When Ren stepped through the gate of light, the world unraveled around him like a scroll drenched in ink.
His boots landed on cold stone. The light dimmed. The portal vanished behind him with a breath of silence, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He stood in a circular chamber. No sky, no walls—just endless black, like he had stepped into the hollow of space. Yet the floor was solid. Made of smooth obsidian stone carved with spiraling symbols that pulsed faintly with azure light.
In the center of the arena stood a solitary hourglass. It floated mid-air, slowly turning over with a quiet click, spilling golden sand that glowed as it fell.
Then the system alerted:
["Do not close your eyes. Not even once."]
Ren inhaled slowly. He could feel the mark on his palm pulsing lightly, almost like it knew something he didn't.
Then he heard it.
The shuffle of claws. The scratch of limbs.
Something was out there. Something many.
The first emerged like a shadow slithering from the floor—twisted, quadrupedal, hunched low, its skin like oiled leather pulled taut over muscle. It had no eyes. Only a circular mouth full of serrated teeth that clicked in rhythm with his pulse.
Another came.
Then three more.
And soon the arena was filled with them, circling the edges like predators waiting to see if the prey would flinch.
Ren didn't move. He didn't run. He didn't even blink.
This wasn't a combat trial.
This was something worse.
He remembered what the instructor had said before entering:
"The Prism Gauntlet doesn't test strength. It tests resolve. Look the abyss in the eye—and don't look away."
A cold sweat rolled down Ren's neck. The hourglass above began to glow slightly brighter, but the sand was slow. Agonizingly slow.
The creatures started to creep closer. No sound but their ragged breathing. Their movements weren't aggressive—but deliberate, psychological. They wanted to see him fold.
The first one stepped forward, close enough for Ren to smell its breath—hot, rotting, foul.
He didn't flinch.
Another hissed, slinking behind him. One of its clawed fingers trailed across the stone, making a high-pitched screech like nails on bone.
Still, Ren didn't move.
Inside, his chest screamed. His instincts clawed at him to run, to close his eyes, to make it stop.
But something deeper… older… kept him still.
A whisper.
"This is nothing. The world outside this place will break you harder."
He grit his teeth. His fists clenched. But his eyes—his eyes stayed open. Focused. Unyielding.
Minutes dragged like lifetimes.
The monsters began to lose interest in fear. Now they were testing limits. One leapt forward and stopped inches from his face, its teeth snapping open. It breathed in his scent, like tasting weakness.
Ren stared back.
Unblinking.
Another crawled beside him and brushed its claw along his cheek.
Still he watched.
One by one, they grew agitated. Confused. They snarled. They circled again. But no matter how they moved, how close they came, how deep their growls vibrated in his bones—
Ren refused to close his eyes.
Then the hourglass flashed. The final grain of gold dropped.
A wave of warm light burst outward from it, disintegrating the creatures in a cascade of dust and fading shrieks.
The arena dimmed again.
Silence returned.
And then came the voice—not spoken aloud, but echoing in his mind:
"You did not turn. You did not blink. Your will is a sword."
"You have passed."
A gate appeared ahead. Not glowing or triumphant—just… open.
Ren staggered slightly. His body was drenched in sweat. His eyes burned from dryness. His jaw ached from how tightly he'd been holding it.
But he walked forward without hesitation.
As he passed through the gate and re-emerged into the real world, instructors briefly turned to record his result.
But none of that mattered.
Inside, Ren knew something had changed.
He hadn't fought. He hadn't won with skill or speed or power.
He'd endured.
And for the first time since stepping into this strange academy—since inheriting a stone he barely understood—he felt something rare settle in his bones.
Pride.
He emerged into the upper terrace of the academy—a raised circular platform that overlooked the rest of the campus like the rim of a watchtower. The air here was crisp and charged, as if the atmosphere itself had been distilled through arcane wind.
And he wasn't alone.
Rows of other students sat scattered along the marble benches carved into the terrace's edge. Dozens of them—boys, men, women and girls from all walks of life—fresh from the Prism Gauntlet.
Some were pale, trembling with wide eyes and shallow breaths. Others sat with faces buried in their hands, silently processing what they had just endured. A few had thrown up to the side, green-faced and shaking. The monsters they'd seen... the silence... the pressure. It hadn't been a fight. It had been survival against their own collapse.
And then there were others—those who returned with dry eyes and iron stillness. They stared forward, unmoving, not proud, not shaken. Just... present.
Ren's boots tapped softly against the ivory floor as he walked past them, his own heartbeat still echoing in his head. The hourglass still burned behind his eyelids. But he kept walking, jaw tight, eyes forward.
That's when he saw him.
Kalen Dray.
Sitting cross-legged near the far edge of the terrace wall, arms folded, eyes half-lidded like someone trying too hard to look disinterested. His coat was still a little dusty, his face calm—unnaturally calm, like a cat pretending not to care it almost got eaten by a hawk.
Ren slowed. His brow furrowed.
Kalen? Calm?
The same Kalen who muttered to himself under his breath during introductions? The same Kalen who looked like he was going to throw up before stepping through the gate?
Ren expected to see him sobbing in a corner or passed out on the floor, not sitting like some serene monk after tea.
And yet… here he was.
Unbothered. Or trying very hard to seem that way.
Ren considered ignoring him, but something tugged at his attention. Not just curiosity—but suspicion.
He approached.
Kalen didn't look up. "Before you ask," he said, tone dry, "Yes, I passed. Yes, it was horrifying. Yes, I might be part ghost now."
Ren blinked. "You don't look like someone who just faced a nightmare."
Kalen cracked one eye open. "I've mastered the art of mental dissociation and deep denial. Very advanced coping strategy." He stood, stretching lazily. "Also, there was a giant beetle. Possibly psychic. Definitely hostile."
"…You're serious?"
Kalen smirked. "About seventy percent of the time."
Ren didn't know whether to be impressed or worried. Probably both.
He looked back toward the rest of the terrace. Students were still filtering out of the Prism Gauntlet. Some of them collapsed into seats like their legs had forgotten how to work. Others clung to the wall, blinking rapidly. A few were even arguing with instructors—demanding a second chance, or claiming the test was flawed.
Ren said nothing. He just watched.
It was like watching the aftermath of a storm, the kind that doesn't leave ruins—but exposes which trees had shallow roots and which ones had been quietly holding the hill together all along.
The sky above the academy was beginning to shift again—from crystal blue to dusk-rose, the light brushing against the floating towers and causing the glowing sigils along the spires to shimmer softly like embers in glass.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed—long, low, and resonant. One tone. Then two. Then three.
The sound rolled across the terrace like a slow wave.
Kalen leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful for once.
In the distance, the instructor's voice echoed through the terrain, urging everyone to be silent. The robed instructor stood silent for a moment, awaiting the cessation of every little chatter, before speaking. "Don't be overly worried about the first trial; its main aim was to test your fear resistance in the face of monsters. For those of you who passed, congratulations. And for those of you who failed, you can always improve."
He paused, his expression turning stern. "But you have only a week to improve, so sharpen up."
The lecture turned out to be longer than Ren had expected, but it was also more educative than he had imagined. As he listened, he gained three deeper understanding of the Echo. Firstly, he realized that the instructors made no effort to reveal to them how they were brought here. Secondly, he learned that while it was possible to interact with some echoes, like Merchant Barbos, there were others that were mere echoes.
The echoes that Gatebearers could interact with, like Barbos and the instructor himself, were called Phantom Echoes. The others, which were nothing more than hollow imitations, were called White Echoes.
Ren also discovered that, as Sera had mentioned, his Whispering Stone was rare. Most Gatebearers possessed Flare Stones, which seemed to be the more common type. Tomorrow, each Gatebearer would learn more about their abilities. The rest of Ren's understanding of the Echo came from the library, where he found that despite the books being written in an ancient language, Gatebearers could still comprehend them.
However, one revelation horrified Ren the most: stones, whether Flare or Whispering, could only be taken from their host willingly, without force or death. This raised a disturbing question in his mind: how did Malek plan on getting him to give up the stone?