The Awakening Ceremony

The Grand Awakening Hall was vast, its ceiling disappearing into a haze of golden light. Rows upon rows of candidates sat in rigid anticipation, their gazes fixed on the Altar of the Gods—a smooth, obsidian slab etched with golden veins that pulsed faintly, as though alive.

One by one, names were called.

One by one, candidates stepped forward, placing their palms against the altar's cool surface, waiting—hoping—for a response.

And this was just one of many.

Across the world, in every major city, identical halls held the same ceremony, thousands of hopefuls sitting just as he was—hands clenched, breaths shallow. The Awakening Ceremony wasn't just a rite of passage; it was a global event, watched by billions. It was the moment that decided who would rise beyond human limits and who would remain ordinary.

Nero sat in the middle of the massive chamber, his fingers tightly crossed.

To his left, Lira sat composed, her expression unreadable. To his right, Cassian leaned forward, his foot tapping against the marble floor in quiet impatience. They had been speaking earlier, but Nero had tuned them out long ago.

His mind was elsewhere.

He had calculated the numbers—again and again.

Only two out of every ten candidates awakened.

The rest—the unlucky eight—would return home, forever barred from stepping into Faltheris. No second chances. No retries. One moment, one decision, and a lifetime of dreams could be shattered.

A name was called.

"Elias Morn, step forward."

A boy stood on shaky legs, walking to the altar. He placed his palm against the glowing surface. A heartbeat of silence. Then—a surge of blue light flared from the altar, coiling around his arm like flowing water.

The officiant's voice rang through the hall. "Elias Morn, chosen by Ithrenis, the God of Tides!"

The hall erupted into applause as Elias stumbled back, staring at the mark that now gleamed on his arm—oceanic patterns shifting like waves.

Another name.

"Saria Vex, step forward."

She approached with hesitant steps, pressing her trembling fingers against the altar. A breathless pause—then a pulse of silver light.

"Saria Vex, chosen by Thalara, the Goddess of Fortune!"

The clapping that followed was more subdued, but the respect was still there.

Nero swallowed. Two successes in a row.

One by one, the names continued.

Some stepped forward and left the stage transformed, their marks glowing proof of their newfound power. Others… walked away empty. Their gazes hollow. Their futures shattered.

And then—

"Callum Jerel, step forward."

The boy rose, his movements stiff. He reached the altar and pressed his palm against it. The hall fell into silence.

A second passed.

Then another.

Nothing happened.

The officiant's voice, calm yet unyielding, broke the stillness. "Callum Jerel… No awakening."

A ripple of silence swept through the hall.

Callum stood frozen, his hand still on the altar. "No," he murmured, shaking his head. "That… that can't be right."

The officiant repeated, "Step down, Callum."

Callum's breathing grew ragged. His fingers dug into his arms. His entire body trembled.

"There has to be a mistake," he said, voice barely above a whisper. Then louder, more desperate, "I trained for this! I studied everything—I deserve this!"

Eyes turned away. Some candidates shifted uncomfortably.

Then, suddenly—his body slumped forward. His head hung low, shoulders shaking. A choked sound left his lips.

And then—he wept.

It was a terrible sound, raw and filled with something far deeper than sadness. A life's worth of hope, crushed in an instant.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Eventually, two attendants approached, guiding him away. He didn't resist. He didn't look back.

He was simply… gone.

Nero's stomach twisted.

His fingers remained crossed.

The ceremony continued.

One by one, names were called, and one by one, each candidate took the long, agonizing walk to the altar.

Some left the stage marked, their bodies now carrying the divine favor of a god. Their lives forever changed.

Others left empty, their shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. Some walked away in stunned silence. Others had to be dragged.

The tension only thickened with each name. Every flash of light from the altar sent a wave of applause through the hall. Every silence after a name was met with nothing at all.

Cassian shot up from his seat, his entire body tensed with anticipation. For a moment, he stood frozen, as if he needed to process what had just been said. Then, without hesitation, he strode toward the altar, his movements quick but controlled.

The entire hall watched as he climbed the steps, standing before the ancient stone. He swallowed once, then lifted his hand, pressing his palm flat against its smooth surface.

A heartbeat passed.

Then crimson light erupted.

The air vibrated with raw energy as the mark took shape, searing itself onto Cassian's arm in jagged lines of deep red. It glowed like smoldering embers, pulsing with undeniable strength.

A warrior's mark. A conqueror's brand.

Even before the officiant announced it, the audience knew.

"Cassian Vale, chosen by Garnias, the God of War!"

The hall erupted into cheers.

Garnias wasn't one of the rare gods, but he was respected—deeply. His chosen were known for their strength, their leadership, their ability to carve through battlefields like unstoppable forces. To receive his blessing was to be acknowledged as a warrior with limitless potential.

Cassian let out a shaky breath before a wild grin spread across his face. He clenched his fist, staring at his new mark in awe, before turning back toward the seats.

As he dropped into his chair, he nudged Nero hard. "I knew it. I fucking knew it!"

Nero managed a smile, but his hands were still tightly clenched. His turn was getting closer.

The names continued.

Some passed. Some failed.

Then—

"Lira Everis, step forward."

Lira rose smoothly, moving with the same quiet confidence she always carried. No hesitation. No nerves.

She stepped onto the stage, placed her hand on the altar—

And the room dimmed.

A deep indigo light curled around the altar, swirling like the vastness of the cosmos. It wasn't oppressive. It wasn't violent. But it was unfathomable—as if something beyond mortal comprehension had turned its gaze toward them.

The officiant hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. Then he spoke.

"Lira Everis, chosen by Tethis, the Goddess of Mysteries."

The reaction was… different.

Tethis wasn't exactly common, but she wasn't a complete mystery either. Her chosen were unpredictable—some soared to incredible heights, wielding unfathomable abilities, while others faded into obscurity, their talents never fully understood.

A few whispers ran through the crowd—some in awe, others indifferent.

Lira lowered her hand, glancing at her arm. A delicate, spiraling constellation now adorned her skin—glowing faintly before settling into her flesh.

She studied it for a brief moment before turning on her heel and walking back to her seat, calm, composed and unshaken.

Cassian blinked. "Well. That was eerie as hell."

Lira plopped down into her seat with a sigh.

"I wanted Elthor," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Now I have to deal with… this."

Nero arched a brow. "You just got blessed by an actual goddess, and you're pouting?"

She huffed. "Elthor's chosen are powerful mages. You always know what you're getting. This?" She waved at her mark. "Who even knows what it does?"

Cassian snorted. "Yeah, because getting a mark from a literal Goddess of Mysteries was gonna be straightforward."

Lira shot him a glare before slumping back in her chair.

Before Nero could join in, a voice rang out through the hall.

"Nero Ruvan. Step forward."

The words struck like a hammer against his chest.

For a moment, he sat frozen. His fingers, which had been tightly crossed this entire time, slowly unfurled. The weight of a hundred gazes pressed down on him, but none heavier than the two beside him.

Cassian smirked, clapping him on the back. "Go get your destiny, Nero."

Lira, ever composed, gave him a small nod. "You'll be fine."

He swallowed.

His legs felt stiff as he rose, forcing himself forward with steady steps. The hall stretched endlessly before him, the grand chamber humming with silent anticipation.

With each step, his heartbeat pounded louder.

Step.

Two out of ten.

Step.

No second chances.

Step.

If he failed—

He pushed the thought away. He wouldn't fail. He couldn't.

Finally, he reached the altar. The polished marble gleamed under the golden light, smooth and unyielding. Dozens had come before him, some leaving marked, others leaving empty.

Now it was his turn.

Nero inhaled sharply.

And then, he placed his hand against the altar.

...

Silence.

Not the stunned kind that came with awe. Not the respectful hush that followed the name of a powerful deity.

No, this silence was uncertain.

The golden glow around Nero's arm faded, leaving behind his mark—etched into his skin with divine precision.

A face. No—two faces.

One half smiling, the other weeping.

The officiant's voice rang through the hall.

"Nero Ruvan… chosen by Orvian, the Twin-Faced God."

This time, there were no gasps of admiration. No waves of applause.

Instead—murmurs. Doubt.

Someone let out a sharp breath. Another scoffed under their breath.

"Orvian?"

"Damn. That's unlucky."

"I'd rather not awaken at all."

Nero felt his chest tighten.

He knew that name. Barely. A god so rarely spoken about that most didn't even bother remembering him. Not because he was powerful. Not because he was elusive.

But because his blessings were useless.

No great warriors had ever been chosen by Orvian. No legendary figures. No record-shattering ascendants.

Only failures.

A Patron God who granted nothing of worth.

Lira and Cassian were both standing now, their faces tense. Lira's brows furrowed in an uncharacteristic frown, her sharp eyes flicking between Nero and the altar. Cassian's jaw tightened, his usual easygoing nature absent.

Still, the officiant remained composed. "Step down, Nero," he instructed, his tone neutral.

Nero forced himself to move. His legs felt stiff—heavy. Every step back to his seat felt longer than it should have.

When he sat down, neither Cassian nor Lira spoke immediately.

Then, finally—

"What the hell was that?" Cassian muttered.

* * *

The wind was gentle tonight. Soft, cool. It brushed against Nero's skin as he sat atop the familiar hill, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees.

Above him, the night stretched endlessly, stars scattered like fragments of a shattered dream.

He had always come here.

As a child, he would stare at those distant lights, imagining himself as one of them—shining, rising, burning brightly.

Now?

His throat tightened. His eyes stung.

Now, he was just watching again.

He had awakened. He should have felt relief. Joy, even.

Instead, his fingers curled into the grass, his nails digging into the earth.

Orvian.

A god whose name barely meant anything. A deity whose blessings contained no power, no strength—no purpose.

What was the point of awakening if he was still a nobody?

He swallowed hard, his vision blurring.

Orvian's chosen were always the same.

Guides, navigators, wayfinders. Those who could slip through unseen cracks, uncover hidden paths, and step where others could not. Not warriors. Not leaders. Just those who helped others move forward while remaining behind.

Some could sense the safest route in unfamiliar terrain. Others could open small doorways—shortcuts across short distances, nothing more. A few rare ones could even trace lost things, following unseen trails to places long forgotten.

Even the weakest elemental blessing would have been better. At least those had a place in battle.

But Orvian's mark? It meant standing in the shadows, watching others forge ahead while he remained in place—a footnote in someone else's story.

His hands trembled.

He had dreamed of stepping into Faltheris as a fighter, as someone worthy.

Now, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to go at all.

A sharp breath tore from his lips, his chest tightening with frustration. It wasn't fair.

With a growl, Nero clenched his fists and slammed them into the dirt beside him. "Damn it!" he hissed, his voice shaking. The impact sent a jolt up his arms, but he didn't care. He gritted his teeth, his vision blurring as he struck the ground again. Once. Twice. The cool earth did nothing to soothe the fire twisting inside him.

He had trained. He had wanted this.

And for what? To be given a power that led nowhere?

His breath came ragged now, anger giving way to something deeper, heavier. He dug his fingers into the dirt, head hanging low.

Then—

A whisper slid through his mind.

Faint. Foreign. Not his own.

"How pathetic."

Nero's breath hitched. His body went rigid.

The night stretched silent around him.

And yet—

Somewhere, deep within his soul—

Something stirred.