First Glimpse of the World

The grand gates of the Sky-Piercing City were not made of wood or metal, but of shimmering, semi-transparent light. They stood a hundred feet high, humming with a powerful energy that marked the boundary between the outer access ways and the city proper. As Amrit passed through them, he felt a gentle, probing energy wash over him—the city's defensive formations, scanning for hostile intent, forbidden artifacts, and cultivators over a certain age. It was a security measure to ensure the city remained a neutral ground for the young.

The moment he stepped inside, the world changed.

The air itself felt different. It was thick with a density of Prana that dwarfed even the royal cultivation chambers of Kshirapura. It was like moving from a dry desert into a lush, humid jungle. For a cultivator, just breathing here was a form of passive training. The entire city was built upon a nexus of massive spiritual veins, a fact that made it the most coveted piece of real estate on the continent.

The sheer scale of the city was overwhelming. Towers of white stone and gleaming crystal soared into the sky, connected by intricate bridges and walkways. Floating platforms drifted serenely between them, carrying passengers and cargo. Waterfalls cascaded from hanging gardens, their spray catching the light and creating perpetual rainbows. The architecture was a fusion of a dozen different cultures, a testament to the city's status as a continental hub.

But it was the people who truly defined the place. The city was a vibrant, chaotic, and powerful melting pot. Amrit saw heavily armored dwarves from the mountain holds haggling with lithe, elegant elven merchants from the deep forests. He saw beast-kin—people with the features of tigers, wolves, and hawks—walking with a proud, confident stride. These were races he had only read about in the Royal Library's oldest, most speculative texts. In Kshirapura, humans were the only sentient race of note. Here, they were just one thread in a much richer tapestry.

His spiritual sense was awash with a thousand different kinds of auras, a cacophony of power signatures that was both disorienting and exhilarating. This was the wider world in all its glory and danger. His small kingdom felt like a sheltered, isolated pond compared to this boundless, teeming ocean.

Following the signs for new student registration, Amrit made his way through the bustling streets. He passed by shops selling items that would be considered national treasures back home. A sword shop with blades that hummed with elemental power. An alchemy store with shelves lined with glowing, thousand-year-old herbs. A stall selling tamed spirit beasts, from fire-breathing lizards to small, lightning-fast ferrets.

The price tags, displayed in a universal currency of spirit stones, were astronomical. He saw a single pill that cost more than Kshirapura's entire annual tax revenue. He finally understood what his father had meant when he called their kingdom a "rowboat." He also understood the immense value of the resources he had been given. The ability to craft his own artifacts was not just a convenience; it was a vital necessity for survival and growth in a world this competitive.

As he walked, he felt the lingering stares. News of the confrontation on the Sky-Walk had already begun to spread through the arriving students. He was no longer anonymous. He was "Amrit of Kshirapura," the mysterious boy who had faced down Prince Valerius. The name was whispered in tones of disbelief, suspicion, and a healthy dose of fear. He had wanted to start quietly, but his clash with the imperial prince had made him one of a handful of "must-watch" figures before the trials even began.

He finally arrived at the registration hall. It was a massive, domed building at the base of the central spire. Inside, hundreds of young geniuses were lined up, waiting to present their documents. The air was thick with competitive tension.

Amrit joined a queue, finding himself behind the scholarly-looking youth he had seen on the platform. The youth glanced at him, his eyes, which seemed to hold ancient wisdom, flickering with curiosity.

"Amrit of Kshirapura, I presume?" the youth said, his voice quiet but clear. "The whispers about you are already more interesting than most of the epics in my sect's library."

"Whispers tend to exaggerate," Amrit replied calmly.

"Do they?" The youth smiled faintly. "I am Zian from the Sect of the Whispering Scroll. My humble art is in the reading of patterns—in texts, in the stars, and in people. And the pattern around you is… chaotic. It is the pattern of a boulder dropped into a perfectly still lake."

Amrit looked at him with new interest. This Zian was more perceptive than the others. He wasn't just sensing power; he was sensing its effect on the world.

[Target: Zian of the Sect of the Whispering Scroll.]

[Realm: Spirit Sea - First Stage. Foundation: Profound (Mental Fortitude). Possesses an innate talent for pattern recognition and divination. Primary Cultivation Art: 'Celestial Abacus Sutra.' Threat Level: Low (Direct Combat), Extreme (Strategic/Informational).]

An interesting individual. A potential ally or a dangerous informational foe. Amrit filed the knowledge away.

When his turn came, he stepped up to a crystalline desk where a stern-faced woman in the Academy's uniform sat. She was a powerful cultivator herself, her aura as deep and steady as a mountain.

"Name and kingdom," she said, her tone bored and dismissive. She had seen hundreds of proud young masters today.

"Amrit of Kshirapura."

She tapped his name into a glowing runic console in front of her. Her expression didn't change. The name meant nothing to her. "Place your hand on the Spirit Stone."

She gestured to a large, flawless crystal sphere on the desk. This was the first test, a preliminary check of a student's age and cultivation potential. The stone would glow with a color and intensity corresponding to the applicant's innate talent.

Amrit placed his hand on the sphere. He made no effort to suppress his power, nor did he try to flaunt it. He simply let the stone measure what was there.

For a moment, nothing happened. The stone remained dark. The woman looked up, an impatient frown on her face, about to declare him a fraud.

Then, the sphere began to react. It did not glow with a simple color. It turned a deep, profound black, the color of the void between stars. And from the center of that blackness, a single, brilliant point of golden light appeared, so bright and pure it was painful to look at. The blackness seemed to be trying to contain the gold, creating a miniature, swirling cosmos within the crystal.

The bored expression on the registrar's face vanished, replaced by one of utter, slack-jawed shock. She had registered thousands of students in her career. She had seen brilliant blues for water talents, fiery reds for phoenix bloodlines, and even the rare, royal purple of an imperial dragon heir like Valerius.

She had never, ever seen this.

The color did not correspond to any known element or bloodline. It was a reading of pure, conceptual power—a boundless void and a singular, creative sun. It was a power signature that should not exist.

The hushed conversations in the hall died down as everyone turned to stare at the bizarre, cosmic display in the Spirit Stone. Zian's eyes widened, his scholarly calm breaking as he scribbled frantic notes onto a hidden scroll. At the far side of the hall, Prince Valerius, who had just completed his own registration with a predictably dazzling purple-gold light, turned and stared, his handsome face a mask of disbelief and intense, burning curiosity.

The registrar swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she made a notation on her console. She looked up at Amrit, her gaze no longer dismissive, but filled with a deep, fearful awe.

"Registration… complete," she stammered. "You are assigned to the Outer Court, Sector 7. Here is your identification token. The entrance trials will begin in three days. Instructions will be sent to your token."

She handed him a small, silver token. Amrit took it, gave a polite nod, and walked away, leaving behind a hall full of stunned silence and a thousand new questions.

He had wanted to understand the world. But his first glimpse had also given the world its first, baffling glimpse of him. His cloak of anonymity had been well and truly burned away, not by a show of force, but by the simple, undeniable truth of his own existence.

The boulder had been dropped into the lake. And the waves were just beginning to spread.