A few moments later, an official entered the waiting hall, followed by a divine existence whose presence felt like a low, steady hum in the air. He was an Attuned, though to the children, he was simply another figure of unattainable power.
As he stepped onto the low podium at the front of the hall, the nervous whispers died into an expectant silence.
"You have each seen a vision," the Attuned began, his voice calm and authoritative. "A representation of the concept your soul resonates with. That vision is your key."
He gestured to a small table beside him. On it sat a single, plain glass cup filled with clear water. At the bottom of the cup rested a small, perfectly smooth, matte black stone.
It seemed to absorb the light around it, a tiny piece of tangible nothingness.
"When your name is called," he continued, "you will step forward. You will place your hand over this Concept Stone and recall the image, the feeling, the truth of what you saw in that room. The stone will do the rest. Understand?"
A chorus of nervous "Yes, sirs" answered him.
"Good. Kaelen Fen, come forward."
A lean boy with black curly hair stepped up to the podium, his face pale with a mixture of fear and hope. He did as instructed, placing his trembling hand over the cup.
———- ————-
Above the hall, hidden from mortal perception, eleven figures observed.
They stood in a space that existed parallel to the physical world—a viewing gallery constructed from pure concept, accessible only to those who had transcended the limitations of ordinary existence. From here, they could see everything: every child, every awakening, every flicker of potential emerging from untrained souls.
The Transcendents had gathered.
Six men. Five women. Each one a god in mortal terms—beings of such power that their mere presence could crush nations. They were the true rulers of this world, the invisible hands that moved every piece on the board.
And right now, they were discussing livestock.
"Let us see," Mo Qinghai spoke first, his voice carrying the eerie calm of deep, still waters. His dark green hair framed a face that seemed perpetually drained of color, and his eyes—black as the void between stars—reflected nothing. The air around him carried a subtle wrongness, a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. "Let us see if your division can produce something interesting for the war, Heiyun Jue."
The man addressed smiled—a predator's smile, thin and satisfied.
Heiyun Jue stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture radiating quiet confidence. His black hair was swept back from a sharp, angular face, and his robes—dark as thunderclouds—seemed to absorb the light around him.
"Of course," he replied. "I've already found a golden goose."
The others stirred. Interest flickered across faces that usually showed nothing.
"Oh?" Lu Feiyu raised an elegant eyebrow. She was tall and willowy, with features that suggested aristocratic breeding taken to its logical extreme. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but her eyes—pale grey, like winter skies—sharpened with attention.
"Awakened naturally," Heiyun Jue continued, savoring the moment. "Manifested its concept without the concept stone. Quite impressive."
Silence.
Then murmurs. Glances exchanged between ancient beings who had thought themselves beyond surprise.
"Naturally?" Yao Shiqiu's voice rumbled like distant thunder. He was broad and weathered, with a beard that crackled faintly with residual lightning. "That hasn't happened in—"
"Four millennia," Cang Shixuan finished. He was lean and pale, with an unsettling stillness about him—the kind of stillness that preceded violence. "Only seven in recorded history. And now an eighth."
"The body couldn't handle the burden, of course," Heiyun Jue added. "It broke down. It's receiving treatment now. Should take about a month before it's wakes."
The greed was immediate.
It rippled through the gathered Transcendents like a wave—subtle shifts in posture, slight narrowings of eyes, the faintest leanings forward. Natural awakeners were rare beyond measure. Valuable beyond calculation. Whoever controlled this one would gain an advantage that couldn't be easily matched.
Bai Jinxue moved first.
"According to our agreement," she said smoothly, "you may keep it."
Her voice was cool, melodic—the sound of wind over frozen lakes. White hair cascaded down her back like spilled moonlight, framing features of sharp, crystalline beauty. Her golden eyes held warmth that didn't reach past their surface.
"But," she continued, "make sure to tame it. Train it to serve our purposes."
A pause. That perfect smile widened by a fraction.
"If it proves too difficult for you, send it to me. I will train it to obedience."
Heiyun Jue gave a short, dismissive cough. "Your concern is noted, Bai Jinxue, but unnecessary. My goose will be well cared for."
Natural awakeners brought either glory or doom. The histories were clear on that.
But none of them were worried.
By the time this child grew powerful enough to threaten anything, they would be long gone—ascended to higher realms, beyond the reach of mortal concerns. Let her bring doom if she wished. It wouldn't be *their* doom.
She was an investment. A tool. A piece of livestock with exceptional potential.
Nothing more.
---
He gestured back to the shared vision. "Now, let us watch the lesser birds learn to fly."
In the vision, the boy's concept stirred. The clear water in the glass began to darken. A single black dot, like a drop of ink, appeared in the center of the Concept Stone. Then, with terrifying speed, black, thread-like tendrils spread from the stone, corrupting the water until the entire glass was filled with a swirling, opaque blackness.
"Corruption," Mo Qinghai noted with a hint of approval. "A useful tool for sowing chaos on the battlefield. Acceptable."
Down below, the boy, Kaelen Fen, stared at the blackened water with wide, ecstatic eyes. He had done it. He had awakened.
As he was led away, another name was called, and another.
A girl's awakening caused the water to boil and crack the glass. A boy's caused it to freeze solid, a layer of frost spreading across the table.
Chén Yè watched each one, his face a neutral mask, his mind a whirlwind.
Fire. Ice. Corruption. They were all tangible, understandable concepts.
But what was his? A dark room? A million fleeting lights?
It felt different. Abstract.
Soon, it was his turn.
"Chén Yè."
He walked to the podium, his steps steady. He placed his hand over the cup, the obsidian-like stone radiating a faint, pulling coolness.
"Recall the image," the Attuned's voice instructed.
Chén Yè closed his eyes.
He didn't recall the image; he fell back into it. The absolute darkness. The silent, frantic dance of a million light-wings. The feeling of infinite, ungraspable potential.
On the podium, the Concept Stone began to react.
It didn't just stir. It began to vibrate, a low, deep hum that resonated with the very structure of the hall. The water in the cup didn't change color; it began to shimmer, reflecting not just the room, but a thousand different rooms, a thousand different possibilities, all at once.
The Attuned stared, his mouth slightly agape.
In the pocket dimension, every single Transcendent leaned forward.
What is this? Chén Yè thought, still deep in the vision.
He felt a flicker of his old self-doubt, the street orphan's certainty that he was nothing special. The voice that had kept him alive all these years—the one that whispered stay small, expect nothing, you are nothing.
It's a mistake, he thought. I have no concept. I never did.
And in that instant, his will imposed itself on reality.
The deep hum from the stone ceased.
The thousand reflections in the water vanished, returning to simple, clear liquid. The stone itself went still, becoming just a dull, black rock at the bottom of a glass.
The connection was severed.
The Attuned stared in confusion. The awakening had paused, then stopped entirely.
Such a thing had never happened before.
High above, the Rulers sat back, a mixture of disappointment and mild curiosity on their faces. A powerful start, but a failure nonetheless. An anomaly, but not a significant one.
After a long, awkward silence, the Attuned cleared his throat.
"Next."
Chén Yè was guided to a different section of the hall, a small, quiet area where a handful of other confused and dejected children were already waiting.
He had been categorized.
He was a failure.
He found a place to sit, the weight of his own self-fulfilling prophecy settling upon him like a shroud.
Above the hall, the Transcendents observed with the detachment of gods watching insects.
"Curious," Lu Feiyu remarked, her pale grey eyes lingering on the boy who'd been sent to the eastern section. "The reaction ceased mid-manifestation. I don't believe I've seen that before."
"Nor I," Mo Qinghai agreed, his voice carrying that perpetual chill. "But it's hardly consequential. A failed awakening, or an unusual one—either way, the lower ranks will sort it out."
The others nodded, already losing interest. They had seen countless awakenings over their long lifetimes. Countless successes, countless failures, countless anomalies that ultimately meant nothing. One strange boy in a sea of drafted children barely registered.
Heiyun Jue smiled, satisfied with the day's harvest. His division had performed well. The natural awakener was secured. The quota of viable candidates had been exceeded. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
"A productive collection," he announced. "My division will begin formal training within the week."
Similar reports came from the others. Across the realm—in every city, every territory, every corner of the world—drafted children were being tested and sorted. Each Transcendent oversaw their own division, their own quota, their own harvest of potential soldiers for the endless war.
The machine continued to turn.
And somewhere in the eastern section of a hall that existed within Heiyun Jue's spatial domain, a street orphan sat against a wall and plotted his survival.
Neither the Transcendents nor their servants paid him any particular attention.
He was, after all, just another piece of livestock.
End of Chapter 5