A few moments later, an official entered the hall. Behind him walked a divine existence whose presence hummed low in the air—steady, invasive.
An Attuned.
To the children, he was simply power made flesh.
When he stepped onto the low podium, whispers collapsed into silence.
"You have each witnessed a vision," he said, voice calm, measured. "A manifestation of the concept your soul resonates with. That vision is your key."
He gestured to a small table.
A plain glass cup sat upon it, filled with clear water. At its base rested a smooth, matte-black stone.
It swallowed the light around it.
"When your name is called, step forward. Place your hand over the Concept Stone and recall what you saw—the image, the feeling, the truth of it. The stone will respond."
A wavering chorus answered, "Yes, sir."
"Good. Kaelen Fen."
A lean boy with tight black curls approached. His hand shook as he held it above the cup.
⸻
Far above the hall—beyond mortal sight—eleven figures watched.
They stood within a space constructed from pure concept, a gallery that existed parallel to the physical world. From here, every awakening was visible. Every tremor of potential.
The Transcendents had gathered.
Six men. Five women.
Gods, by mortal reckoning.
They ruled without crowns.
"Let us see," Mo Qinghai murmured, voice as still as deep water. Dark green hair framed a pallid face; his black eyes reflected nothing. The air near him felt subtly wrong, like pressure before drowning. "Can your division produce something useful for the war, Heiyun Jue?"
Heiyun Jue smiled thinly.
Black hair swept back from a sharp face. Robes dark as storm clouds seemed to drink the light.
"I have already secured something of value," he said. "A golden goose."
Interest stirred.
Lu Feiyu arched a pale brow. "Oh?"
"Natural awakening," Heiyun Jue continued, savoring the words. "It manifested without a Concept Stone."
Silence followed.
Then a ripple.
"Impossible," Yao Shiqiu muttered, beard crackling faintly with restrained lightning.
"Rare," Cang Shixuan corrected softly. "Seven in recorded history."
"Eight now," Heiyun Jue said. "The body collapsed under the strain. Treatment is underway. A month, perhaps."
Greed passed between them—subtle shifts, sharpened gazes.
Natural awakeners bent history.
"Per our agreement, it remains yours," Bai Jinxue said.
Her white hair fell like poured moonlight. Golden eyes warm only at the surface.
"But see that it is trained." A faint curve touched her lips. "If it resists, send it to me. I excel at obedience."
A soft, dismissive sound escaped Heiyun Jue. "Your concern is unnecessary."
Natural awakeners brought catastrophe as often as glory.
None of them cared.
By the time the child grew into threat or legend, they would have ascended beyond this realm. Let doom bloom if it wished. It would not bloom for them.
An investment. A weapon. Livestock with exceptional yield.
Nothing more.
Heiyun Jue gestured lazily toward the vision below. "Now. Let us observe the lesser birds."
⸻
In the hall, black seeped into the water.
A single dot formed at the heart of the Concept Stone. It spread in thin tendrils, unraveling through the glass until the water churned into opaque darkness.
"Corruption," Mo Qinghai noted. "Serviceable."
Kaelen Fen stared at the transformed cup, eyes shining.
He had awakened.
One by one, the children followed.
A girl's touch brought boiling water and spiderweb cracks through glass.
A boy's froze it solid, frost racing across the table in branching veins.
Fire. Ice. Corruption.
Clear. Defined.
Chén Yè watched, face empty.
What had he seen?
Darkness.
Light he could not grasp.
It felt… uncontained.
"Chén Yè."
He stepped forward.
The stone radiated a faint, drawing coolness as he placed his hand above it.
"Recall the image," the Attuned instructed.
Chén Yè closed his eyes—
—and fell.
The absolute dark. The restless wings of light. The sense of infinite motion just beyond reach.
The Concept Stone reacted instantly.
It trembled.
A deep hum spread through the hall, subtle but resonant. The water did not blacken or freeze. It shimmered.
Reflections multiplied.
Not one room—but many.
The hall fractured into countless overlapping versions. A thousand possibilities flickered within the glass.
The Attuned stared.
Above, every Transcendent leaned forward.
What is this?
Within the vision, doubt stirred.
A familiar voice.
Stay small. Expect nothing. You are nothing.
It had kept him alive.
This is a mistake.
The hum deepened.
The reflections sharpened—
—and his will tightened.
I have no concept.
The hum died.
The reflections vanished.
The water cleared.
The stone became dull and inert.
The connection severed.
The silence that followed stretched thin.
The Attuned blinked, frowning. The manifestation had not failed.
It had stopped.
Above, the Transcendents eased back.
"Promising instability," Lu Feiyu observed.
"Or simple collapse," Mo Qinghai replied. "Either way, inconsequential."
Interest thinned.
"Next," the Attuned said at last.
Chén Yè was guided aside—to a quieter section where a handful of pale, uncertain children sat apart from the rest.
Categorized.
He lowered himself against the wall.
Failure fit easily. Like an old coat.
Above, the Transcendents continued their discussions.
"An unusual cessation," Lu Feiyu mused, eyes lingering briefly.
Mo Qinghai's expression did not change. "If it matters, it will surface."
It did not, for now.
Heiyun Jue surveyed the day's yield with satisfaction. The natural awakener secured. Quotas exceeded. Training to begin within the week.
Across the realm, in every city and territory, similar harvests unfolded. Children drafted. Sorted. Assigned.
The machine turned.
And in the eastern section of a hall nested inside Heiyun Jue's spatial domain, a street orphan sat in silence and began calculating.
No one watched him closely.
He was only livestock.