Ryan did not choose when the training began.
The training chose him.
The moment he stepped into the sealed chamber beneath Cakra Sakti Academy, the air changed. The temperature dropped—not cold enough to freeze the skin, but sharp enough to bite with every breath. The stone walls, layered with ancient formations, pulsed faintly as if responding to his presence.
The door sealed shut behind him.
Not with sound.
With finality.
Ryan stood at the center of the chamber, shoulders relaxed, posture steady. His expression was calm, but inside him, something tightened—not fear, but awareness. The kind that came before a storm.
"So this is it," he murmured.
Satria's presence unfurled slowly, heavier than it had ever been.
This is not a trial, the ancient voice said.This is dismantling.
The formations ignited.
Without warning, pressure descended from every direction at once—vertical, horizontal, inward. Ryan's knees buckled instantly as gravity multiplied, slamming him into the stone floor.
His breath was ripped from his lungs.
Bones screamed.
Muscles tore under a force that did not ask whether his body was ready.
Ryan clenched his teeth, palms digging into the ground as he forced air back into his lungs.
"—So this is… your idea of training," he gasped.
Satria laughed softly.
Hell does not prepare you, he replied.It removes what is unnecessary.
The pressure shifted.
Heat surged through the chamber, sudden and merciless. Ryan felt it crawl beneath his skin, igniting nerves, boiling blood, forcing his energy to circulate faster than it ever had before.
Pain followed.
Not sharp.
Endless.
Ryan's vision blurred. His body screamed for rest, for release, for unconsciousness—but the formations denied him even that mercy.
"Focus," he whispered to himself."Breathe. Endure."
Time lost meaning.
Minutes felt like hours.Hours collapsed into moments.
Every time Ryan adapted, the chamber responded—gravity intensified, heat sharpened, resistance deepened. His body was stripped down layer by layer, pushed past limits he hadn't known existed.
At one point, his arms gave out completely.
He collapsed face-first onto the stone, blood pooling beneath him.
Satria watched in silence.
Ryan laughed weakly.
"So this is how I die?"
No, Satria replied calmly.This is how you learn how close death truly is.
The words anchored him.
Ryan forced his eyes open.
He remembered the third gate.The things he had let go.The people who now stood further away because of the path he chose.
"I won't stop," he said hoarsely.
The chamber answered.
The pressure doubled.
Something inside Ryan cracked—not bone, not muscle, but restraint. His aura surged instinctively, not exploding outward, but compressing inward, folding in on itself like a star collapsing.
Pain reached a peak—
Then stabilized.
Ryan's breathing evened out.
Slow.Controlled.Deliberate.
He pushed himself up again.
This time, the stone beneath his hands fractured.
Satria's presence stirred, unmistakably pleased.
Good, he said.You are beginning to understand.
The formations dimmed slightly, allowing Ryan a single breath of reprieve. Sweat poured from his body, every muscle trembling, yet standing.
"This isn't strength," Ryan said quietly."It's survival."
Exactly, Satria replied.Strength comes later.
Above ground, Bayu stood outside the sealed area, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the warning seals blazing crimson.
"It's started," he murmured.
Sophie stood beside him, fingers clenched tightly around her sleeve.
"How long will it last?" she asked.
Bayu didn't answer immediately.
"Until something breaks," he said finally."And we can only hope it isn't him."
Sophie swallowed hard.
Somewhere deep within the academy, stone groaned under pressure it had not felt in generations.
Ryan screamed.
Not in surrender.
But in defiance.
And Hell—
Listened.