Instructor Calder's gaze swept across the assembled students like a blade testing for soft spots.
"Most of you received your first blessing weeks ago. Maybe months." His scarred arms remained crossed. "You've had time to feel strong. To imagine yourselves as heroes."
He let the words hang.
"You're not."
The declaration landed with the force of a physical blow. Several students straightened defensively. Others shifted their weight, uncertainty flickering across their faces.
"Strength isn't granted. It's earned. The gods gave you a foundation - a body that can become something more than human. But that's all it is. A foundation."
He uncrossed his arms and gestured toward the training grounds around them.
"Every morning, you'll be here before dawn. Running. Lifting. Pushing your bodies until they break and rebuild stronger. Some of you are thinking that's pointless - you're Chosen now, why waste time on mundane exercise?"
His expression hardened.
"Because there is no ceiling to how strong a Chosen's body can become. A commoner can train their entire life and hit a wall. You won't. Your bodies will keep adapting, keep growing, keep pushing past limits that would cripple normal humans."
Calder's hand dropped to his side.
"And for those of you blessed with traits or authorities that enhance your physical capabilities - don't rely on them. Most enhancements boost your base strength. They multiply what's already there."
The words settled over Cel like cold water.
Lunar Vigor. Active only under moonlight. Variable intensity based on the moon's phase.
He'd already felt its effect many times - that surge of energy that had made him faster, stronger. But he'd been working with the strength the Moon Goddess gave him when she forged his new body.
How strong was that foundation compared to other Chosen?
Cel's hand unconsciously closed into a fist, testing the strength there.
"Imagine," Calder was saying, "that your enhancement doubles your power. Double nothing is still nothing. But double an already formidable foundation?" He smiled without warmth.
"That's when you become worth the divine investment."
Around Cel, several students had gone pale. A boy near the front - one who'd carried himself with particular confidence during the ceremony - now looked like he'd swallowed something bitter.
"After your theoretical classes each afternoon, you return here." His gaze swept the assembled students. "That's when we teach you to kill."
The word landed with deliberate weight.
"Weapons training. Combat forms. How to use your traits and authorities in actual battle instead of fumbling with them like children. And you'll learn to control your Divine Energy properly."
Cel's attention sharpened.
Control Divine Energy. The fundamental skill every Chosen possessed naturally.
Except him.
He'd need to fake the concentration, pretend he sensed something he couldn't perceive. And when someone inevitably noticed they couldn't sense his Divine Energy signature…
The Reckoning assumed it was because of an artifact. But that wouldn't work now - he wasn't manifesting anything. A trait, then. Some aspect of his blessing that suppressed his signature. Rare enough to seem special, possible enough to be believable.
"Question." Calder's voice cut through his thoughts. "What is Divine Energy?"
Hands rose. He pointed to a girl in the second row.
"It's a gift from the gods. The power we need to activate our authorities."
"Half right. Divine Energy is power granted by the gods, yes. But it's not just fuel for your abilities." Calder's tone shifted, taking on the cadence of someone explaining something fundamental. "It's a tool. A weapon. And like any weapon, it requires mastery."
He paused.
"It's also a sense. Your sixth sense, if you want to think of it that way."
Cel went very still.
A sixth sense. Something every Chosen possessed naturally. Something that let them perceive and manipulate the energy flowing through them.
Something he completely lacked.
Wait.
His mind cataloged the truth with clinical detachment. Sight, hearing, touch, smell - those he had. But taste? That had died in the cell, ground away by months of consuming rotting meat.
Other Chosen had six senses. Normal humans had five.
He had four.
The absurdity of it would have been funny if it wasn't so completely fucked.
"Let me demonstrate," Calder said.
He closed his eyes.
The ground trembled - barely perceptible, like the earth itself had taken a breath.
Students around Cel gasped. Some stumbled backward. Others went rigid, eyes wide with something between awe and fear.
A boy near Cel dropped to one knee, breathing hard. The girl beside him pressed both hands to her chest.
Cel saw nothing.
'This is going to be annoying.'
Calder opened his eyes again and the pressure - whatever it had been - vanished.
"That was my raw Divine Energy." He gestured broadly. "With training, you'll learn to sense it in others. More importantly, you'll learn to sense corrupted essence."
His expression hardened.
"Rift-creatures carry corruption in their very being. Most humans can feel it as wrongness. But if you refine your sixth sense, you can classify a creature by its presence alone. Know its blight level before you see it."
A hand rose.
"Couldn't we just use the Ledger of Nightmares?"
Confusion rippled through the group. Several students exchanged questioning looks.
Calder's expression shifted - something that might have been approval.
"The Ledger is a valuable tool. Instructor Saren will cover it in detail during your theoretical classes." He paused. "But the Ledger requires time. You need to observe the creature, consult the entry, read the information. In combat, you rarely have that luxury."
The mention of the Ledger pulled at Cel's attention.
He still needed to check it thoroughly. The entries from the Crystal Maze remained unread - the crystal-spined thing that he rode, the lake of nothingness that hunted him, and the fairy-like creature that killed him. Though why creatures from his trial appeared in a supposedly comprehensive bestiary of real encounters, he still didn't understand.
And the creature Esrin had fought in the Ashlands. The massive thing that had erupted from the dead volcano. What blight did something like that carry?
The questions circled through his mind as Calder continued explaining the training regimen.
A structured routine designed to transform blessed individuals into functional warriors.
"Dismissed," Calder eventually said. "Dawn tomorrow. Don't be late."
The students dispersed in clusters, conversations resuming as the weight of the instructor's presence lifted. Lior remained beside Cel, his expression distant as he processed the lecture.
They walked back in silence, the path to the dining hall filling with other students whose voices rose in animated discussion. By the time they reached the entrance, the buzz of energy was almost overwhelming - dozens of conversations competing in volume as students dissected the day's revelations.
Cel and Lior claimed their isolated table again. Food arrived within minutes - roasted meat, vegetables glazed in something that caught the light, fresh bread that released steam when torn open.
Lior took his first bite and went still.
His eyes widened. He chewed slowly, almost reverently, then swallowed and immediately reached for more.
"This is incredible," he said, the words muffled around bread. "I've never—the seasoning alone must cost more than my family spends on food in a month."
Cel cut into his own portion. The meat separated cleanly under his knife. He brought a piece to his mouth, chewed, swallowed.
Nothing.
'Four senses, huh?'
Lior had already finished his first serving and was eyeing the remaining dishes.
"Do you think they feed us like this every day?" He reached for more vegetables, practically vibrating with barely contained delight. "The instructors said three meals daily, but I assumed it would be simple fare. Porridge and hard bread, maybe some—"
He caught himself, glancing at Cel's plate.
"You're not eating much."
"I'm eating."
"Right. Sorry." Lior returned his attention to his food with renewed focus.
The minutes passed. Around them, conversations rose and fell. A group near the front dissolved into laughter over something. Two boys argued about which deities were superior, their voices rising until others told them to shut up.
Cel ate because his body needed fuel. Lior ate like someone storing memories against future hunger.
When the plates were empty, students began filtering out. Most headed back toward the classroom - the ones who'd kept their hands down earlier, now bound for extra lessons that would stretch into the evening.
Lior watched them go, his expression troubled.
"I should head to the classroom too." He glanced at Cel. "What will you do with your evening?"
"Read."
"I see." Lior's smile was brief and self-conscious. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
He left with the stream of other students, his posture carrying that particular tension of someone facing something difficult but necessary.
Cel remained seated as the dining hall emptied. When only a handful of them remained, he rose and made his way through the corridors.
The commoner dormitory was silent when he reached it. He unlocked his door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him with a soft click.
The room looked exactly as he'd left it. Narrow bed. Empty desk. Wardrobe with the commoner clothes he'd worn in the city.
Cel moved to the center of the space and reached for the bond.
Moonlight threaded through the air, weaving itself into solid form. The Ledger materialized - worn black leather, silver filigree catching the afternoon light filtering through his window. It hung suspended for a heartbeat before gravity remembered itself.
He caught it before it could fall, the leather cool against his palms.
His fingers found the edge and opened to the first page.
Ledger of Nightmares.
The title stared back at him in stark black ink.
Cel's fingers found the page's edge and turned.
The sketch showed a skeletal figure, hunched and wrong. Crystal growths erupted from bone in chaotic patterns - through the skull, along the spine, bursting from joints in jagged formations that looked more like infection than armor.
His eyes dropped to the text.
Cursed. The lowest classification of all ten.
Cel's hand tightened on the edge of the page. The sketch showed the truth clearly enough - those proportions, that basic structure beneath the crystal. They'd been human once.
Caught by the maze. Transformed. Reduced to shambling husks that existed only to inflict the same fate on others.
He turned the page to the next entry - the mirror lake.
The next sketch was simpler this time. Solid black ink poured across the paper with only the faintest suggestion of ripples at its surface. Like looking down into still water at midnight.
Ruined. Sixth tier. Higher than any other creature he had encountered in the Ashlands.
Cel's eyes narrowed.
Feeds on fear and despair.
Not hunger. Not territorial defense. The thing sustained itself on suffering - drawing prey close with their own worst memories, then trapping them in a realm built from trauma made solid.
He'd destroyed those reflections. Shattered every manifestation of his father, his family, the cultists, himself. If he hadn't - if he'd broken under the weight of their judgment instead - what would have happened?
A shudder ran through him. He turned the page before the thoughts could spiral.
The sketch showed a massive serpentine form, its thick body covered in dark hide between crystal formations that erupted from its spine in organized rows.
Recognition struck immediately.
The creature that had carried him across the maze.
Fallen. Fifth tier. One below Ruined.
Cel stared at the words. He'd thought himself lucky when the creature carried him across the maze. Lucky it hadn't noticed him clinging to its back, lucky it hadn't decided to shake him off or crush him against the crystal formations.
But it hadn't been luck at all.
The creature had simply deemed him irrelevant. An insect clinging to something far more important - whatever objective drove it through a realm of crystal and death with singular focus.
The gaps stared back at him like missing teeth. He'd ridden on its back for hours and learned nothing except that he wasn't worth acknowledging.
His fingers hesitated at the page's edge.
The next entry would be the creature that killed him. The one with translucent skin and violet light burning in its eye sockets. The thing that had impaled him on a crystal spike and watched him die with detached curiosity.
His throat tightened. But the information was there. Waiting.
Cel turned the page.