Decision

"Where exactly do you belong?"

Soren hesitated.

A simple question. Yet, one without a simple answer.

He didn't belong among the laborers anymore. He didn't belong to the clans. He didn't belong among the regular folk either. And yet, Selene's question wasn't about uncertainty—it was pointed. She was asking which clan he belonged to.

She was testing him.

Soren weighed his options. The Old Man's words had been clear: "A clan will come, veiled in righteousness. Don't be fooled." If he claimed to belong to a rival clan, it could create an immediate conflict of interest. But if he admitted to being unaffiliated, it might only deepen her suspicions.

A game of words, then.

He kept his expression neutral, his voice carefully measured—calm, yet laced with unease.

"I don't align myself with any clans."

Selene raised an eyebrow, her golden eyes studying him.

"So you're saying that you managed to form a soul, awaken, and survive the trial... all by yourself?"

Her tone was light, almost amused—but there was a dangerous edge beneath the feigned disbelief.

She tilted her head slightly, her silver hair catching the dim light. "Wow. You must be a prodigy—a diamond in the rough."

A slow smile tugged at her lips. It wasn't admiration. It was bait.

Soren exhaled, pretending to be nervous. He forced a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

"I wouldn't go that far. It was... strange. One thing led to another, and I just—ended up in the trial."

Selene's gaze sharpened.

"Ended up?"

"Yeah." He let out an awkward laugh. "Honestly, I barely even knew what was happening. I couldn't move at first, and then… something pushed me forward. It didn't feel like I was doing it myself."

She narrowed her eyes.

"And the trial itself?"

Soren paused, feigning hesitation.

"The monster was weak. It died in one strike."

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Selene held his gaze, unreadable. The flickering torchlight in the tent cast shadows across her face, making her presence seem even more imposing.

Then, she smiled again. This time, there was no amusement.

"Weak, huh?"

She took a slow step forward.

"You do realize that the trial adapts to the individual, right?"

Soren's pulse quickened.

"Is that so?" He tilted his head, feigning ignorance.

Selene's smile didn't waver, but the warmth in her expression vanished.

"You're either the luckiest man alive…" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper now. "Or a liar."

Soren noticed it—a subtle shift in Selene's stance, a slight twist of her fingers around the hilt of her sword. It was almost imperceptible, but to him, it was clear as day.

She was going to test him.

Not with words this time, but with steel.

The realization sent a sharp awareness through his body. If she moved at full speed, he wouldn't even register the strike before it was over. A Transcendent's blade didn't allow hesitation. But if this was meant to kill him, she wouldn't have bothered with all the questioning.

So she wasn't going for a kill.

She wanted to see his reaction. A test, measured and deliberate.

If she held back just enough, he could summon his sword—but that arrogant thing would take over, throwing him into a situation he couldn't control. He couldn't afford that. Dodging was safer, but then came the real dilemma: how much should he reveal? Move too slow, and he'd appear incompetent. Move too fast, and she'd suspect something.

And that suspicion… that was the true danger.

If she thought he was more than just a lucky survivor, she'd start asking why he wasn't aligning himself with a clan. She'd wonder what he was doing here, alone, unclaimed.

And if she asked that—what answer could he give?

The Old Man better have something useful when they met.

Soren took a slow breath. His mind made up.

He couldn't stop what was coming.

But he could control what she saw.

I have chosen.

Selene's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Better not get caught up in your own head."

Soren blinked, snapping out of his focus.

"Huh?"

His gaze lifted—just in time to see her grip tighten around the hilt of her sword.

The motion was effortless. Fluid.

The blade rose.

She was aiming directly at his neck.

For a split second, Soren was frozen.

She's aiming for my neck.The speed… it's slowing the closer it gets.She's stopping—just an inch away.

The sword sliced through the air toward him. Fast—but not too fast.

She was holding back.

Testing him.

The slightest tug in her wrist betrayed her intent. She was deliberately slowing the strike, just enough to see if he would react.

Soren made his move.

At the last moment, his body tilted backward—not an elegant dodge, but a sudden, instinctive tumble. He hit the ground with a dull thud, barely evading the strike.

His breath came in sharp, ragged exhales as he stared up at the blade.

It was suspended in mid-air, hovering exactly where his neck had been.

And behind it, Selene stood, watching him carefully.

The heat of her golden eyes pinned him in place.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, she smirked.

"You reacted. That's something."

She lowered the sword, the faint amusement never leaving her voice.

"Maybe you have potential after all."

Soren swallowed, feeling the cold sweat trailing down his temple.

Potential.

That wasn't a compliment. It was a claim.

A hook.

Selene turned slightly, already stepping away.

"Don't leave the tent before I return." She didn't glance back. "I have other matters to attend to—guiding the laborers through their awakening takes priority."

Her tone was casual, almost dismissive, but there was an unspoken finality in her words.

This wasn't just an order.

It was a declaration.

He was part of this now. Whether he wanted to be or not.

And then—she was gone.

Soren remained on the ground for a few seconds longer, his chest rising and falling.

His fingers curled into the dirt beneath him.

Joining them?

She had already decided for him.

She had already decided for him.

After Selene left, Soren remained standing in the dim tent, his mind tangled in thought.

If he didn't join them, he'd end up like anyone else who refused—and that wasn't an option. If he was going to run, he had to do it before she came back. The best chance would be when she was guiding someone through the trial, her attention elsewhere. That would give him a few minutes at most.

But then… why was he even hesitating?

His jaw tightened.

"Damn you, old man. This could have been so much easier."

He let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

If he made a run for it, where would he even go? He had no clear destination, no map, nothing to work with. But there had to be trails—tracks left by the ones who transported supplies in and out of this place. The goods being moved from here were likely taken to citadels, maybe several. If he could find those tracks, he could follow them and make sure he didn't stumble right back into Clan Aurora's hands.

It wasn't much of a plan.

But it was all he had.

This wasn't going to be easy. And the old man—wherever he was—better have a damn good reason for pushing him toward this path.

But wasn't this better?

No expectations. No chains. No one to answer to but himself.

He had survived the labor camp alone—Lenny might've been there, but in the end, it was Soren who endured. And the trial? No guidance, no help—just his own will pulling him forward.

Soren peeked out from the tent, waiting for the moment Selene would enter the trial with a laborer.

In the middle of the camp, people were lined up, waiting to have their souls formed and be guided through the trial. Some had already succeeded. Others… hadn't.

Oddly enough, some who failed weren't the ones you'd expect. Among them was a man who had once said he wanted nothing to do with this world, that he would rather live a normal life. Now, his body lay still, his chest ruptured from within.

Selene, standing with four awakened guards, barely spared them a glance.

"It's unfortunate," she said, her voice cool and detached, "but their trial was not something I could aid with."

Soren's fingers curled slightly.

So that's how it is…

Even in death, the man's expression was peaceful, as if he had still been clinging to the idea of a normal life, right up until the end.

The rest of the line stood frozen, eyes flickering between the corpses and the path ahead. Some were mortified. But most didn't step back. Even in the face of what they had just seen, the alternative—was worse.

Then, Selene stepped into the next trial.

That was his chance.

Soren slipped out of the tent, keeping low as he moved between the shadows of the other tents. He didn't see any guards patrolling nearby, and the ones stationed at the perimeter of the camp weren't even watching the outside. They stood at a distance from each other, facing inward—watching the laborers rather than the unknown dangers beyond the camp.

They weren't here to protect.

They were here to keep people in.

His path to the entrance was clear—except for one obstacle.

An awakened guard stood at the exit, arms crossed, his stance firm.

Soren slowed his steps, watching him carefully. Maybe he could talk his way out of this.

But before he could even speak, the guard's gaze snapped to him, his voice cutting through the air.

"Stop and turn around! Where do you think you're going?"