Trial of Talents

The sky wept in silence. Heavy clouds loomed over the mountains, thick with the weight of an impending storm. A restless wind slithered through the valley, howling its lament, carrying with it the whispers of forgotten spirits. Beneath the heavens that had long forsaken him, Zheng Yun stood at the entrance of the Rana Clan's Ancestral Hall—a specter in crimson robes, his clothes still damp with the blood of fallen warriors. The scent of steel and death lingered in the air, and behind him, the jungle exhaled, as if nature itself held its breath in fear.

The past was dead.

The boy who once sought warmth in the arms of family, the child who once believed in the kindness of men—he no longer existed.

This was a world carved by strength, ruled by those who grasped fate with their own hands. A world where mercy was a weakness, and love was a lie sung to those too feeble to grasp the truth.

Zheng Yun had no use for love.

His parents had perished in the treacherous dance of power, their lives swept away by political strife, leaving behind nothing but ashes and regret. In their place, his uncle, Bo Yan, had taken him in—a man who watched from the shadows, who spoke little, who observed more than he acted. His aunt, however, had been different.

She had been harsh. Unforgiving. A woman with eyes like ice and a heart carved from stone.

"You are nothing, Zheng Yun. You will never amount to anything."

Her voice echoed in the corridors of his mind, a whisper from the past, a relic of the days when he was weak. When he still cared.

Now, as he stood before the sacred hall, his expression was carved from marble—unmoving, cold.

Today was the Talent Examination.

It was a farce, a hollow ritual meant to weigh the worth of children before they had even begun to grasp the nature of true power. The stone would glow, the ranks would be called, and fools would cheer for fleeting victories while the wise prepared for war.

Zheng Yun stepped forward, the murmurs of the crowd pressing against his skin like insects. He heard their whispers, the anticipation laced with scorn.

"He is the C-rank child of the Rana Clan."

"What can a boy like that accomplish?"

"He is nothing before the true prodigy."

Ah. The true prodigy.

Behind him, Zheng Zhi, his younger brother, stood with bright, innocent eyes—untainted, foolish. He was the opposite of Zheng Yun in every way. Soft where he was sharp. Pure where he was tainted. The light to his shadow.

And soon, the crowd's suspicions were confirmed.

Zheng Yun pressed his hand against the Power Stone. It pulsed, glowed faintly… and then dimmed.

"C-rank."

Silence fell upon the hall like a shroud of death. The crowd stirred, disappointed yet unsurprised. His aunt's face twisted, a mask of frustration, while his uncle remained as unreadable as ever.

"C-rank, a steady foundation for future growth, but nothing extraordinary."

How quaint.

Zheng Yun stepped back without a word, expression calm. He had never needed their validation. He had never needed their praise.

Then, Zheng Zhi stepped forward. The contrast between them was staggering. Where Zheng Yun was a specter of silence, Zhi was a flame, burning with naive ambition. He placed his hand upon the stone, and the world itself seemed to tremble.

The stone erupted in radiant light, its brilliance blinding, its power undeniable.

"A-rank!" the examiner shouted, voice trembling with excitement.

The crowd roared, voices swelling with awe and admiration. His aunt's expression softened, pride gleaming in her cold eyes. His uncle nodded in approval, the first sign of acknowledgment Zheng Yun had ever seen from him.

Fascinating.

Zheng Yun watched without emotion, his gaze fixed upon the trembling stone.

Power? No. This was not power.

This was merely a spark, a flickering flame that would soon die against the winds of reality.

His little brother—his supposed rival—was nothing more than a child playing with fire, unaware of the storm that lurked beyond the horizon.

They celebrated as if talent alone dictated the tides of fate. How foolish.

"An unsharpened blade will still shatter in the hands of a master. An ember, no matter how bright, will be swallowed by the inferno."

Zheng Zhi was not his enemy.

He was a stepping stone.

A pawn in the grand game that Zheng Yun had already begun to play.

As the ceremony concluded and the crowd dispersed, Zheng Yun watched as his family fawned over the younger child, showering him with praise, draping him in the warmth of affection.

He turned away.

"Let them rejoice. Let them believe in their fragile illusions."

A cold smile ghosted across his lips as he walked into the storm, his crimson robes billowing in the wind.

For they had already lost.

They simply didn't know it yet.

For the Rana Fateṅga pulsed within him, whispering secrets of eternity, of power beyond mortal comprehension.

And soon—very soon—the world would learn the name of the one who would shatter fate itself.

Zheng Yun.

The path before him was paved in shadows.

And he would walk it—not as a man, but as a storm that devoured the heavens.