The Rite of Embers.

A ceremony older than the tribe itself—or so they told us. A sacred tradition, bound in ritual and fire, where every child who came of age stepped into the dark and hoped to emerge stronger.

It was supposed to be the first step on the path to becoming a warrior.

The wind howled like a grieving spirit as we approached To'kal Mountain—the jagged peak that loomed over our tribe like a silent god. The elders called it sacred. Back then, I believed them. Of course I did.

Now? I know better.

I remember the way the cold bit into my skin as we climbed, the way the clouds circled like vultures overhead. I stood beside the chief, my father, as we approached the base. Lucas walked to his right—perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect everything.

And me?

I trailed behind, just a little out of place. Just enough to be forgotten. Nisrin was beside me, her silence a comfort I didn't appreciate at the time.

The cave entrance yawned before us, a gaping maw of shadow and myth. They called it the Vahl cave. To me, it looked like a beast ready to swallow us whole.

Hundreds had already gathered—children and their guardians, all faces turned our way. Not to see me, of course. They were watching for my father. For Lucas.

Above us, guards stood like statues carved from the stone itself, blades gleaming, eyes sharp. Nothing entered or left Vahl cave without their gaze. It was the most heavily guarded place in the tribe, and for good reason.

My father said nothing.

Just arrived, walked to the cave, nodded at the head guard, and disappeared into the dark.

He didn't look back.

And with that, the moment shifted. Lucas peeled away from us, like he always did—drawn toward the light that always seemed to follow him. That left me and Nisrin standing there, watching shadows move.

And then… she appeared.

"Anazor, it's been a while."

I turned.

Lisa.

She was my age, but already carried herself like a legend. Golden hair braided with the warrior's symbol of noble blood, deep blue eyes lit by some inner flame. Even now, I remember the way she looked in that moment, framed by sunlight and the murmurs of the crowd.

She smiled at me.

And my heart—young, stupid, hopeful—skipped.

Back then, that smile meant something. Back then, everything meant something.

"L-Lisa… hey."

Gods, I cringe just remembering that.

She smiled wider, amusement dancing in her eyes—and I might've said more, something clever, something to mark my place in her memory—if she hadn't looked past me.

"It's Lucas!"

Just like that, she was gone.

Running to him. Laughing with him. Her arms around his neck like she'd just found home.

And me?

I stood there like a background character in my own story. Fists clenched, heart heavier than it had any right to be.

At the time, I told myself it was jealousy.

But it wasn't.

Not really.

Not until my father returned.

He emerged from the cave like a figure carved from myth—tall, cold, commanding. The kind of presence that stilled conversations, that made the wind forget how to blow.

He looked at us.

And I… I stood straighter. Just in case. Just in case he looked at me.

His eyes swept the crowd.

And passed right over me.

No flicker of recognition. No pause. Just another shadow among many.

But when he saw Lucas?

He stopped.

And something changed in his face—just slightly. But I saw it. I felt it.

That was the first time something in me cracked. Silently. Deeply.

Then he spoke.

"The Maridain lands," he began, voice deep and steady, like a drumbeat carved from the earth. "Humanity's new home."

He looked beyond us—past the cave, the tribe, the mountain. Out toward the ridges that cradled and confined our world.

"On one side, we are bound by the ocean. On the other, by these mountains. All of humanity, every tribe, lives within this land."

We had all heard it before. Stories etched into us like scars.

"When our ancestors arrived, they left us one law. One warning."

He paused, and the air grew heavy.

"Do not leave the Maridain lands… unless the fate of humanity depends on it."

Even now, the words echo. Not just because they were sacred. But because of what they meant.

"Our tribe is one of the strongest," he continued. "But strength does not shield us. We are surrounded by threats—the Fire Carja, the wild clans, the land itself."

Then he looked at us—really looked. At the children. At what we would become.

"You are young. But after today, that no longer matters."

He stepped forward once. The stone beneath him groaned like it knew what was coming.

"You will have to fight. Not just for yourselves, but for us. For all of us."

He paused again.

"Our existence depends on it."

The silence that followed was thick with expectation, with fear, with pride.

Then, just as the chief finished his speech, the drums began.

Their thunderous rhythm echoed off the walls, vibrating deep into our bones, shaking dust from the ancient stone. It wasn't just a sound—it was a summons. A declaration that the ceremony had begun, and there was no turning back.

We stepped forward, deeper into the sacred cave.

Lining both sides were the shamans—silent, otherworldly figures draped in crimson robes that wrapped around their faces like serpents, hiding all but their eyes. Eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light, watching, judging.

An eerie aura clung to them, like smoke from a fire you couldn't see, like something... wrong. Each of them held a thick, old drum strapped to their waist or hanging from their shoulders, hands moving with perfect, slow precision as they struck the skins in sync—ritualistic, unyielding, hypnotic.

It was like they were calling something.

Or someone.

Then the cave came alive.

Thousands of tiny gems embedded in the stone began to shimmer, flickering like trapped stars. The walls pulsed with light, and at the heart of it all—there it was:

The Lake of Vahl.

Absolutely, here's the revised version with richer description of the Head Shaman and the adjusted plot where Anazor goes first and experiences the cold truth of being "average":

The Lake of Vahl

It wasn't water. No ripples, no reflections. Just pure, shifting blackness. A liquid that moved like it was alive. Thinking. And where the lights touched it, it shimmered with unsettling colors—violet, deep blue, and silvery hues like moonlight on bruised skin.

I remember thinking… it looked like the stories I'd heard about oil from the old world—the remains of ancient dead things.

Just like Vahl.

But Vahl didn't power machines like oil did. It powered us—humans.

Then he stepped forward.

The Head Shaman.

He wasn't like the others. His robe was thick and layered, deep black with gold-threaded glyphs that pulsed like veins beneath skin. His mask was different too—larger, horned, carved from dark red wood with inlays of obsidian around the eyes. And unlike the others, when he moved, the other shamans bowed their heads.

He said nothing at first—he didn't need to. The drums lowered. The silence fell like a hammer.

Then, in a voice that sounded both ancient and terrifyingly present, he spoke.

"This… is the Lake of Vahl."

The words didn't echo. They sank. Like they belonged here more than we did.

"Our understanding of the Vahl is limited. But we know it is the key to survival. Without it, we are like the barbarian tribes that crawl in the dust beyond our borders—weak, blind, forgotten."

He scanned the gathered children, his eyes like cold fire behind his mask.

"As children of the Varak-Kai Tribe, you have the right to claim the Vahl's power. For your first time, the process is simple we will guide you just touch the lake. The shamans will take care of the rest."

His voice grew heavier.

"But the amount of Vahl you receive is not in our control. It is decided by your potential. Some will gain more. Some… less. That difference will decide your place in this world. Your power. Your future."

He paused.

"This is the beginning. What you take in today will grow inside you over years. You will suffer. You will train. You will burn. Only after that can you return to the lake—to claim more. This can happen five times. The Fifth Phase… is the limit of human strength."

He let that sink in before adding coldly, "Most of you will never reach the Second."

Then he raised his staff and thundered: "Now! The first name to be called—Anazor, son of Chief Varin!"

The cave didn't cheer.

There was no applause. No chant of pride.

Only silence.

The silence of expectation. Of judgment.

I walked forward, past the steaming drums and the flickering shadows dancing across the cave walls. Every step I took made the rhythm shift. The drums followed me—thoom... thoom-thoom... thoom-thoom-thoom.

They weren't just playing.

They were calling.

The Vahl stirred.

I knelt at the edge of the black lake, the surface rippling from the sound alone. My hands trembled as I reached forward and touched it.

Cold. Thick. Breathing.

The second my skin met the surface, the Vahl reacted. It curled around my fingers, clung to my palms, then crept up my wrists like it had been waiting just under the surface. It pulsed to the rhythm of the drums.

Then it rose.

Not gently.

The drums pounded louder—BOOM, BOOM-BOOM—BOOM. With each beat, more of the Vahl lifted. It floated upward, pulled by the rhythm like a puppet on invisible strings. First to my chest, then higher—above my head.

The ball formed.

A sphere of black liquid, veined with flickering purple light. Larger than my head. Suspended in the air.

It hummed—like it was thinking.

Alive.

Then, the drums stopped.

Silence.

And the sphere shuddered... then collapsed inward.

Not onto the ground.

Into me.

The Vahl dove, threading itself through my skin. Arms. Chest. Veins.

It didn't burn. It didn't freeze.

It just entered, as if it belonged there.

As if it had always been mine.

I blinked, heart racing.

Was that… good?

I looked toward the shamans. They watched with blank faces. No reaction. No chants. Not even a nod.

I turned, confused, and walked back to my place. The Vahl was gone—buried somewhere inside me.

Nisrin leaned close and whispered, "That was good."

I wanted to believe her.

Then the others began.

One by one, the children stepped forward. Some summoned nothing. Others managed small flickers of Vahl—barely spheres at all.

But then a few…

Their spheres grew as large as mine. Maybe larger. And this time, the crowd didn't stay quiet.

They cheered.

That's when I understood.

That silence when it was my turn

It wasn't awe.

It was disappointment.

Since the amount of Vahl I got was just average… being the son of the two strongest warriors in the tribe and turning out this mediocre? What a letdown.

Then Lisa of House Listia stepped forward. Her braids swayed as she knelt with practiced grace. The Vahl answered quickly—her sphere rising fast, strong, wide. At least twice the size of mine.

The crowd lost it.

Claps. Cheers. Even someone shouting her name.

She smiled—small, calm, but unmistakably proud.

And then… Lucas.

His name echoed across the cave like a chant.

He wasn't the chief's blood.

But he was the chief's favorite.

He strode forward like he'd been born for this.

The drums changed again—faster, heavier, filled with fire. The moment his fingers touched the lake, the Vahl didn't creep.

It detonated.

The sphere shot up like a cannon blast—huge, glowing, swallowing the light around it much bigger than Lisa much much bigger than mine.

And then it turned.

Red.

A deep, angry red that pulsed like a living thing.

Someone gasped.

A whisper cut through the crowd, "Red Vahl… that means—"

I didn't catch the rest.

All I could hear were the drums.

All I could see was Lucas.

And the smirk on his face…

As he stared straight at me.