The tolling of the bell was like a physical blow, a sound so profound it seemed to vibrate in the bones and shake the very Inner Core. For a moment, Indra lost focus, his attention ripped away to the pulpit where the Director, a man whose wrinkles told stories of dimensional battles, stood with severity. It was a momentary lapse, a reflex shared by nearly everyone in the hall. But Indra's instinct, sharpened by the last few weeks, screamed louder. His eyes, as if pulled by an invisible string, quickly returned to the VIP booth at the back of the hall.
He searched for the nine pairs of luminous eyes. He specifically sought that cold, metallic gleam that had fixed upon him. A cautious relief, followed by a pang of apprehension, hit him. The Pillar's eyes were no longer on him. They, like the other eight, now watched the pulpit with impassive attention. Somehow, he had been released from that crushing gaze. The question "why?" echoed in his mind, but there was no time for answers. The relief was temporary; the feeling of having been scanned, assessed, and subsequently dismissed was deeply unsettling.
Forcing himself back to the immediate reality, Indra focused on the Director. The burly, steel-haired man wasted no time on flourishes.
"Candidates." — his voice was rough, like grinding stones, but carried an unquestionable weight of authority.
"The path you have chosen is one of blood, sweat, and tears. Many of you will fall. A select few will rise stronger. Remember: strength without wisdom is an invitation to ruin. Let your will guide you and your knowledge protect you. Good luck."
Without further ado, he gave a nod and yielded the pulpit. Four figures descended from the stage. They were the Inquisitors from the Hall of Justice, and their simple movement made the air in the hall seem to coagulate, heavy as liquid lead. The energy they emanated was one of pure duty, inflexible and relentless.
The one who took the lead made Indra's heart leap in a contradictory way. She was the personification of icy elegance, a vision that paralyzed with both beauty and the power she radiated. A woman of slender and stately stature, her slightly pointed ears betrayed her seemingly half-elven heritage. Her body was mature and curvaceous, with generous breasts that accentuated her imposing silhouette. Her hair, white as freshly fallen snow, was tied in a complex, braided bun that was a work of art in itself. Her eyes, the color of glacial ice in the most remote plains of the Other Side, swept over the crowd without haste. When her gaze passed over Indra, he felt a momentary chill on the nape of his neck, a clear, clean sensation, as if an ice blade had touched his skin. Her robes were of a silvery blue, embroidered with intricate patterns of snowflakes and ice crystals that seemed to shimmer with an inner light, pulsing softly with her breath.
And then, she smiled. It was a gentle, warm smile, a shocking contrast to her icy appearance. That unsettled Indra more than a threatening glare.
"I am Miyazaki Shirayuki, Inquisitor of the Hall of Justice." — her voice was like the tinkling of ice crystals, melodious but laden with silent authority.
"I will be your examiner in this first phase: the Written Exam."
Indra couldn't help but think that starting with the written test was the most logical step. It was the initial sieve, designed to separate the strategic thinkers from the mere brutes. It would select those with sharp intellects and discard those who couldn't even be bothered to study. What would come next — the duels, the survival — would undoubtedly be a bloodbath. But he suppressed these thoughts. The present demanded total attention.
The murmurs running through the hall confirmed his impressions. Some whispered, impressed by Shirayuki's serene, mature beauty. Others exchanged information about her reputation: a master of ice, both mental and elemental, known for her relentless but never cruel justice. She waited with infinite patience for the initial commotion to settle, her gentle smile remaining in place.
Then, with a fluid, almost dance-like gesture of her hand, the world around them dissolved.
It wasn't a harsh break, but a smooth transition. The hall of black stone and menacing chandeliers faded, replaced by a dreamscape of surreal beauty. They were now on an astral plane, standing on soft, firm clouds that emitted a soft, ethereal light. All around, majestic pillars in the architectural style of Ancient Greece rose, but they were made of solid, golden light. Golden, gleaming harps, floating in the air, marked the boundaries of the space like celestial gates, emitting soft, harmonious chords that soothed the soul. The rustic tables were replaced by individual seats of smooth, strangely comfortable stone, as if they were sitting on molded clouds.
With another graceful gesture from Shirayuki, pearly white scrolls materialized in the air, hovering elegantly before gently landing on each candidate's desk. Along with them, a simple silver metal pen, emanating an intense, threatening glow.
"You have one hundred and eighty minutes." — Shirayuki's voice echoed in the astral plane, still soft, but impossible to ignore.
"The rules are simple. Each pen is bound by a pact of intellectual veracity. Attempts at fraud or deception will result in the combustion of your answer." — she paused dramatically, her icy gaze sweeping the room.
"However, the test you see now is an illusion. A spell conceals the true questions. To access them, you must use your Energy Sense. But I warn you: the test itself is a cognitive Artifact emitting a chaotic signature, designed to intoxicate unprepared senses. If your minds are lost in the process, the Esoteric Society takes no responsibility."
Her ice-blue eyes met those of several candidates, one by one, and her gentle smile remained, making the words even more sinister.
"May clarity guide you. You may begin."
The moment the last word left her lips, a giant, ethereal clock with numerals in an arcane language materialized in the astral sky above her head. The hands began to move, and a race against time had begun.
Indra did not hesitate. He leaned over the scroll, his mind already concentrating. The words in front of him were simple, almost childish: "Describe the benefits of meditation for an Apprentice." It was bait, a crude facade.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and activated his Energy Sense.
It was like diving headfirst into a stormy sea during a hurricane. The energetic signature of this astral plane was a maelstrom of contradictory forces. The sharp anxiety of a thousand candidates, the dense, contained power of the other three Inquisitors observing from a distance, Shirayuki's aura — a serene, impenetrable glacier at the center of the chaos. And, dominating everything, the test itself. It pulsed with a deliberately dissonant energy, a mental noise that scraped against the senses, like dozens of voices whispering different languages directly into his brain.
Indra focused. He forced his consciousness through the noise, filtering out the static, searching for the central, true signature of the scroll. It was an exhausting effort; sweat trickled from his temple. Slowly, the childish words on the page began to dissolve, like ink running in the rain. New characters, engraved with a serious silver light, emerged from the depths of the paper.
ESOTERIC SOCIETY - HALL OF JUSTICE
PARANORMAL EXAM - PHASE I: ADVANCED WRITTEN TEST
Time Limit: 180 Minutes
The instructions that followed were menacing. And then, the first question revealed itself:
1. Theorem of Practical Interdimensionality: A Paranormal, while channeling Divine Power within the confines of a Black Zone with a high concentration of corrupted energy, reports a distortion in healing efficiency, transforming it into a minor necrotic effect. Based on the intrinsic properties of the Realms and energies, postulate the metaphysical reason for this phenomenal inversion.
Indra allowed himself a nearly imperceptible smile. As intimidating as it sounded, the question was, in essence, simple. It operated on a fundamental principle Professor Carl had hammered into his brain: the conflicting nature of pure and corrupted energies.
Divine Power, he thought, structuring the answer in his mind, is the manifestation of faith and grace, inherently pure and aligned with concepts of creation and life preservation. Its application in healing is one of its most basic expressions. However, a Black Zone is the antithesis of this. It is a place where the corruption of the Other Side has solidified, a wound in reality where normal laws are distorted. The energy there is not just negative; it is actively consuming and destructive.
The logic was clear: when the two forces meet, they do not coexist. They annihilate each other. A Paranormal, no matter how powerful, is a single source of Divine Power. A Black Zone, on the other hand, is an entire environment, an ocean of corruption. Trying to heal within it would be like trying to light a candle at the bottom of the sea. The crushing pressure of the corrupted energy would not only extinguish the divine flame but corrupt it, reversing its fundamental principle. "Healing" could not manifest in an environment that rejects life; the best that could happen was a distortion, a corrupted, inverted version of its purpose: necrosis.
With confidence, he picked up the silver pen. The metal was cold, but he felt the magical pact contained within, a silent warning. His handwriting was firm and clear as he transcribed his analysis onto the scroll, articulating the metaphysical conflict between the two types of energy.
However, he was no fool. The instruction was clear: the questions would evolve. This was just the first, a screening to see who understood the fundamentals. The real test was yet to come. He also felt the constant pressure of the illusory spell, trying to reassert itself in his perception, and the chaotic energetic noise threatening to wear down his mental defenses.
Needing a moment of absolute clarity, Indra closed his eyes again. He lowered his head, as if in deep concentration, and internally activated the Silent Heart of the Inner Vortex. His breathing slowed, and he mentally recited his mantra, the words echoing in the quiet of his mind:
"In the center of nothing, I hear my name.
In the spinning silence, resides my strength.
May the void nourish me,
May the vortex guide me.
Heart without noise,
Soul without fear."
A profound calm swept over him. The external turmoil did not disappear, but it lost its power over his senses. His internal energy, once agitated by the effort, circulated calmly and serenely, like a deep river. He opened his eyes and let the air out of his lungs in a long, tranquil sigh. An unshakable confidence, cold and focused, shone in his black eyes.
He looked at the scroll, ready for the next question. This test was only the beginning. A mental warm-up. The true challenge, he knew, lay far beyond that astral landscape.
As soon as Indra finished inscribing his answer about Divine Power with the silver tip of the pen, something extraordinary happened. The words on the parchment did not remain static. They seemed to absorb his answer, digest it, and then reorganize into a new, more complex and profound pattern. The parchment emitted a subtle glow, and a new question materialized before his eyes, as if the cognitive artifact itself were assessing his aptitude in real time.
2. Energy Synthesis Analysis: Considering that a Magic Warrior fuses Aura and Mana to generate Magic Power, describe the inherent risks of attempting a synthetic triad, for example, fusing the resulting Magic Power with Aether. Which principle of the Nine Paths would this violate, and what would be the likely consequence for the user's Inner Core?
Indra let out a low, controlled sigh. The difficulty level had taken a significant leap. This was no longer a question about fundamental principles of energy interaction; it was a dangerous foray into advanced metaphysical stability theory. The field of energy fusion was notoriously dangerous and unstable territory, where even the most experienced masters feared to tread.
He closed his eyes for a moment, organizing his thoughts. The orthodox answer, the one taught in the Academy's compendiums and reinforced by Professor Carl, was clear.
Magic Power, he reasoned, is not a forced fusion, but the fruit of a semi-fusion that occurs almost naturally in Paranormals with a specific intermediate inclination. Some were born with a dual vein in their soul, a predisposition that allowed them to dance on the thin line between the physical fortification of Aura and the phenomenal manifestation of Mana. Before forming their Inner Cores, they could use both energies separately, albeit with effort. However, at the crucial moment of Graduation, when the Core consolidated, these two complementary — yet fundamentally different — energies fused spontaneously, giving rise to Magic Power, a new and unique energy. It was possible, though rare and dangerous, to force this path change through intensive training, but the Aura-Mana pair was the only stable combination ever documented.
The central problem, and the crux of the question, lay with Aether.
Indra visualized the energies in his mind. Aura was a turbulent red flame, Mana a serene, light blue flow. Together, they formed a powerful, controlled dark blue flame. But Aether... Aether was neither fire nor water. It was the very fabric, the invisible architecture behind everything. It was the force that held atoms together, that dictated gravity, that governed subatomic particles. It was of a radically superior order of complexity and abstraction.
Trying to fuse this fundamental cosmic force with an already synthetic and complex energy like Magic Power would be like trying to weld the sun to a sword. The overload would not be merely quantitative, resulting in a power explosion. It would be qualitative. It would be a collapse of energetic identity.
The principle violated, he concluded, was the Principle of Stable Duality, an unwritten but observed law throughout the history of the Nine Paths. Reality, in its fundamental structure, seemed to accept the synthesis of two elements to create a third, but rejected the introduction of a third element into an already consolidated synthesis. It was as if reality itself imposed a limit to prevent the creation of conceptual abominations.
The consequence? The standard answer, the one he knew was expected, was horrible and definitive. The Inner Core, the center of a Paranormal's existence, would not withstand the internal contradiction. It would not explode; it would unravel, like a house of cards in a gale. The user's soul, stripped of its anchor in the physical world, would be annihilated, erased from existence. Or, in even more terrible scenarios described in forbidden texts, the individual could be transformed into a formless aberration, a being of pure contradiction and pain, a walking warning of the price of arrogance.
With the ironclad clarity provided by the Silent Heart of the Inner Vortex, Indra began to write. His silver pen glided over the parchment, transcribing the orthodox analysis with surgical precision. He described the unique nature of the Aura-Mana fusion, the fundamental incompatibility with Aether, the violation of the Principle of Stable Duality, and the catastrophic consequences for the Core and the soul.
Yet, as he wrote each "correct" word, a deep part of his consciousness silently rebelled. He didn't believe it. Not completely.
A ghost of a memory crossed his mind: the rending agony of the Silver Storm, that catastrophic event that had nearly consumed him. Inside his Mental World, during that ordeal, something impossible had happened. His Qi, the white, pure energy of his soul, had been forced into a state of absolute fluidity. In that moment of pure survival instinct, he wasn't a Cultivator, or a Warrior, or a Mage. He was simply a being of energy trying to persist. And, somehow, his Qi had simulated other energies. He could feel the burn of Aura in his limbs, the flow of Mana in his veins, all channeled through his adaptive Qi. It wasn't as efficient as a pure user, of course. A Warrior born for Aura would have more raw power, a Mage for Mana would have more refined control. But he could do it. It was as if his Qi were a blank canvas upon which he could project, with great effort, the colors of the other Paths.
But how? Why? He had no answer. It was a secret he kept even from Sophie, a phenomenon not even Professor Carl could explain. To speak of it in the most important test of his life would be utter madness. It would be seen as heresy, as the ramblings of a madman, or worse, as an aberration that needed to be studied and contained.
So, with the discipline of a soldier, he suppressed his personal truth. His answer was a model of academic conformity. As he placed the final period, he felt the parchment vibrate once more, absorbing his analysis on the forbidden synthesis. The astral landscape around him seemed to tremble slightly, and the chaotic noise of the cognitive artifact increased a notch, as if testing his defenses more vigorously.
He looked up for an instant, observing the ethereal clock. Time was running. He saw other candidates. Some were frozen, expressions of pure terror on their faces, trapped in the initial illusions. Others were writing frantically.
Indra ignored the chaos around him. He had successfully navigated the second question, despite his internal doubts. He took a deep breath, reaffirming the Silent Heart. The parchment was already beginning to transform again, the letters rearranging for the third interrogation. He didn't know what would come next, but he was ready. The written exam was a duel of wills and intellect, and he did not intend to lose.
As soon as the last word on Aether synthesis was absorbed by the parchment, a subtle transformation occurred in the astral environment. The harmonious golden harps marking the boundaries of the space emitted a slightly dissonant chord. The clouds beneath his feet seemed to lose some of their solidity, becoming more ethereal. The air itself, once charged with the chaotic noise of the test, seemed to become more... empty. It was as if the cognitive artifact, realizing Indra would not be felled by questions of energetic logic, had decided to attack from a different flank: that of sanity itself.
The silver letters on the parchment didn't just reorganize; they seemed to dissolve into a whirlwind of mental mist before condensing into a new question. The test's rigid formatting gave way to a more fluid block of text, almost poetic in its perversity.
3. Limbo Paradox: Limbo is described as "the place where Nothing is Everything and Everything is Nothing." If a Paranormal with an Aspectual Ability based on "Absolute Certainty" were cast into Limbo, what would be the most likely existential paradox they would face, and how would their ability potentially accelerate their dissolution into Nothingness?
Indra froze.
His mind, until now a bastion of logic and structured knowledge, met a wall of pure abstraction.
'How the fuck do I answer this?'
The thought echoed in his skull, devoid of its usual confidence. This wasn't a question about energy laws or creature anatomy. It was applied metaphysical philosophy concerning one of the most enigmatic Realms and one of the most fundamental concepts of the Paranormal condition: the Aspectual Ability.
He felt a pang of despair. Limbo wasn't like the Other Side or other realms; there were no survival manuals, no reliable explorer accounts. All that was known were fragments, legends, and the words of the Administrator, who described the place in terms that defied rationality. "The edge of everything," "where Nothing is Everything"... they were concepts that hurt to think about for too long.
He forced himself to breathe, resorting once more to the Silent Heart of the Inner Vortex. The mantra didn't bring the same immediate clarity, but it calmed the initial panic. He needed to approach this not as a problem of power, but as an existential puzzle.
Closing his eyes, he visualized the scenario. A Paranormal whose very identity was so intrinsic to their Aspectual Ability that it defined their interaction with reality. "Absolute Certainty." What did that mean? It meant that for this individual, there was no such thing as 'maybe'. Their truth was an immutable law, an unshakable foundation upon which they built their existence. It was a powerful ability, undoubtedly, in a world of rules and laws.
Now, he imagined that same individual being thrown into Limbo.
Limbo, by definition, was the absence of all certainty. A place made of doubt, personified neglect. There was no 'yes' or 'no', only an eternal 'maybe' stretching to infinity in all directions. It was a realm that did not care about existence or non-existence, where the concepts of Everything and Nothing lost all meaning.
The collision, he realized, would be catastrophic not on a physical, but on a conceptual level.
Slowly, an answer began to form in his mind, emerging from the depths of his own understanding of the nature of Aspectual Abilities. They were extensions of the soul, shaped by personality and will. And what would happen to a soul that is "Certainty" when placed at the epicenter of "Uncertainty"?
The paradox would be Self-Negation by Definition.
The Aspectual Ability of "Absolute Certainty" was, by its very nature, the absolute antithesis of Limbo's fundamental state. For the ability to function, for it to even exist as a concept, it needed a reality that could be defined, measured, and known. Limbo denied all of that. Therefore, the ability's first and only action would be to try and impose certainty upon Limbo itself. It would try to define the undefinable. It would try to find logic in neglect. It would try to assert, with absolute conviction, the nature of a place that was, in essence, the negation of all and any nature.
It would be like trying to hold the ocean in a handful of sand. A futile and monumentally arrogant effort.
And here was the heart of the tragedy: the ability, instead of being a shield, would become the engine of its own destruction. To sustain "Absolute Certainty" in an environment that completely rejected it, the Paranormal would be forced to channel ever-increasing amounts of energy, burning out their own Inner Core in a desperate attempt to force reality to conform to their will. But Limbo did not care. It simply was. The more certainty the user tried to impose, the more Limbo would consume that energy, not to fight it, but to simply absorb it into its indifferent void. The ability, then, in a final act of paradox, would exponentially accelerate the user's conceptual dissolution into the Nothingness of Limbo, because it would be fighting directly against the only "truth" the Realm possessed: that there are no truths.
Indra opened his eyes. He wasn't sure if this made sense. How could one be sure of anything related to Limbo? It was all speculation, a dangerous intellectual exercise. But it was the only conclusion his logic could extract from the provided philosophical premise.
With cautious resignation, he began to write. His silver pen traced the words "Self-Negation by Definition," and he elaborated on his thesis, explaining the fundamental incompatibility between the ability's nature and the Realm's nature. Each word felt like a leap into the dark. He hoped the graders, be they the Inquisitors themselves or some even more bizarre artifact, would consider his logic, even if flawed, at least acceptable.
When he placed the final period, there was not the immediate sense of relief he had felt with the previous questions. Instead, there was a strange silence in his mind, as if the very act of pondering Limbo had left a residual void in his thoughts.
But then, the parchment reacted. The words about the paradox dissolved more quickly this time, almost with a sense of urgency, and began to reorganize for the fourth question. A deep, genuine relief coursed through Indra's body, so intense he almost felt his legs weaken. He had navigated the abstract. Whatever came next, no matter how difficult, would likely involve a world of tangible actions and consequences once more. And for that, he felt much more prepared. The test continued, and he was still in the game.
As soon as the final period on the Limbo paradox was absorbed by the parchment, a palpable shift occurred in the atmosphere of the astral plane. The air, which had grown heavy and empty with the previous question, seemed to recompose itself, becoming charged again with a more familiar, more structured energy. The golden harps emitted a resolute chord, and the clouds beneath Indra's feet regained their comforting solidity. The test had clearly entered a new phase.
The silver letters, once fluid and philosophical, rearranged themselves into a rigid, military-like format, with a title that made the new battlefield clear:
SECTION II: MULTIDIMENSIONAL STRATEGY & LOGISTICS
And then, the question materialized:
4. Complex Geopolitical Scenario: A Red Zone on the Rodínia continent suffers an anomaly that temporarily fuses it with the Pale Lands, creating a pocket of reality with contradictory physical laws. Your mission is to rescue a researcher trapped there. Your team is: you, a Cultivator; an Elementalist; and a Warlock. Devise an insertion, rescue, and extraction plan that exploits the SYNERGIES and MITIGATES the RISKS of the energetic interactions between your members and this doubly-corrupted environment.
Indra almost smiled. An intense, almost physical relief washed over him. Finally, he thought, something I can grab with both hands. This wasn't a painful abstraction about the nature of Nothingness. It was a tactical problem. A survival puzzle. It was the kind of challenge all his lessons with Professor Carl, all his brutal training with Aleksei, and all his life-and-death experiences had prepared him for.
Studying team synergy and energetic risk mitigation was, in fact, one of the most basic pillars of training for any Paranormal who hoped to live long enough to see their second year as a Graduate. An unbalanced team was an invitation for disaster; a synergistic team could face threats far above the individual level of its members.
His mind, now freed from the shackles of philosophy, worked with sharp speed and clarity. He visualized the scenario: a sick bubble of reality, a dimensional tumor where the rules of two Red Zones clashed and contradicted each other. The air could be acidic and freezing at the same time; gravity could fluctuate randomly; nightmare creatures, adapted to this madness, would certainly be lying in wait.
And then, he analyzed his human tools: himself, a Cultivator; an Elementalist; and a Warlock. Three radically different energies, three potentially conflicting power philosophies.
The answer formed in his mind with the precision of a military report.
The key, he realized instantly, was the Warlock. While the pure energy of a Cultivator and the fundamental order of an Elementalist would be seen as foreign and hostile in a corrupted environment, the Demonic Energy of the Warlock was of a nature similar to the environmental corruption. It wouldn't be welcomed with open arms, but it would have a lesser resonance, a certain... kinship. The Warlock could act as an "insulator" for the group, using his own energy to mask the purer signatures of the Cultivator and Elementalist, or to sense the currents of corruption and guide them along less hostile routes.
The Elementalist would be their anchor to reality. While the Warlock navigated the corruption, the Elementalist would work to create pockets of stability. By manipulating the fundamental forces of Aether, he could reinforce micro-areas within the dimensional bubble, creating temporarily safe zones where the laws of physics weren't entirely hostile. It would be a Sisyphean task, requiring impeccable control, but it would be the difference between having a place to breathe and being crushed by the environmental madness.
He, the Cultivator, would have a more internal, but no less vital, role. His Qi, pure and focused on strengthening life and spirit, would be a shield against the mental corruption emanating from such a profane place. While the Warlock protected their bodies and the Elementalist protected the space around them, the Cultivator would fortify their souls, ensuring the location's insanity didn't consume their minds and lead them to make fatal mistakes.
The risk analysis was equally clear. The greatest danger wasn't a creature, but internal energetic discord. The Cultivator's pure Qi and the Warlock's corrupt Demonic Energy were natural opposites. If their auras clashed within the team's confines, it would create a catastrophic flaw in the "insulation" provided by the Warlock, drawing all the hostile attention of the fused Zone.
The mitigation was tactical: formation and distance. They would operate with the Warlock at the vanguard, sensing the path. The Elementalist would be in the center, a buffer and stabilizer between the two opposing energies. And he, the Cultivator, would take the rearguard, maintaining the greatest physical distance possible from the Warlock while still being within the protective perimeter, focusing on keeping his Qi aura contained and turned inward to bolster the group's resilience.
Another critical risk was the Elementalist's ambition. A manipulation of Aether that was too broad or aggressive, attempting to "fix" the dimensional bubble, could be like throwing gasoline on a fire, destabilizing the fragile reality even further and potentially causing a localized dimensional collapse. The order would be: stabilize, do not reform. Small corrections, not grand gestures.
Finally, the overall plan would prioritize stealth and speed above all else. This wasn't about clearing the area or fighting. It was a rescue mission. They would use the Warlock's unique perception of corruption to navigate like shadows through the points of least resistance, avoiding conflict, getting in and out before the anomaly itself became aware of their intrusion.
With a confidence born from mastery of the subject, Indra picked up the silver pen and began to write. His script was quick and decisive, transcribing the synaptic analysis into a cohesive, well-founded plan. He had no doubts; this was the correct approach.
As soon as he finished, the parchment responded with the speed of a sigh. The words about Rodínia and the team dissolved and reorganized almost instantly, presenting the next question without hesitation. Indra felt a small surge of satisfaction. He had navigated a practical question with the mastery expected of a future member of the Society.
However, he did not allow his confidence to turn into arrogance. He remembered Sophie's lesson: confidence is good, arrogance is mortal. He consciously calmed his heart, reaffirming the state of the Silent Heart. The fact that one question had been "easy" didn't mean the next one wouldn't try to shatter his mind. He couldn't lower his guard. The test was a living entity thirsty for failures, and he had no intention of becoming another statistic. The journey continued, and he was ready for the next assault.
A slight weariness began to creep into the corners of Indra's mind, a subtle mental fatigue after navigating questions ranging from pure logic to philosophical abstraction. He closed his eyes for a long moment, allowing himself a precious few seconds of pause. The deep, controlled breathing of the Silent Heart of the Inner Vortex washed over him, dissipating the fog of exhaustion. Upon opening his eyes, he directed them to the ethereal clock hovering above Miyazaki Shirayuki. Just over an hour had passed since the test began. He was on the fifth question. A calm, yet firm, premonition settled over his consciousness: he would finish in time. The test was a marathon, not a sprint, and he was finding his rhythm.
His attention returned to the parchment, where the new question had already crystallized.
5. Forbidden Artifact Dilemma: You discover a 3rd-Grade Ancestral Artifact in a ruin on Vaalbara. It promises the power to permanently seal a Gate to Setealém, but its activation requires the voluntary sacrifice of a "pure" soul. Analyze this scenario from the perspectives of Survival Utilitarianism — saving thousands by closing the Gate — versus the Dogma of Spiritual Purity—the inherent corruption of such an act — citing hypothetical historical precedents from the Society or other factions (e.g., Catholic Church vs. First Satanic Church).
Indra didn't move a muscle, but internally, his alarm bells rang at their highest pitch. This was not a question of strategy or knowledge. It was a trap. A crucible designed to test the metal of his character, his understanding of the Society's history, and his resilience against the sirens of easy power. Doing the "right" thing here was more important than doing the "smart" thing.
He instantly realized the answer wasn't a practical solution, but a demonstration of integrity, morals, and ethics. And, considering that the Esoteric Society, however much it operated in the shadows of a hostile world, was composed mostly of humans and semi-humans who still clung to some form of civilization, these values weren't just empty rhetoric; they were a long-term survival mechanism. An organization that embraced Utilitarianism without brakes would sooner or later become a threat as great as anything emerging from Setealém.
His mind worked, separating the arguments with the precision of a surgeon.
Survival Utilitarianism, he pondered, was a dangerous fallacy when applied to a Cursed Artifact. The very premise of "Cursed" meant the object operated through fundamental distortions of reality and the soul. The promise of a "permanent seal" was the classic bait. At best, it would be a lie. At worst, and more likely, the seal would create a dependency on sacrifice, demanding more and more "pure" souls to sustain itself, or transferring the threat from Setealém to a new, more insidious threat: the artifact itself and its corrupted user. What would emerge would not be a hero, but potentially a Cursed Fallen, a higher-category Creature born from the fusion of an ambitious soul with an object of pure malevolence. Saving thousands today to condemn tens of thousands tomorrow was foolish arithmetic.
The Dogma of Spiritual Purity, on the other hand, was not merely a moral stance. It was a metaphysical biosafety protocol. Preserving the integrity of the Paranormal and the principles of the Society was what prevented them from becoming monsters. He needed a historical precedent, even a hypothetical one, to ground his position. The memory of his readings on subsidiary factions came to his aid. He could cite the Great Schism of the Templar Order. The official history said they were dissolved by political pressure, but the Society's internal records, which Indra had studied, suggested that an internal faction had begun using forbidden artifacts and rituals of dubious origin, arguing that "the ends justify the means" to combat greater threats. The result? That faction was eradicated to the last man by the Hall of Justice, not for heresy, but because they had become a corrupted, uncontrollable infestation, a more immediate and dangerous threat than any they claimed to fight.
The Conclusion was, therefore, inevitable and clear. The correct answer, the only acceptable answer for a potential member of the Society, was not to use the artifact. Standard procedure would be: contain the artifact using high-level quarantine protocols, report it immediately to the Hall of Justice for controlled study, and, in parallel, seek alternative methods — even if slower, more laborious, and less immediately gratifying — to deal with the Gate to Setealém. The final lesson was one that resonated with Sophie's warning: the end does not justify the means when the means irreversibly corrupt the user and the very reality one intends to save.
As he transcribed his answer onto the parchment, Indra kept his expression impassive, but internally he acknowledged the irony. He himself was no paragon of high morality. His own survival, his own power, was his priority. If he were alone, in a desperate situation, with no witnesses and no Society structure to hold him accountable... perhaps he would consider it. But this was not the test of Indra, the orphan survivor. This was the test of Indra, the potential agent of the Esoteric Society. And for that role, he needed to wear the mantle of integrity. It was better, and safer, to feign adherence to these principles.
As soon as the last word of his ethical analysis was recorded, the parchment reacted with its now-familiar fluidity, the letters dissolving and reforming for the sixth question. It was a smooth transition, without the hesitation or increased tension he had felt after previous questions. This relative ease, instead of reassuring him, ignited a small warning signal in his mind.
Relatively easy, he thought, watching the new question materialize. That probably means the next one will be a nightmare.
He didn't allow the apprehension to take hold. Instead, he used it to sharpen his senses even further. He calmed his breathing, reaffirmed his mental barriers against the chaotic noise of the cognitive artifact, and dove into the next question, knowing the test was far from over and that his true challenges still lay ahead.
A stubborn disquiet began to germinate in Indra's mind as he awaited the next question. The smooth transition after the cursed artifact question, instead of calming him, made his survival instincts whisper in alert. It can't be, he thought, his gaze sweeping over the pristine parchment. Aside from that philosophical musing about Limbo, the others had been... relatively straightforward. Energetic logic, team strategy, operational ethics — they were complex, no doubt, but he had navigated them with a clarity that almost frightened him.
Was it a trick? Had he, at some point without realizing it, succumbed to the illusory spell and was now answering false questions, cheerfully marching towards his own disqualification? He closed his eyes for a brief instant, projecting his Energy Sense once more. The same chaotic, dissonant maelstrom of the cognitive artifact hit him, but the energetic signature of the parchment itself remained the same — complex, serious, and real. No, he had successfully broken the initial illusion. The conclusion, then, was both humbling and empowering. Perhaps Professor Carl was simply an exceptional instructor. Perhaps the brutal training with Aleksei had forged a more intuitive understanding of these principles within him. Or perhaps, and this is what he preferred to believe, he was simply adapting. In any case, hesitating was useless. It was better to finish the test.
The sixth question crystallized before him, and a nearly inaudible sigh escaped his lips.
6. The Yanojô People Problem: The Yanojô People, wild humans of the Other Side, venerate an entity that the Esoteric Society classifies as a "Corrupted Abyssal." They live in harmony with the local nature, but the entity's rituals gradually transform the surrounding land into a Black Zone. Should the Society intervene? Construct an ethical argument that balances the Right to Self-Determination of a native culture, the Preservation of Stable Reality, and the Imperative of Collective Security.
Another ethical question. But this one was different from the last. The artifact dilemma was black and white — a clear temptation of evil. This one, however, was painted in fifty shades of gray. It was a labyrinth of contradictions where all sides had a valid argument. To intervene would be colonialism. Not to intervene would be negligence. And the worst part: there was no single "right" answer in the absolute sense. There was only the best possible approach, the one that would cause the least long-term harm while keeping the Society's principles intact.
He smiled internally. Ethical questions, when you understood the rules of the game, were easy to answer. It all came down to demonstrating a balanced thought process, showing you had considered all variables, and above all, avoiding like the plague sounding like a psychopath who completely ignored the value of life and culture. It was a performance, and Indra was becoming an increasingly competent actor.
He dove into the analysis, structuring his response not as a solution, but as a scalable protocol.
Observation and Diplomacy: A brute-force intervention would be a catastrophic error in interdimensional relations. The Society cannot arrive like a hammer, crushing what it does not understand. The first step would be to dispatch specialized diplomats and paranormal anthropologists — likely from the Theosophical Society, known for its study of spiritual traditions — to understand the nature of the symbiosis between the Yanojô People and the entity. It was possible their understanding of "Corrupted Abyssal" was incomplete. Perhaps the relationship was more complex, a pact of perverse mutualism that, while corrupting the land, guaranteed the people's survival in some misunderstood way. An agreement or a redefinition of the threat might be possible.
Non-Intrusive Containment: If the expansion of the Black Zone proved to be an imminent and active threat to neighboring regions or local dimensional stability, action would become necessary. However, action did not mean eradication. The Society could establish energetic containment barriers around the Yanojô territory. These would not be walls to imprison the people, but dikes to contain the leakage of corruption. It would be a way to isolate the phenomenon, treating it as a high-risk reserve, without violating the people's self-determination — as long as they remained within its boundaries. It was an expensive solution requiring constant maintenance, but it bought time and avoided a bloodbath.
Action as a Last Resort: Eradication — of the people, the entity, or both — would only become ethically justifiable under two rigorously proven conditions: first, if the entity was consciously and explicitly malevolent, not merely a cosmic animal following its nature, but a being that actively sought destruction. Second, if the Yanojô People were irremediably corrupted and became expansionist, using the Black Zone as a weapon. Even then, the final decision could not rest with a bloodthirsty Legion Commander. It would have to be made by a council of last resort, formed by the High Council, the Hall of Justice, and with mediation from a neutral faction like the Magic Tower, to ensure it was not an act of convenience, but of absolute necessity.
As he placed the silver pen to the parchment and transcribed his elaborate answer, Indra felt a strange sensation of... satisfaction. It wasn't the relief of having escaped a trap, but the genuine gratification of having built a solid, well-founded argument. He reread his own words, and a discreet yet genuine smile touched his lips. Is this the feeling? he wondered, remembering mundane people who dedicated years to studying for exams. That moment when knowledge crystallizes and you realize you're not just repeating information, but applying a framework of thought.
And then, as he watched the words on his parchment begin to dissolve and reorganize once more, without hesitation or drama, the smile deepened. It wasn't a smile of arrogance, but of belonging. Answering these questions, navigating these complexities, was no longer just a matter of survival. It was a rite of initiation. Each correct answer was a brick in a bridge connecting him to that weird, hostile, and fascinating world. For the first time since he crossed the Veil, Indra didn't feel like an intruder or a survivor. He felt like a student. And perhaps, just perhaps, like a future member of the Esoteric Society. The next question materialized, and he faced it not with fear, but with resolute curiosity.
A deep, throbbing exhaustion had settled in Indra's mind. Keeping the illusory spell at bay for nearly three hours was like carrying a colossal weight with nothing but willpower. Each question demanded not only knowledge but a constant mental barrier against the chaotic intrusion of the cognitive artifact. He could feel his psychic defenses groaning, like a muscle pushed to its absolute limit. Without the Silent Heart, he would have collapsed long ago.
With visible effort, he focused on the seventh and, he hoped, final multiple-choice question.
7. The Fallacy of the Single Truth: The World of Ideas is described as the realm of "true reality." However, sources from the Order of the Nine Angles claim this is merely another level of the illusion, and the World of Shadows would be the "true prison." Considering that both views are upheld by powerful and wise factions, how should a Paranormal, on their journey for power, navigate these ontological contradictions without succumbing to paralyzing skepticism or dogmatic fanaticism?
Philosophy. Again. But this time, there was a practical thread. This wasn't about an abstract realm, but about the very psyche of the power-seeker. He remembered his own doubts, the feeling of constantly learning that everything he knew was just the surface. An answer began to form, not as a revealed truth, but as a spiritual survival manual.
The key, he realized, was to abandon the search for a capitalized "Truth." A limited consciousness, be it human or from another realm, could never embrace the absolute. The focus, therefore, could not be on Fate — reaching a final truth — but on the Process — the very journey of growth.
And what fueled this process? The Will of Existence. In its purest understanding, it wasn't about discovering an external truth and bowing to it. It was the opposite. It was about forging your own internal truth, your own conviction, with such force and clarity that it became a functional, active part of the reality around you. Your will became truth, within your sphere of influence.
To navigate between contradictory views without going mad, a skill was needed, which he decided to call Tactical Agnotology: the strategic practice of embracing uncertainty. Instead of fearing contradiction, to use it. To see each model of reality — the World of Ideas, the World of Shadows, or any other — not as gospel, but as a tool. A specific lens for a specific problem. Fanaticism for a single view was a prison that limited potential. Absolute skepticism, which rejected everything, was a paralysis that prevented action. True wisdom, and true power, resided in operating comfortably within paradoxes, using the tension between them as fuel for continuous evolution, without ever dogmatically clinging to any one.
He wrote his answer, each word a balm for his own mental exhaustion. At the end, he could almost feel the cognitive artifact recalibrate. The multiple-choice questions were over.
Then, the parchment transformed completely. The rigid layout gave way to an open space, and a new title appeared, confirming his thoughts.
PARANORMAL EXAM ESSAY TOPIC
A wave of urgency replaced the relief. He looked at the ethereal clock above Miyazaki Shirayuki. Thirty minutes. He had thirty minutes to consolidate everything into a single, cohesive, and powerful demonstration of his thinking.
He read the topic, and his eyes narrowed. It was perfect. It was the sum of everything that had been tested.
"The Price of Order: To what extent can the Esoteric Society intervene in the Mortal Plane to fulfill its primary mission of protecting humanity?"
It was the embodiment of the central dilemma of his new life. He picked up the silver pen for the last time, feeling the pact of veracity pulse in his hand. This was not the time for half-truths or dissimulation. It was time to synthesize.
He chose his concepts: the Veil Principle, Zones of Disturbance, the Ethics of Survival, the Clan Hierarchy, and the Will of Existence. And then, he began to write.
The Razor's Edge: Necessary Intervention and Its Ethical Limits
The words flowed with a clarity that surprised even him. The mental fatigue seemed to recede, replaced by the sharp focus of the final moment. He defined the dilemma: the sacred mission versus the Veil Principle. He argued that intervention was necessary, but it had to be surgical.
He cited Zones of Disturbance as the clearest justification, where the Ethics of Survival demanded immediate and brutal action. Failure to act here was negligence.
But then, he raised the counter-argument. He warned of the slippery slope of political intervention, where the Clan Hierarchy could distort the mission into tyranny, imposing the vision of an elite upon the fate of billions.
The solution, he proposed, lay in maturity. In applying the Will of Existence not as a hammer, but as a brake. True strength lay in knowing when not to act, in trusting human resilience. Intervention should be the last resort, restricted to neutralizing active threats, never to molding societies.
His conclusion was a masterstroke. To protect humanity, he asserted, meant to respect its freedom, even in its ignorance. The Society was the shield, not the leash. Any deviation from this would transform them into what they swore to combat. "The price of order cannot be freedom."
As he placed the final period, a profound peace washed over him. He had given it his all.
Almost immediately, the words of his essay dissolved, replaced by a simple, final message.
END OF EXAM
And below it, a line that seemed to whisper directly into his soul:
Remember: The shadows are not only what you see, but the empties between what you know. Fill them with your own light.
Indra let go of the pen. The silver metal dematerialized in the air before touching the desk. He leaned back in the stone seat, his body and mind finally capitulating to exhaustion. A long, deep sigh, laden with weeks of tension, escaped his lungs. He closed his eyes, not to concentrate, but simply to rest.
He had reached the end. Not just of the exam, but of a stage. Under the astral sky of that plane, surrounded by the muffled sounds of other triumphant or despairing candidates, Indra Shuemesch knew, with a certainty beyond intellect, that he was no longer the same scared boy who had crossed the Veil. He had faced the shadows of ignorance and, for the first time, had filled them with his own light. Whatever came next, he was ready.
---
A tolling of a bell, as deep and final as the one that had started the exam, echoed through the astral plane, causing Indra's eyes to snap open. The post-exam drowsiness was swept away by a jolt of adrenaline. The illusion of clouds and golden harps began to dissolve smoothly, like a dream coming to an end, revealing once more the severe forms of the Esoteric Academy's main hall.
In the center, where the white stone pulpit was now visible again, Miyazaki Shirayuki stood, a statue of serene authority. Her voice rose, cutting through the heavy air of anxiety that had taken hold of the candidates.
"The time for the Written Exam has ended." — she announced, her voice maintaining that warm, melodious tone that contrasted so violently with her icy aura. It was a disconcerting dichotomy; her words sounded like an invitation, but her posture was a decree.
At that same instant, all the parchments on the desks emitted an intense golden glow. They rose gently, like leaves carried by an invisible breeze, and floated towards the Inquisitor. In the air, the thousands of parchments merged into a single, large document of golden light that landed gracefully in Shirayuki's outstretched hands.
She lowered her gaze to the glowing document. Her fingers slid smoothly over the surface, as if reading braille. The candidates were in suspense, the silence in the hall so thick one could hear the distant sound of energy itself pulsing in the walls. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile touched Shirayuki's lips. It wasn't a smile of triumph or amusement, but something more subtle, more introspective.
She raised her head and her glacial gaze swept over the crowd. It was a quick, efficient scan, assessing the condition of the mental survivors. However, at one point, her movement stopped. Her ice-blue eyes landed on someone in the crowd and remained there for a second longer than on anyone else. Indra, curious, tried to follow the direction of her gaze, but the angle and the crowd prevented him. He couldn't see who had captured the Inquisitor's attention, but the expression he could capture from a distance wasn't one of anger or approval, but of a deep, fleeting melancholy, like someone seeing a ghost of a distant future.
Just as it appeared, the expression vanished. Shirayuki smiled at the audience again, a broad, professional smile.
"Congratulations." — she said, her voice clear as crystal.
"Everyone passed."
The silence that followed was absolute, laden with disbelief. It was broken by a confused whisper, which quickly turned into a murmur of suspicion. Everyone? What did she mean, everyone? The questions were brutal, the illusory spell was treacherous, the mental fatigue was real. How was it possible that no one had failed?
Shirayuki made no gesture, but the simple act of her slightly raising her hand was enough to silence the crowd instantly. The smile remained on her face, but when she spoke again, her voice had the sharp clarity of an ice blade.
"Calm yourselves." — she ordered, and the word seemed to lower the hall's temperature by ten degrees.
Then, with a casual motion, she tossed the golden document into the air. It spun and, in a dazzling flash, transformed into a huge ethereal scoreboard that hovered above the pulpit. On it, the names of all 1,037 candidates were listed in order of ranking, with their respective scores.
"The test was worth 1000 points." — Shirayuki explained, her voice returning to its usual softness, which now sounded sinister.
"The passing score was 500. However, each of your tests was unique. A high-level cognitive artifact adapted the questions based on each individual's responses. The difficulty level, therefore, could not be standardized. What was assessed was your potential, your ability to reason under pressure, and the solidity of your fundamentals. The methods are... one hundred percent secure." — she paused, allowing her words to echo.
"All 1,037 participants passed."
The murmur returned, but now laden with a different tone: indignation.
"This is unfair!" — someone shouted from the crowd.
"Students with less knowledge got easier questions! How does that measure our real level?"
Other voices joined in a chorus, complaining about the lack of a standard.
Shirayuki listened to it all with infinite patience, her gentle smile never faltering. When the complaints began to die down, she spoke, and her voice was sweet poison.
"That doesn't matter." — she said, simply.
"From the beginning, you all should have realized the adaptive nature of the test. If you chose to show off, formulating complex, philosophical answers for questions that could have been answered directly... the problem is solely yours." — her eyes gleamed with a flash of sadistic amusement.
"Trying to make the test as easy as possible for yourself was the most obvious and intelligent strategy. Intellectual arrogance has its price, even in a test designed to measure precisely that."
The coldness of the logic, combined with the icy serenity of her delivery, silenced the last grumbles. The candidates realized that arguing with an Inquisitor of the Hall of Justice about the rules she herself had set was an exercise in futility.
Satisfied with the submissive silence, Shirayuki concluded:
"You have one hour before the start of the second phase. The refectory is open for dinner. Do as you wish, but those who are not back in this hall by seven-thirty... will be immediately disqualified." — her smile widened for a fraction of a second, a glimpse of a predator, before she turned and descended from the pulpit, disappearing into the side shadows of the hall.
With her departure, the last vestige of the astral plane completely dissolved. The hall was now solid and real, and immediately filled with the noise of hundreds of simultaneous conversations. Most expressed dissatisfaction, others relief, and many crowded in front of the ethereal scoreboard, desperately searching for their names.
Indra remained where he was for a moment, processing. He didn't deeply care about the ranking; the fact that he had passed was what mattered. But a practical curiosity moved him. He wanted to get a sense of the "level" of difficulty the cognitive artifact had determined for him. Walking towards the scoreboard, he tuned his mind to find his own energetic signature among the thousands listed.
His eyes scanned the list from bottom to top, passing names he didn't recognize, until, near the top, his own name jumped out at him, written in silver characters that seemed to glow more intensely.
#1 - Indra Shuemesch - Score: 997
Indra froze. His brain, still tired from the exam, struggled to process the information. He blinked, as if expecting the letters to change. They didn't.
'Why the fuck am I in first place?'