I Am An Elite

As Cain and I made our way to the front door. The Church of Aren loomed before me, its towering spires of white and black marble cutting into the sky like jagged teeth. The contrast of the two stones was striking obsidian colored veins streaked through the white marble, the dark shadows coiled within the white, as though the building itself were alive, breathing, watching. The inside of the church was a labyrinth of shadows and light, its vast halls stretching endlessly in every direction. The walls were a mosaic of marble; the serpent of the imperial family coiled through the stone, its scales shimmering faintly as if alive. The snake's eyes seemed to follow me as I walked, its forked tongue flicking out in frozen stone as if to taste my fear. 

Black-robed inquisitors moved through the halls like shadows, their faces obscured by deep hoods. Their presence was unnerving, their silence even more so. One of the Inquisitors moved towards Cain and me as we moved further into the opening chamber of the church. 

Cain stepped forward, nodding at the cloaked figure. The Inquisitor, tall and imposing, didn't say a word, but I could feel his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood, studying me like I was some sort of specimen. 

"Name?" he asked, his voice low and hollow, like it came from somewhere far away.

"His name is Ayato Daath," Cain interjected. 

The inquisitor just nodded once and gestured for me to follow. The halls seemed to stretch endlessly, the serpent engravings twisting and coiling along the walls as though they were leading me deeper into some ancient, unknowable labyrinth. Finally, we reached a set of massive double doors, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns of snakes intertwined with symbols I didn't recognize. The inquisitor pushed them open, and I was ushered into what I'm assuming Cain was referring to when he said the Ritual takes place in a grand hall known as: The Sanctum of Awakening. The room was vast, its high ceiling lost in shadows. Eerie silver light spilled from unseen sources, casting the space in an otherworldly glow. About 60 other kids my age stood scattered across the room, all dressed in simple black robes, their feet bare. They looked as nervous as I felt. 

The inquisitor turned to me, his voice cutting through the silence. "Change into the robes provided take you shoes off and leave all your belongings here. You will need nothing but yourself for the ritual."

I nodded mutely, my throat too dry to speak. I quickly shed my clothes and pulled on the black robe, its fabric rough and unfamiliar against my skin. The inquisitor watched me with an unreadable expression before gesturing for me to join the others. I stepped forward, my heart hammering in my chest.

The inquisitors began to move among us, directing us into a wide circle in the center of the room. I found my place between a girl with wide, frightened hazel eyes and a short fat boy who kept clenching and unclenching his fists. The silver light seemed to pulse faintly, casting strange shadows on the floor. The inquisitors stepped back, forming their own circle around us, their hooded faces turned inward. Then, as one, they began to chant, their voices low and resonant, filling the Sanctum with a sound that seemed to vibrate in my bones.

The rite had begun.

The Rite of Manifestation is a sacred and absolute ceremony, a moment where fate is decided, where the divine chooses its champions. For most, it is a day of trembling anticipation. For a few, it is the moment their destiny is carved into existence.

The moment the light consumes me, I forget how to breathe.

It isn't fire or ice; it's something else entirely. Something too vast, too ancient, too absolute to be understood. It seeps into my bones, digs into my skin, burrows straight into my soul. My body locks up, but I can't move anyway. There's nowhere to run from this.

And then I hear it.

A whisper, curling through my mind like a serpent. Not one voice, but many. Deep and hollow, as if the Gods themselves are speaking through an eternal void.

"Ayato Daath."

My blood turns to ice.

"You are chosen. You bear the mark."

Something burns into my skin searing, unrelenting, claiming me. I bite back a scream as the pain carves itself deeper, reshaping something inside me that I didn't even know existed. But it doesn't stop.

A second whisper slithers through my mind, softer but no less absolute.

"Two Marks."

Then a third whisper slithers into my mind, with even more authority searing through me. 

Three Marks

My mind fractures under the weight of it. Three? Three? It can't be right. NO ONE HAS HAD THREE MARKS EVER.

The pain sharpens and becomes something else. Something intoxicating. Awareness floods me, and with it comes power. Power I didn't even know I had, surging through me like fire, coating my insides.

And then the whispers come again, each one more distinct.

"Veilshaper."

The power unfurls in me something sharp and infinite. Illusions. I can weave reality like cloth, rip it apart, and stitch it back with nothing but will. The world is my stage.

"Fearmonger."

A shudder rattles through me, deep in my bones. It's a darkness that isn't mine, but I can feel it their fear, tangled in the deepest recesses of their souls. With the slightest movement, the faintest breath, I will know their greatest terror. And I will use it against them.

And then the final whisper, the last Mark, a presence so profound I can hardly comprehend it. It fills every corner of my mind, every crack of my soul.

"Regenerator."

My body trembles with the flood of new awareness. It's life itself folding around me, rewiring my very being. I understand now. Every wound, every break in my flesh, every scar it will heal. I will heal. Again and again, as if my body is nothing more than a canvas for the Gods to paint and repaint. 

The voices begin to fade, but the weight of their presence lingers, pressing down on me like a thousand-ton weight.

And one final whisper. A warning, soft but unmistakable.

"With extreme power comes extreme suffering."

The light flickers and dies.

I collapse to the cold floor, gasping for air, my limbs trembling uncontrollably. My heart races as if it's trying to outrun the truth. I don't need to see the Marks to know they're there, burned into my flesh, etched into my soul.

I was chosen.

Three times.

And nothing in my world will ever be the same.

I Am An Elite.