After the vertiginous departure of Duchess Sansa, a semblance of mundane order returned. The remaining instructors, now the highest authority in the hall, retreated to their positions, becoming silent, watchful sentinels along the periphery. Yet, the air remained thick with a low, persistent hum of anxious whispers. The collective nervous energy of five thousand souls on the precipice was a tangible force, a static charge that raised the hairs on Bradley's arms.
He remained at the back, a shadow against the marble wall, arms crossed as he dissected the new information. So the other Dukes are watching. If they possess even a fraction of Sansa's power, this empire is built on a foundation of living cataclysms.
His gaze swept the crowd once more, a hunter's instinctual search for the most dangerous game—the heirs who would inherit such power. From his disadvantaged position, they all blurred into a mass of privilege and potential. Well, if some pompous heir takes issue with my face, I'll just have to introduce them to the floor. Some lessons are universal.
A nagging dissonance plagued him. He scoured the archives of his memory, the countless novels and stories he'd consumed in his past life, trying to find a match for this world—its empires, its magic system, its Dukes. He found nothing. No familiar names, no overlapping plotlines. The realization was both disquieting and liberating. This isn't a story I've read. This is uncharted territory.
While he was lost in this labyrinth of thought, a change occurred on the empty podium. It was so subtle, so devoid of fanfare, that no one noticed—until a loud, protracted yawn shattered the hall's murmur, a sound of profound boredom that seemed to vibrate through the marble itself. Everyone jumped, instructors included. A man was now lounging in a chair that hadn't been there a moment before, as if he had simply convinced reality he belonged.
He was the picture of cultivated indolence. Short, sleep-tousled gray hair crowned a face etched with the profound desire to be anywhere else. His eyes, black and half-lidded, regarded the thousands of children with the enthusiasm of a man watching paint dry.
Most astonishing was his attire: a full set of dark blue nightwear with thin white stripes, the fabric rumpled. He had come to the single most important day in these children's lives dressed for bed.
The instructors, recovering from their shock, bowed their heads in unison. "Welcome, Head Instructor Midas!"
Midas waved a dismissive hand, the gesture languid. "Yawn. I'd forgotten the awakening trial was today. Hence my… timely arrival." His voice, though lazy, carried with unnatural clarity, reaching every corner of the vast hall.
Disbelief was a palpable wave. This was the head instructor? Dressed in pajamas? Before the watching Dukes?
Truly insane, Bradley thought, a grim smile touching his lips. But the kind of insane that only absolute power can afford. He hasn't been struck down by lightning or an irate Duke, which means his strength is his permit for this absurdity.
Bradley's assessment was, as always, brutally accurate.
Midas possessed power that placed him on the same tier as the Dukes. When asked why he never sought a title, his answer was legendary: "It is such a drag." The Emperor, in a fit of pragmatic humor, had made him the Head Instructor, a role Midas accepted with the same enthusiasm as a death sentence. Thus, the "Lazy Head Instructor" was born.
His reputation was sealed by the fact that he had once erased a noble family from history for the crime of disturbing his afternoon nap. He was, it was universally understood, not a man to be interrupted.
In the observation chamber above, Duke Arnold clicked his tongue. "Tsk. I knew he'd forgotten."
"The Emperor's logic in assigning him this role continues to elude me," Valentine remarked, his tone detached.
"What other choice was there?" Mira countered. "He refused everything else."
Below, Midas stood and stretched, his joints popping like small firecrackers in the tense silence. "Listen closely, brats. And pay attention, because I will not repeat myself." His command, though delivered with boredom, instantly silenced the hall.
He tapped a finger on his temple, his face a mask of concentration. Don't tell me he forgot his own speech, Bradley thought, a sense of surreal disbelief washing over him.
Suddenly, Midas's face brightened as if he'd discovered a delightful secret. "Right! Awakening. You're here for that. As you know, it's your soul being tested, not your body. But how, you wonder?" He gestured vaguely at the floor. "This hall is built atop ancient runes, a conduit to the Spirit System our ancestors forged. It's picky—only works for thirteen-year-olds. A day younger or older, and you're out of luck. Life's unfair."
So, the foundation itself is the catalyst, Bradley mused. A permanent, runic array. Brutal efficiency. And a brutally narrow window of opportunity. Miss this, and you're condemned to a life of powerlessness in a world where strength is the only true currency.
"The trial's difficulty is tailored to your soul," Midas continued, his voice taking on a monotonous rhythm. "But the System isn't inherently malicious. It doesn't give unbeatable trials at this stage. That said…" He paused, letting his black eyes sweep over them. "…if you leave your brain behind, even the simplest puzzle can kill you. So. Think. Before you leap into oblivion."
Sound advice that at least a third of this crowd will ignore, Bradley predicted. Fools are a constant in every universe.
"I think that's all… Oh, right. The moment you find yourself in the trial, check your Spirit System. It's your lifeline. Your guide. Ignore it, and you're just meat waiting for the grinder. Any questions?" He delivered the last part with a palpable hope that no one would shatter his peace.
The world, it seemed, was feeling contrary. A boy's hand shot up.
Midas rolled his eyes so hard it seemed a minor miracle they stayed in his head. "Yes?"
"Are we going to be in the same trial together?"
"No. Only in later trials." The answer was flat, final.
So, co-op is unlocked after the tutorial, Bradley translated. Meaning in the future, they'll be just as likely to kill each other as any monster.
Seeing no further interruptions to his planned return to slumber, Midas issued his final command. "Sit on the floor. Lotus position. All of you."
Bradley settled onto the cool marble, crossing his legs. Around him, thousands followed suit, the rustle of clothing a vast, sighing wave.
"Now, close your eyes. Let the System pull you in. Forget the outside. Focus inward. On the void. On the pull." Midas slumped back into his chair, the picture of relief.
Bradley took a deep, centering breath, in and out. He closed his eyes, turning his awareness inward, seeking that connection, that hook in the fabric of his consciousness. He could feel the frantic drum of his own heart, a mix of dread and wild anticipation. This was it. The threshold.
But for Bradley, the path was never straightforward.
Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Nothing. No pull, no shift, no hook. Only the silent, dark confines of his own mind. A flicker of confusion, then irritation, twitched in his brow.
What's happening? I can't feel anything. Is there a trick to it? A specific mental state?
He redoubled his efforts, trying to empty his mind, to become a receptive vessel. An hour crawled past, marked only by the slow, sinking feeling in his gut. The anticipation curdled into cold dread.
What the hell?
Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.
He was alone.
Every other child, including Adrian beside him, sat motionless, ensconced in a soft, ethereal white light. Intricate runes glowed on the floor beneath each of them, pulsing with a gentle, rhythmic energy. They were deep in a trance, their souls already departed. He was the only one awake, the only one untouched, a barren island in a sea of glowing, connected souls.
"What the fuck?" The curse escaped in a shocked whisper before he could stop it, his hand slapping over his mouth. Why am I the only one?
The conclusion was inescapable, a cold, hard truth settling in his gut. It's because my soul doesn't belong here. It's an alien thing, a counterfeit. The System recognizes an imposter.
The implications were devastating. Does this mean I'm fucked? Permanently? A cripple in a world of gods and monsters? A familiar, dark resolve surfaced. I might as well put the revolver to good use. I didn't come here to be a spectator.
He wasn't the only one who had noticed the anomaly.
There was no sound, no displacement of air. One moment Bradley was alone with his despair, the next, Midas was standing directly in front of him, studying him with a spark of genuine curiosity that had been absent moments before.
"We have a weird one here…" Midas murmured, tilting his head like a scientist examining a bizarre insect.
Before Bradley could react, a warm hand was placed on his head. "Pardon the intrusion."
A wave of foreign energy, warm and probing, flooded his body. It was a deeply invasive sensation, as if every cell, every secret, was being laid bare. He's scanning me. Diagnosing the fault.
Midas frowned, the expression alien on his typically bored features. His spirit energy encountered… a dissonance. The boy's body was normal, but his soul… it was like a key that didn't quite fit the lock. Is it the soul itself? Damaged? Or… something else? He recalled the one other case, years ago, an unsolved mystery.
He withdrew his hand, the warmth receding. "I'm sorry, brat," Midas said, and for the first time, his voice held a note of something resembling sincerity. "I don't think you will be able to awaken."
The confirmation was a physical blow. Fuck. So it's true. I'm a cripple.
"There was another case, just like yours, years ago. You're the second. We never determined the cause, but it's rooted in the soul." Midas finished, his duty to inform done.
In the observation room, the air grew heavy.
"Isn't this the second time?" Duchess Mira asked, her voice uncharacteristically bitter.
Valentine gave a slow, grave nod. "A statistical anomaly becoming a pattern. I fear this may not be the last."
"I hope you're wrong," Arnold grumbled, his reptilian eyes narrowed.
"Poor child," Valentine murmured, the closest he ever came to pity. "To be stranded on the shore while everyone else learns to sail a world of storms… it is a death sentence, slow and inevitable."
Mira turned to Sansa. "Isn't that one of yours, Sansa?"
Sansa's face was a masterpiece of frozen composure, but beneath the ice, a fissure of pain had opened. Why? Why one of my children? And why… Bradley? He was her secret favorite, the one whose quiet intensity had always resonated with her own hidden self. The thought of him being rendered powerless, vulnerable, was a unique agony.
She made her decision in an instant, a silent vow etched in stone. She would be his shield. His sanctuary.
Without a word of reply to Mira, she vanished.
She materialized between Bradley and Midas, a sudden, beautiful apparition of concern. "Midas," she acknowledged the Head Instructor with a curt nod, which he returned.
Then she turned to Bradley, her cold mask completely gone, replaced by a warmth that was both heartbreaking and fierce. "It is okay, Bradley. Even if you don't awaken, it is alright. I will take care of you. I will protect you from any danger." Her smile was a promise, a fortress wall built just for him.
Bradley nodded, mechanically getting to his feet. Her proximity was dizzying. Gods, she's even more stunning up close. A goddess of war and mercy. Her words sank in. She'd protect me. Lock me in a gilded cage, safe and useless. A pet. The thought was more terrifying than any trial. I'm sorry, Mom, but that's not living. I'd rather die.
He shook his head, a gesture of defiance. No. This isn't the end. There's always another path. A hidden door. I just have to find it.
Just as this resolve solidified, a sudden, overwhelming wave of fatigue crashed over him. His eyelids became leaden weights. What the heck? Why do I feel so… sleep—
The thought shattered mid-sentence. His vision tunneled into darkness.
From the outside, he simply stood there, eyes closed, body rigid.
"Bradley? Are you alright?" Sansa's voice was laced with alarm as she moved to steady him.
But before her fingers could brush his arm, a low, astonished laugh stopped her.
"Ahahaha… This kid…" Midas was chuckling, his chair materializing behind him as he sat back down, a look of pure, undiluted fascination on his face. "Very interesting. I thought he was doomed. But to enter the trial while standing… that's beyond crazy."
Sansa's gaze snapped downward. Her breath caught.
There, under Bradley's feet, a rune now blazed with a fierce, brilliant white light, its glow outshining all the others. He had done it. He had forced his way in, defying the very laws of the System.
A warm, radiant smile of profound relief and hope blossomed on Sansa's face, a sight rarer and more beautiful than any celestial event.
"I wish you all the best, Bradley," she whispered into the humming air, a blessing sent after a soul that had already plunged into the unknown.
*****
I'm back.