The morning sun bathed the republic in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets and bustling alleys. Its light stretched into every corner, painting the white stone buildings with a warm hue. Cole adjusted his crisp school uniform, its white fabric lined with gold felt gleaming in the sunlight, as he made his way toward the academy. The week had gone by relatively quickly.

  The streets were alive with movement—other eighteen-year-olds, dressed identically, walked with similar purpose. They had all been summoned, their presence required to hear the council’s speech. Tomorrow, they would descend into the Abyss, and today was meant to prepare their minds and spirits.

  The Academy loomed ahead, its spires piercing the sky like jagged blades. Its walls were adorned with banners of gold and white, fluttering faintly in the breeze—a symbol of strength and unity, a constant reminder of the kingdom’s ideals.

  Inside, the hall was filled with rows upon rows of students seated on worn wooden benches. The air buzzed with whispers and the occasional bark of a teacher demanding silence. At the front of the room, four high-backed chairs stood on an elevated platform, each occupied by a member of the council—apart from one chair that was missing a member.

  The council members were imposing figures, each one radiating an aura of strength that demanded respect—the man who had visited Cole included. These were the Vahnken, the pinnacle of power in the republic. Cole’s eyes lingered on them for a moment, as his gaze settled on the council head, an old man, despite retaining his young looks he had streaks of silver in his hair and a scar running down his left cheek, barely covered by his glasses. This man was Yui’s father.

  When the whispers finally subsided, the council head stood, his deep voice filling the hall.

  “We are gathered here today to remind you of the world beyond this kingdom,” he began. “The Abyss—a fallen star, a rift in the fabric of our existence. It remains a mystery and a challenge to us all. It is a place where only the strong survive, where the unworthy are swallowed whole.”

  “We strive to uncover its secrets,” the council head continued. “And someday, we may learn the truth of its origins. But until that day, we must remain vigilant. The Abyss is not merely a legend or a myth to be whispered about—it is a test. A reminder that weakness has no place in this world.”

  The students remained completely silent—almost as if they were scared of him, the weight of the council’s words sinking in. Cole slightly shifted in his seat. Weakness. That word always struck a nerve—this world had always run on power.

  The speech continued for a while longer, touching on the festival preparations and the role of the youth in upholding the republic’s future—this was until the council head took a seat, allowing that man to take control.

  “Essentia,” the man began, his voice carrying the weight of authority as his sharp gaze swept over the crowd, pausing briefly on Cole. “Valour, Voidcraft, Bloodcraft, Eidolon and Transference. No matter the pathway you were born with—whether one, two, or even three—do not let it define your strength.”

  His words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. “Enter this trial with the understanding that death is a possibility. Enter it believing you are weak. Only those who accept this truth will discover their resilience. It is not the strongest who will prevail, but those who adapt to whatever is thrown at them.”

  Once again, his piercing eyes flicked toward Cole, lingering just long enough to make his chest tighten. “Make The Republic of Vancour proud.”

  The hall erupted into applause, a thunderous ovation that shook the air. Cheers followed, voices overlapping in chaotic adoration—as if everyone was more comfortable with this man compared to the serious council head.

  “Thank you!” someone shouted.

  “You’re the best!” another student called out.

  The man stood tall amidst the fervor, his calm demeanor amplifying the reverence he commanded. At the young age of 28, he was known as The Absolute—a legend among legends, and the first to be born with three pathways. To many, he was more than a hero; he was the very embodiment of what the kingdom aspired to create.

  To Cole, he was something else entirely: an unshakable reminder of the guilt he couldn’t seem to escape.

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  Eventually, the students were dismissed, being allowed to enjoy the rest of their time before the trial of the abyss.

  Cole rose from the bench with the rest of the students, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor in a chaotic symphony. The air around him buzzed with a mixture of excitement and dread as groups of students chattered about the speech, speculating on the dangers of the Abyss and trading rumours about past trials.

  Cole moved with the current, stepping out of the crowded hall and into the open courtyard of the academy. The sunlight from earlier had mellowed. He paused for a moment, watching the others disperse—some heading toward the festival preparations, others lingering to continue their discussions.

  He tuned them out, focusing instead on the faint hum of the banners swaying in the breeze. As much as he hated to admit it, a heaviness settled in his chest. Tomorrow, they’d all be walking into the unknown. For some, it would be the last time they saw the kingdom—the last time they saw anything.

  The Absolute’s words echoed in his mind: “Enter this trial with the understanding that death is a possibility.”

  Cole rubbed his neck. His heart felt like it was being squeezed. He didn’t fear the Abyss itself—he feared failing, being weak, as if surviving that day was not something he had deserved.

  He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move forward, his shoes scuffing against the stone as he made his way through the courtyard gates and back into the bustling streets.

  The streets were alive with the sounds of preparation for the upcoming festival. Vendors shouted over one another, advertising their wares, while children darted between adults, their laughter weaving through the chaos. Brightly colored banners hung from the buildings, their edges fluttering like the wings of birds. Musicians tuned their instruments in the corners of plazas, their melodies occasionally spilling into the air before cutting off abruptly.

  Cole navigated through the crowd, his thoughts still heavy as he passed a row of vendors lining the bustling street. The scents of spiced meats, roasted nuts, and freshly baked bread wafted toward him, momentarily distracting him from the weight on his shoulders.

  "Young man!" a jovial voice called out, cutting through the air.

  Cole turned to see an older man standing behind a wooden cart. The vendor had a kind face, lined with wrinkles that deepened when he smiled. His cart was piled high with sweet and savory pastries, their golden crusts glistening under the sunlight.

  "You look like you could use a bite," the man said, holding out a small pastry wrapped in paper.

  Cole hesitated, his stomach growling betraying himself. “How much?” he asked, reaching for the coin pouch at his belt.

  The man shook his head with a chuckle. “No charge. Consider it a gift.”

  Cole blinked, surprised. “Why?”

  The man’s smile softened, barely visible underneath his full mustache. “Because I’ve been where you are—eighteen, standing on the edge of something bigger than myself, unsure if I’d make it through.” He gestured for Cole to take the pastry.

  Cole accepted it carefully, the warmth of the pastry seeping through the thin paper. “Thank you.”

  The man leaned against his cart, his eyes studying Cole with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. “You’re heading into the Abyss tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  Cole nodded, his grip tightening slightly on the pastry. “Yeah.”

  The vendor sighed, his expression turning thoughtful. “It’s not an easy thing, going into that place. It changes you.” He paused, then added, “But it doesn’t have to define you.”

  Cole tilted his head, unsure how to respond.

  “When I was your age,” the man continued, “I thought the Abyss would swallow me whole. I thought I wasn’t strong enough, smart enough—good enough. But I learned something there.”

  “What?” Cole asked, his voice quiet.

  The man’s gaze met his, steady and warm. “That strength isn’t about how much power you have or how skilled you are. It’s about holding on to what you truly value, no matter what you face. If you can do that, you’ll come out of it with more than survival—you’ll come out with purpose.”

  Cole’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure he believed that, not yet. But there was something in the man’s tone—something genuine—that made the words feel less distant, less unreachable.

  “I’ll try,” Cole said finally.

  The man nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s all you can do. And when you come back, you stop by here. First pastry’s on me, but the second one? You’re paying for that.”

  A faint smile tugged at Cole’s lips. “Deal.”

  “May the Gods bless you.” The man chuckled, patting the side of the cart. “Good luck, son. You’ve got more in you than you realize.”

  Cole murmured his thanks and turned away, the man’s words lingering in his mind. As he walked, he took a bite of the pastry. The flaky crust melted on his tongue, the sweetness spreading warmth through him.

  For the first time that day, the tightness in his chest eased just a little. The streets seemed a bit less overwhelming, the noise a little less sharp.

  He finished the pastry slowly, appreciating each bite, as the vendor’s words replayed in his head: “You’ve got more in you than you realize.”

  And for a moment, Cole allowed himself to believe it.