The River of Talent

Draven stood at the edge of the River of Talent, his crimson eyes scanning the flowing waters ahead. The river glistened under the sun, its surface calm yet exuding an ancient power that stirred something deep within him.

Around him, other candidates waited, their nervous energy palpable in the air. Some whispered to each other, exchanging words of encouragement or fear.

But Draven remained silent, his cold expression betraying no emotion. He had long learned to suppress any sign of weakness.

His black cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, contrasting with his pale, almost ethereal skin. Draven's thoughts drifted for a moment, trying to remember pieces of his past, but his mind drew blank.

It was as if a thick fog clouded his memories. He clenched his fists tightly, frustrated by the void inside his head. Who was I before? Why can't I remember?

Shaking off the thoughts, he refocused on the task at hand. The River of Talent was the second test of the Draconic Sect's entrance trials. It wasn't just about passing — this test would determine each candidate's talent ranking, and thus, their future within the sect.

The further one walked in the river, the higher their rank. Those with the rarest talents would be able to reach the farthest depths, while those lacking talent wouldn't even make it past the shallow waters.

A voice boomed across the area, drawing everyone's attention. It was the overseer of the trial, a stern-looking elder with silver hair that flowed down his back.

"This is the River of Talent," he began, his voice carrying authority. "It will test your potential as cultivators. Step into the waters and walk as far as you can. The river knows your limits, and it will judge your worth. Begin!"

Without hesitation, the first few candidates stepped into the river. The crowd watched with bated breath as some barely made it past the first few steps before they were pushed back by an invisible force.

One boy managed to walk a few meters, only to collapse, gasping for air. F-grade talent, the elder announced, his voice cold and indifferent.

As the line of candidates moved, it was finally Draven's turn. His cold demeanor didn't change, even as he stood before the river. His heart, however, raced. This river... it feels alive, he thought, stepping forward.

The moment his foot touched the water, a cold sensation shot up his leg, but it wasn't painful. Instead, it was invigorating, like a current of energy pulsing through his veins.

Draven began to walk. His steps were slow and deliberate, and with each step, the force of the river seemed to push against him. He gritted his teeth but continued forward, his eyes focused on the horizon.

He could hear whispers from the crowd behind him. "Look at him. He's struggling already," one voice said, filled with contempt.

Yet as he walked further, the pressure around him increased. It felt like invisible hands were trying to force him back, pressing against his chest and legs. Every step became heavier, and the water felt like it was turning to stone beneath his feet.

Then, without warning, his legs gave out, and he fell to one knee. The river surged around him, and for a moment, Draven thought he would be swept away.

He growled, refusing to let the power of the river defeat him. But no matter how much he fought, something inside him kept pulling him back.

Suddenly, a memory flashed before his eyes — a shadowy figure standing in a dark void, whispering his name. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished, leaving him dazed and breathless.

"C-grade talent!" the elder's voice cut through the noise.

Draven's eyes widened in shock. C-grade? He had expected more, something greater. I need to be stronger than this. His fists clenched tightly as he rose, his cold demeanor returning, masking the disappointment that boiled within him.

As Draven left the river, another candidate stepped forward. A girl with long golden hair, her eyes glowing with a fierce determination, strode confidently toward the water. The whispers grew louder.

"That's Kara," someone murmured. "She's rumored to have the bloodline of an ancient beast."

Kara entered the river with a grace and strength that made the crowd gasp. She moved effortlessly, the water parting around her like she was born to conquer it.

Step after step, she walked further than any candidate before her, and the pressure that had overwhelmed Draven didn't seem to faze her.

"She's unstoppable..." Draven muttered to himself, watching her with narrowed eyes. As she reached nearly the end of the river, the elder raised his hand.

"S-grade talent!" His voice rang out with a note of reverence.

The crowd erupted in awe, but Draven's expression darkened. So, this girl... she's the strongest here.

Kara turned to glance at Draven, her eyes locking onto his for a brief moment. Her gaze was calm, but there was something about her presence that irritated Draven — a strange connection he couldn't quite understand.

Walking past him, Kara gave him a slight nod, acknowledging his existence, but nothing more.

....

his mind clouded with thoughts of the trial and Kara's overwhelming display of talent. The

The difference between her and the others was monumental, and even though Draven had pushed himself, he still ended up with a C-grade talent. His fists clenched as frustration welled up inside him.

The outer sect was a sprawling area, consisting of stone courtyards, dormitories, and training grounds. Disciples, both new and old, moved around, many discussing the trials and their own experiences.

Draven, however, walked in silence, his cold expression making others steer clear of him. He preferred it that way—no distractions, no needless conversations.

His thoughts wandered back to the brief memory that flashed in his mind during the trial. That shadowy figure... who was it? Why did it feel like a piece of him was missing? I can't remember anything…

He scowled, pushing those thoughts aside. There was no time to dwell on the past. He needed to focus on what was ahead—becoming stronger.

If he wanted to climb through the ranks and eventually join the Draconic Sect's inner circle, he couldn't afford to be distracted by fleeting memories. Strength is all that matters.

As he settled into one of the stone benches near the training grounds, a group of other outer sect disciples approached. One of them, a tall boy with a mocking grin, leaned in toward Draven.

"So, you're the guy with the C-grade talent, huh?" the boy sneered. "Don't think that makes you special here. Outer sect disciples like you are a dime a dozen."

Draven didn't even look up. His eyes remained fixed on the training grounds ahead. "Move along. I don't have time for weaklings like you."

The boy's face contorted with anger, his pride wounded. "What did you say?! You think you're better than me, you piece of—"

Before he could finish, Draven's hand shot out, grabbing the boy by the collar. His crimson eyes, cold and unfeeling, bored into the boy's soul.

"I said," Draven hissed, his voice low and threatening, "move along. Before I decide to make an example out of you."

The boy gulped, suddenly feeling the weight of Draven's presence. There was something terrifyingly cold and calculating about him, something demonic that sent a shiver down the boy's spine.

He stumbled back, pulling away from Draven's grip, and quickly retreated with his group of friends.

As they disappeared from sight, Draven stood up, his expression still calm and composed, but his mind racing. C-grade… This won't do.

If he truly wanted to become powerful, if he wanted to crush everyone in his path, he had to unlock more of his potential. And that meant pushing himself beyond the limits of his current cultivation.

.

.

.

That night, Draven sat cross-legged in his quarters, his eyes closed in deep concentration. His body hummed with energy as he focused on the internal flow of his cultivation, trying to break through the next level.

The Body Tempering stage was just the beginning—he needed to move beyond it.

But as he delved deeper into his cultivation, something strange began to happen. A dark, oppressive force bubbled up from within him, almost like a sleeping beast awakening.

"why do you surpass me, Draven ?" the voice hissed. "You and l… we are one."

Draven's eyes snapped open, his breathing ragged as he tried to shake off the eerie sensation. That voice again… It's the same one from the all time.

He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress it. But the voice only grew louder.

You cannot hide from your past forever . You know what you are… You know What we are."

Images flashed before Draven's eyes—flames, shadows, and blood. He saw himself standing amidst destruction, his hands soaked in blood. But whose blood was it? Why couldn't he remember?

"Stop!" Draven growled, clutching his head in pain. "Get out of my mind!"

The voice cackled, its presence growing stronger. "You will remember soon enough, Draven. The Darkness is part of you . Embrace it."

Suddenly, Draven felt a surge of power course through his veins. His cultivation, which had been stagnant at the third stage of Body Tempering, broke through to the fourth. His eyes snapped open, glowing with a fierce, demonic light.

....

The next morning, the outer sect was abuzz with excitement. The third test of the Draconic Sect's trials had arrived—the River of Talent had separated the strong from the weak, but today's test would be even more telling.

Disciples gathered in the training grounds, eager to see who would rise to the top.

As Draven approached the area, his cold gaze scanned the crowd. He was no longer the same as before—his breakthrough had given him a new level of power, and the oppressive force inside him seemed to have awakened something dormant within his soul. He felt stronger, faster, and more in tune with his demonic nature.

At the center of the training grounds stood Kara, the girl with S-grade talent. Her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight as she stood confidently, her presence commanding attention.

She glanced over at Draven, their eyes meeting once again. But this time, Draven didn't feel the same irritation he had before. Instead, he felt something darker stirring within him

She's strong… but I'll surpass her.

The elder overseeing the test stepped forward, his voice booming across the grounds.

"Today's trial will test your endurance and resolve. You will enter the River of Talent once again, but this time, your rank will determine your future within the sect."

As the trial began, each disciple stepped forward one by one, their talents and abilities on full display. Some faltered, while others thrived.

When it was finally Draven's turn, he stepped into the river once more. The familiar sensation of power and pressure surrounded him, but this time, something was different.

The darkness inside him, the demonic force, seemed to push back against the river's power. With each step, the force grew stronger, and Draven felt a surge of confidence.

But as he walked deeper into the river, flashes of his forgotten past once again clouded his mind. He saw shadows and flames, heard screams, and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. What is this… why can't I remember?

Despite the confusion in his mind, Draven pressed on, his determination unshaken. I will become stronger. No matter the cost.

At the end of the trial, Draven stood tall, his cold, demonic eyes fixed on the horizon. The elder announced his results, and though he remained in the C-grade talent, Draven knew that this was only the beginning.

As he left the trial grounds, his gaze turned toward the towering structures of the Draconic Sect, his thoughts consumed by one goal.

I will enter the inner sect. And I will become unstoppable...

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