The Hall of Foundation was unlike anything Renard had seen in the monastery. It was a cathedral, carved into bedrock and reinforced with ancient spellwork that pulsed faintly along the walls. The ceilings were impossibly high, lost in shadow, and the cold in the air seemed not natural but —an essence-draining chill designed to test resolve before anything else.

Elder Mariam led them silently to the center of the chamber. There, a stone dais sat atop a radiant sigil etched into the floor—an array of complex interwoven glyphs that flickered in pale blue and silver light. Dozens of branching corridors led away from the central platform.

"This is where the paths diverge," Mariam said. Her voice echoed without need of volume. "You will each be called into a private chamber, one by one. You will be given the opportunity to form your First Circle."

The Hall of Foundation was unlike anything Renard had seen in the monastery. It was a subterranean cathedral, carved into bedrock and reinforced with ancient spellwork that pulsed faintly along the walls. The ceilings were impossibly high, lost in shadow, and the cold in the air seemed not natural but magical—an essence-draining chill designed to test resolve before anything else.

Elder Mariam led them silently to the center of the chamber. There, a stone dais sat atop a radiant sigil etched into the floor—an array of complex interwoven glyphs that flickered in pale blue and silver light. Dozens of branching corridors led away from the central platform.

"This is where the paths diverge," Mariam said. Her voice echoed without need of volume. "You will each be called into a private chamber, one by one. You will be given the opportunity to form your First Circle."

She turned slowly to face the students. "Do not speak of what you see. Do not compare experiences. Each trial is tailored to your soul."

And then, she began to call names.

One by one, students were led down separate corridors by silent, robed attendants. Some looked resolute. Others visibly trembled. None returned—at least, not immediately.

Renard waited.

He remained still, calm, counting heartbeats and memorizing every movement of the instructors. By the time his name was finally spoken, more than half the students had already vanished into their respective trials.

"Ray."

A name was called!

"Ray"

It was only when the name was called twice did Renard remember, he was using a fake name in the monastery.

He immediately stepped forward, trying to act not too suspecious.

A woman in blue robes gestured, leading him into one of the side tunnels. It was long and silent, save for the gentle hum of suppressed magical energy vibrating beneath the walls.

They arrived at a circular chamber—a room with smooth stone walls, an inscription-less floor, and a single focus crystal embedded in the center. The attendant did not speak. She simply gestured for him to stand near the crystal, then left.

The door sealed shut behind her.

Alone now, Renard looked around.

No instructor. No guide. No instructions.

Only the crystal.

He stepped toward it, placing a hand over its surface. The moment his skin made contact, the room responded.

The door sealed shut behind her.

Alone now, Renard looked around.

No instructor. No guide. No instructions.

Only the crystal.

He stepped toward it, placing a hand over its surface. The moment his skin made contact, the room responded.

Glyphs exploded outward from the stone, forming a vast incomplete circle around him. The walls flared with ghost-light, and a low hum began to rise as if the chamber itself were preparing for something massive.

A voice—no more than a whisper—spoke inside his head.

'Commence.'

Renard didn't hesitate.

He dropped to one knee, eyes closing as he pulled on his essence. The false ritual was about to begin.

He knew he could not truly form a magical circle—not with his current cultivation path and especially not with his dual crests interfering in unpredictable ways. Attempting it could shatter his vessel.

But he didn't need to form one.

He needed to simulate one.

He reached into his core—not to draw outward, but inward. Into the vessel itself. Into the swirl of essence he had refined over weeks and months. Into the knowledge he had stolen, reshaped, and practiced.

With one hand, he began tracing symbols into the air, mimicking the formation Thomas had taught to struggling students. Not real inscriptions—only projected light and essence manipulation. His gestures were precise, rhythm perfect. The essence drawn from his vessel moved like obedient flame.

He activated a circuit inside the glyph.

Pulse.

The system responded. The incomplete circle on the floor began to complete itself—responding not to a real spiritual breakthrough, but to the mimicry of it. To his ability to simulate exact magical resonance.

Instructors watching through the hidden channels would see alignment. They would see essence drawn correctly, layered patterns that reflected perfect understanding. They would not see the absence of a true spiritual opening.

Renard kept his breathing steady.

He recalled Thomas's mental checklists.

Anchor essence to the core.

Feed pulse at 60% until harmonics stabilize.

Simulate edge curves to suggest instability.

Maintain tension in the weave.

Those were the steps to form a circle but he was using them as checkpoint to fake the circle formation by using his essence from the vessel to meet the requirements.

He obeyed each step like a script.

And slowly… the light on the floor pulsed brighter.

The room rumbled.

Above him, the crystal flared, scanning his spiritual state.

Renard narrowed his focus. They were accessing his results.

A few seconds passed by and then the crystal flared gold.

Success.

The room settled. The sigil dimmed. The crystal dimmed.

The voice returned in his mind.

Candidate approved.

Renard slowly lowered his hands. His forehead was damp with sweat—though not from spiritual breakthrough, but from the intensity of holding the deception together.

The door opened.

He rose and walked through without a word.

The same attendant met him, gave no reaction, and led him back toward the central chamber.

Half the students were missing.

He saw pale faces, tear-streaked eyes. One boy had to be carried by two instructors. Another was muttering to himself, eyes wide and unseeing.

Only half of them had returned.

The ceremony was brutal.

Renard said nothing. He took his place among the successful.

Elder Mariam returned, face unreadable.

"The rest," she said, "will be taken to recovery. Or removed."

She looked over the remaining students.

"Those of you who passed today… congratulations. You are no longer acolytes."

The group remained silent.

Renard met her eyes briefly. She held the gaze for a moment.

Then looked away.

He had done it.

The first hurdle was cleared.

But his mission had only just begun.

He activated a circuit inside the glyph.

Pulse.

The system responded. The incomplete circle on the floor began to complete itself—responding not to a real spiritual breakthrough, but to the mimicry of it. To his ability to simulate exact magical resonance.

Instructors watching through the hidden channels would see alignment. They would see essence drawn correctly, layered patterns that reflected perfect understanding. They would not see the absence of a true spiritual opening.

Renard kept his breathing steady.

He recalled Thomas's mental checklists.

Anchor essence to the core.

Feed pulse at 60% until harmonics stabilize.

Simulate edge curves to suggest instability.

Maintain tension in the weave.

Those were the steps to form a circle but he was using them as checkpoint to fake the circle formation by using his essence from the vessel to meet the requirements.

He obeyed each step like a script.

And slowly… the light on the floor pulsed brighter.

The room rumbled.

Above him, the crystal flared, scanning his spiritual state.

Renard narrowed his focus. They were accessing his results.

A few seconds passed by and then the crystal flared gold.

Success.

The room settled. The sigil dimmed. The crystal dimmed.

The voice returned in his mind.

Candidate approved.

Renard slowly lowered his hands. His forehead was damp with sweat—though not from spiritual breakthrough, but from the intensity of holding the deception together.

The door opened.

He rose and walked through without a word.

The same attendant met him, gave no reaction, and led him back toward the central chamber.

Half the students were missing.

He saw pale faces, tear-streaked eyes. One boy had to be carried by two instructors. Another was muttering to himself, eyes wide and unseeing.

Only half of them had returned.

The ceremony was brutal.

Renard said nothing. He took his place among the successful.

Elder Mariam returned, face unreadable.

"The rest," she said, "will be taken to recovery. Or removed."

She looked over the remaining students.

"Those of you who passed today… congratulations. You are no longer acolytes."

The group remained silent.

Renard met her eyes briefly. She held the gaze for a moment.

Then looked away.

He had done it.

The first hurdle was cleared.

But his mission had only just no

---***---will