The sunlight filtered through the grand windows of the Assembly Hall, casting long streaks of gold across the stone floor. Hundreds of students gathered, their nervous murmurs blending into a restless hum.
Arin stood among them, hands tucked in his sleeves, heart steady despite the tension that gripped the room. Beside him, Sera shifted uneasily, while Rian — the chubby, ever-smiling boy they'd befriended — looked like he might faint.
At the front, Elder Caen, the instructor known for his strictness, climbed the marble dais. His robe fluttered like the wings of a hawk, sharp and commanding.
"Silence!" Elder Caen's voice rang through the hall without needing amplification. Instantly, the students stilled.
"You stand here today as initiates," he said, scanning them with piercing eyes. "But mere attendance means nothing. Cultivation is not a gift. It is earned. Tested. Proven."
Arin felt a small pulse of energy in his chest — the nascent stirrings of the cultivation path he had only just begun to tread.
Elder Caen continued, his voice harder now. "In one month's time, every one of you must achieve a breakthrough to Level 1 of the Mortal Path. Failure..." He let the word hang in the air, cold and heavy. "Will mean expulsion."
A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Expulsion meant losing everything — the chance at cultivation, the future promised by the school, the honor attached to even setting foot here.
Sera shot Arin a worried glance. "We just started! Isn't one month too short?"
Arin kept his gaze forward but replied quietly, "Maybe that's the point."
Elder Caen raised a hand, and a set of scrolls floated into the air, spinning lazily above him. "Each of you will receive a scroll — basic techniques, meditation methods, and the school's guidelines. You are expected to master the basics and forge your own path toward breakthrough."
With a simple gesture, the scrolls flew toward the students, each finding its target like an arrow finding a bullseye. Arin caught his easily, feeling a faint warmth where it touched his palm.
"There will be no further help," Elder Caen said. "You will sink or rise by your own efforts."
A moment later, the elder swept his robes and left, the hall's doors opening with a groaning creak to signal the assembly's end.
Students immediately burst into frantic chatter, many looking pale.
Arin, Sera, and Rian slipped out into the courtyard, the cool spring air a balm against the heavy pressure now hanging over them.
"I'm doomed," Rian moaned, sinking onto a bench. "One month? I haven't even felt my inner energy properly yet! Maybe I'll open a noodle stall instead."
Sera sat beside him, flipping through her scroll. "The breathing methods here are different from the ones in the orientation class. They're... sharper. More focused."
Arin opened his own scroll and skimmed through it. The words were dense, but strangely, they made sense to him — like old instincts stirring. He traced one line with his finger:
"Flow with the breath, dig into the bones. Find the thread of life, and weave it into strength."
He closed the scroll, determination lighting in his eyes.
"I'm going to try the techniques tonight," he said. "No point wasting time."
Rian groaned louder. "You're already serious! Can't we just have one day of pretending this isn't happening?"
Sera smiled faintly. "Arin's right. We can't afford to slack off."
The sun dipped lower, bathing the courtyard in a fiery orange glow. The Trial of Foundation had begun, and the clock was already ticking.
Some would rise.
Some would fall.
And Arin had no intention of being left behind.