"Arman, you're coming with us—to the Order of Aethen," the woman said flatly, her face devoid of emotion. Her voice was smooth, but carried an unsettling calm, like the silence before a storm.
The fluorescent ceiling light flickered above Arman's bed as he sat up in shock, eyes narrowing. His room still smelled faintly of incense, and the blanket twisted around his legs was damp with sweat.
"What the hell is the Order of Aethen?" Arman snapped. "And what are you doing in my room? Who the hell are—"
But he didn't get the chance to finish.
THUD!
A sharp, numbing pain exploded at the base of his neck.
His vision blurred. The world tilted. Cold rushed through his veins as the floor raced up to meet him.
What the hell just happened? he thought, right before everything went black.
He never saw her move.
She'd crossed the distance in an instant, striking a precise point with the edge of her hand. He was out cold before his body hit the ground.
The boy beside her frowned, shifting uncomfortably.
"Miss… why did you knock him out? We could've just explained everything."
The woman rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. Her boots made soft thuds on the wooden floor as she walked over to the unconscious boy.
"That would've been a pain. This is faster. Besides, we'll tell him everything once we reach the Order."
With a grunt of effort, she hoisted Arman's limp body over her shoulder like a sack of flour. A faint hum filled the room as a shimmering rift opened before her, warping the air like heat over fire.
She stepped through, vanishing into the distortion. The portal sealed with a low hiss, leaving the room empty and still.
Later…
"Hey, kid. Wake up."
SPLASH!
A sudden chill tore through Arman's senses as ice-cold water hit his face. He gasped, sputtering, and sat up with a start. His hair dripped, his shirt clung to his skin, and his hands instinctively shot up in defense.
He was in a stone room now—dimly lit by eerie blue torches fixed into the walls. The air smelled faintly of metal and moss, like an ancient tomb that had just been cracked open.
Standing in front of him was the same woman. She grinned, unbothered.
"You weren't waking up, so I figured… what better way than a splash of water, right?" she said with a smug chuckle.
"What the hell, lady?!" Arman shouted, staggering to his feet, "Where am I? And yeah—you knocked me out!"
His stance shifted low, muscles tensing, ready to fight.
The woman raised her hands lazily in mock surrender.
"Easy now, kid. First, we're just here to talk. Second—I don't want to kill you… well, not yet, at least."
"Not yet? Are you insane?"
His voice echoed slightly off the stone walls.
Then, just as his temper flared—
"Easy, Arman. Don't do anything reckless. Observe first… then act."
A calm voice echoed in his mind. Master Ievon.
Arman took a deep breath. The spirit's voice had a strange grounding effect, pulling him back from the edge.
He exhaled slowly, lowering his fists.
"Alright. Fine. Miss, why did you bring me here? Where exactly are we? And who are you?"
The woman folded her arms. Her smirk returned.
"Now you're talking like a gentleman. I'm Sarah. Come on—I'll show you."
She turned, boots clicking softly on the stone floor. Arman followed, taking in his surroundings for the first time. The corridor outside was wide, the walls made of deep gray stone, veined with glowing blue lines pulsing like veins. The air was cold and carried a heavy sense of age—like something ancient lived here, watching.
They walked through twisting halls and archways carved with runes. Then, a wide balcony opened up before them—and Arman froze.
Below, a maze-like layout of buildings stretched out, all interconnected with narrow bridges and courtyards. People—some even younger than him—moved with purpose, clad in sleek, tactical gear, their auras faintly glowing.
At the center stood the grand structure.
Not quite a castle, but just as majestic, with towering spires and crystal-laced pillars that shimmered faintly under the blue-tinged sky.
High above it, a massive flag swayed gently.
Its design caught his breath:
A diamond-shaped emblem glowing with an ethereal core. Around it were four symbols—Mind, Body, Spirit, and Duty—etched like living scripture. A silver ring circled the emblem, enclosing fate itself. The banner shimmered with hues of silver, deep blue, and violet.
"Welcome to the Order of Aethen," Sarah said. "This is the beginning, Arman. And there's no turning back now."
Arman blinked.
"But… why did you bring me here?"
Sarah's eyes narrowed.
"We brought you here for your Trial."
"Trial? What's that supposed to mean?"
She gave a knowing smile. "You'll know soon enough."
At that moment, a squad of people approached. They wore black tactical suits, sleek and sharp, outlined with glowing spirit lines that pulsed like living circuits.
One of them stepped forward—tall, confident.
"So this is the kid?" he said, glancing at Arman. Sarah nodded once.
The man looked Arman straight in the eyes.
"Arman, come with us."
He turned to Sarah, uncertain.
"Go," she said. "You don't have a choice."
With a sigh, Arman fell in line. The group marched him through the towering gates of the central structure. The air grew heavier the further they walked.
The captain glanced sideways at him.
"You'll now be presented before the Supreme Council," he said. His tone was firm. "Choose your words carefully. One mistake, and your fate could change forever."
They stopped before a pair of massive double doors, forged of black steel and etched with glowing blue runes. The guards stepped aside.
DANG!
The doors swung open.
Everyone remained outside—except the captain, who led Arman in.
The chamber was wide and silent. At the far end sat a long, curved desk made of silverstone, gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Behind it sat ten old men, each cloaked in dark robes, each radiating a pressure so intense Arman could barely breathe.
Their eyes held centuries.
"The Trial now begins," one of the Elders spoke, his voice deep, echoing across the chamber.
"Arman. As a newly awakened Spiritbound, you've shown great potential. You committed no crimes. You tried to protect others." His eyes narrowed. "For that reason, we have summoned you here."
"To offer you a choice: Join the Order of Aethen. Train. Learn. Fight for this world."
The weight of their presence pressed on Arman like gravity. His muscles ached just from standing in their aura.
Old geezers or not… they're monsters. He thought.
Inside his mind, he asked quietly:
"Master Ievon… what should I do?"
"I think you should agree," Ievon replied. His voice was calm, but serious. "This place can help you grow stronger. And you'll need strength, Arman. The Voidborn… they'll come for you again."
Arman clenched his fists. His jaw tightened. Then he looked up, meeting the eyes of the Elders without flinching.
"Alright… I accept."
The Elders exchanged surprised glances. One of them leaned forward, arching a brow.
"You accept so easily?"
"But—" Arman raised a hand, interrupting.
"I have one condition. I can't stay here forever. I need to be able to go home too."
One of the Elders let out a low chuckle, then turned to the man beside him.
"He really is your grandson."
That Elder—his features proud yet amused—laughed, deep and warm.
Arman blinked. "Wait… what?"
The first Elder leaned in, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Listen, kid. You don't have to worry. Think of this place like a… college. We'll teach you, train you, help you master what's inside you. You'll gain knowledge and power here—things no other place can offer."
The second Elder nodded.
"And yes, you can go home. Just not in the middle of your session. Once your training rounds are complete, you're free to visit whenever necessary."
Arman let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Alright then…" he muttered.
"Let's see what this Order of Aethen has to offer."
The Elder looked at Arman with a faint smile.
"Welcome to the Order, Arman."