Before him stood a radiant spectacle.
A shimmering golden tree, towering at approximately 10 meters in height, rooted firmly within the ethereal expanse of his mind. Its presence was both majestic and serene, emanating a soft luminescence that bathed its surroundings in a warm, golden glow. Countless motes of light drifted lazily through the air, like fragments of stardust caught in an eternal dance.
Its leaves were unlike any ordinary leaves.
Golden talismans adorned its branches, each one glinting with intricate patterns and faint, pulsing energy. They swayed gently despite the absence of wind, as though responding to a rhythm beyond mortal perception. The entire structure exuded an aura of profound mystery and power, captivating yet deeply enigmatic.
Chris gazed at it, his unease momentarily subdued by its beauty.
Still, the lingering doubt remained.
He began to count.
One by one, his eyes traced the talismans, ensuring that each was accounted for. After completing his count, he paused, then repeated the process. And again.
And again....
"Is something wrong?" he questioned internally, directing his thoughts toward his Wisp.
The response came swiftly—everything was functioning as it should. No anomalies. No irregularities.
Yet the feeling persisted. Commander Chris narrowed his eyes, once more, he counted.This time, more carefully. More deliberately.
And then...Something clicked.
"…That's not right."His expression shifted.
Among the golden talismans, a few had changed.
"SOMETHING IS WRONG WITHIN THE TRAINING CAMP!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, his voice fraying as he utterly lost his composure.
The abrupt outburst cleaved through the chamber like a blade. Every head turned in unison toward the source of the disturbance. There stood Chris, not far from the central platform, his usually composed demeanor shattered. His hair was disheveled, strands clinging to his damp forehead, and in his trembling hand he clutched a talisman—one that exuded an ominous aura of decay and rot.
"STOP THE ENTIRE TRAINING CAMP!" he roared once more, his voice carrying a desperate urgency that forced even the most indifferent among them to pay heed. The curious expressions adorning the faces of the seated elites slowly hardened into grim seriousness.
"What happened?" a voice finally broke through the suffocating tension.
The speaker knew Chris well—had known him for many years. Yet never, not once, had he seen him act in such a manner. Chris was not an ordinary Wisper. He was a prodigy, a man who had completed his fourth trial with unprecedented speed, surpassing all records and expectations. His prowess and discipline had elevated him to the pinnacle of the human domain's younger generation. It was precisely for this reason that he had been entrusted with overseeing the entirety of the training camp.
And yet, here he was...unraveled, frantic, shouting like a man teetering on the brink.
The assembly hungered for an explanation, but none came. All they received was Chris's desperate insistence that the training camp be halted immediately.
Despite the growing unease, there was little they could do.
The training ground itself existed within a sealed, independent dimension an isolated space meticulously designed to ensure absolute security. It could only be accessed three days prior to the commencement of the trials, a precaution that rendered external interference nearly impossible. This safeguard prevented infiltration by thralls and eliminated the risk of sabotage. Every release of thralls within that domain required strict authorization, bound by layers of agreement and oversight.
And yet… Chris was shouting.
Was he forgetting these fundamental constraints? Or was this the desperate cry of a man who knew something the rest of them did not?
A murmur rippled through the chamber, but it quickly subsided. In the end, they were powerless.
They could only watch.
All eyes shifted toward the projection hovering above the central dais—a live footage from within the training camp. The image flickered slightly before stabilizing, revealing a vast expanse where the trials were unfolding.
At first, nothing seemed amiss.
Then—movement.
A figure streaked across the terrain with terrifying velocity, cutting through the landscape like a bullet unleashed from a divine weapon. To the untrained eye, it was little more than a blur. But those gathered within the chamber were no ordinary spectators. Their eyes, honed through years of battle and cultivation, pierced through the distortion with ease.
They saw it clearly.
"WHY IS THERE AN ELITE THRALL?!" the man who had earlier authorized the release of thralls screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.
Shock rippled through the assembly. Some recoiled, their expressions paling, while others remained frozen in stunned silence. The gravity of the situation settled heavily upon them, suffocating and inescapable.
Among them sat a man whose presence alone commanded reverence the head of the Drakonis Clan. His golden hair shimmered faintly under the ambient light, and his piercing golden eyes were locked onto the projection with unwavering intensity. His hand tightened around the armrest of his seat, the material groaning softly under the immense pressure.
He saw it, everything.
The Elite Thrall surged forward with relentless momentum, its monstrous form radiating an oppressive aura that warped the very air around it. And not far from its trajectory...
Aiden...His son.
The young heir of the Drakonis Clan moved with remarkable speed, his figure darting across the battlefield with practiced precision. There was no hesitation in his movements, no sign that he had yet grasped the true horror of what was approaching him.
But the distance between them was closing.
Rapidly, an impending carnage will commence.
They were on a collision course.
The clan head's jaw clenched, his composure fracturing beneath the weight of paternal fear. He knew his son's capabilities better than anyone. Aiden was strong—far stronger than most of his peers. Facing a normal thrall would pose little threat to him.
But an Elite Thrall… that was an entirely different matter.
The disparity was not merely significant...it was absolute.
For a fleeting moment, a violent impulse surged within him. He wanted to rise, to shatter the dimensional barrier with sheer force, to tear apart the space that confined his son and drag him to safety. The thought burned within his mind, fierce and consuming.
But it was futile he knew it, they all did.
That was the cruel design of the chamber. Every clan leader present had agreed to its rules before the trials began. Once the training commenced, they were nothing more than observers—witnesses bound by an unbreakable covenant. No interference. No intervention.
No matter what happened.
Even if their own flesh and blood stood on the precipice of death…
They could only watch.
The golden-eyed man's grip tightened further, his knuckles paling as the armrest began to crack beneath his strength. Around him, the other clan leaders remained seated, their expressions ranging from grim resignation to barely concealed dread.
Not a single one moved, not a single one spoke.
The chamber was engulfed in a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint hum of the projection and the distant, echoing chaos of the battlefield.
And as the Elite Thrall closed in on Aiden...
All they could do… was grit their teeth and bear witness.