment, he just lay there, staring up at the drifting silk and the faintly amused Emperor.
Seymour leaned over him, arms crossed. "Well, that's your three." Calvin groaned, rubbing his neck. "Yeah, yeah… suppose wisdom's not my department." Seymour grinned. "It's alright, mate. You're more of a blunt-force philosopher." Calvin pointed at Ash, who was still slowly ascending in eerie, weightless grace. "I swear, if that guy starts levitating sideways again, I'm throwing something."
The Emperor only chuckled softly, eyes twinkling. "One must learn that some paths are not climbed through strength, but through surrender."
Calvin sat up, scowling. "Next time, I'm surrendering that silk to a bonfire."
The others laughed—but beneath it lingered a quiet tension. One competitor had already fallen, and the silken trial was proving that it tested far more than muscle.
Seymour stepped forward the easy smirk on his face returning as Calvin brushed the marble dust off his clothes. "Alright," he said, stepping forward. "Looks like brains over brawn on this one. Which means it's my turn to shine."
He placed one bare hand on the silk strand, closed his eyes, and began to breathe.
At first, nothing happened. Then, faint ripples of aquamarine light began to shimmer beneath his feet—thin, concentric circles expanding outward like raindrops on a still pond. The air grew moist and heavy, humming faintly with resonance.
"Afloat"
Seymour's qi flowed from his dantian in smooth waves, each breath matching the rhythm of tides. When he stepped forward, the water molecules in the air around him did not collapse beneath him, but rippling, each step supporting him as if the world itself had become a calm sea. He placed his foot upon the silk strand, not grasping it, but floating along its length, the way an shark rides a rising current.
I was still drifting at an odd horizontal angle higher above, quirked a brow. "Heh. Walking water to climb air. Not bad."
Seymour's ascent was almost meditative. His body swayed slightly with the phantom currents of his technique, every motion fluid, deliberate. The silk responded in kind—its luminous threads began to undulate, glowing faintly turquoise, as though acknowledging his mastery of flow.
He rose halfway before the first tremor came—a resistance, subtle but sharp, like a sudden undertow. The silk strand shook, sending small ripples of qi distortion through the air.
Seymour smiled faintly. "Trying to drown me in my own current, eh? Cute."
He shifted his footing, reversed the rhythm. Instead of pushing upward, he yielded, letting the silk's energy flow through him like water through an open channel. The resistance faded, his body drifting upward once more, buoyed by his calm surrender.
The Emperor's eyes gleamed. "Well done, Seymour of the Endless Tide. You have understood that wisdom begins when one stops fighting the current."
Seymour bowed his head slightly, though his grin remained. "Guess I'm not all charm and good looks after all."
Below, Calvin cupped his hands around his mouth. "Show-off!"
Seymour looked down, still smirking. "Just call it staying afloat."
And just like that the final feat was over and the four ascended into the unknown.