The shouting did not stop.

  It grew.

  Voices rose. Hands lifted. Some fell to their knees. Others laughed as though they had been holding that sound inside their lungs for years and were finally allowed to release it.

  “An avatar!”

  “He lives!”

  “Maeraphis has blessed us!”

  The shrine, so silent moments ago, now trembled with joy. Even the stone pillars seemed to hum with it, the echoes of celebration climbing their carved surfaces like vines of sound.

  Kaizo still knelt at the obsidian stone.

  He had not stood up yet.

  His fingers hovered near his neck, not touching it this time — just hovering, as if afraid that if he pressed too hard, the miracle might undo itself.

  “I… lived,” he whispered again.

  Not loudly. Not proudly.

  Like someone testing whether the words were real.

  And beneath that whisper, something inside his chest stirred — slow, heavy, awakening — like a creature opening its eyes in the dark.

  Around him, elders bowed their heads in reverence. Some pressed their foreheads to the stone floor. A few of the younger children stared at him as if he had just stepped out of a legend.

  No one looked at the fallen bodies anymore.

  Death lost importance quickly when divinity appeared.

  Behind the crowd, Lioren stood motionless.

  The celebration sounded distant to him, like thunder heard from underwater.

  If I had gone first…

  The thought would not leave.

  His hands trembled faintly at his sides.

  Not fear.

  Understanding.

  He did not know what he understood.

  Only that something inside him had shifted — and not in the way it had shifted inside Kaizo.

  Different.

  Wrong direction.

  “You’re shaking.”

  Sahra’s voice was gentle.

  Lioren hadn’t noticed she’d stepped closer.

  “I’m not,” he said quietly.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  She tilted her head. “You are.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She watched him a moment longer, eyes soft but sharp. “You wanted to take his place.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Lioren’s gaze stayed forward. “Because he might have died.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  Lioren nodded once. “Yes.”

  Sahra waited.

  “…And if I had gone first,” he said softly, “we wouldn’t know that.”

  She didn’t respond right away.

  Not because she disagreed.

  Because she understood.

  At the altar, Kaizo finally stood.

  The movement was slow, careful, as though gravity itself had changed and he wasn’t sure how heavy the world was anymore. His legs felt steadier than they should. His breath felt deeper than it had ever been.

  Stronger.

  The elders parted for him instinctively.

  One spoke with reverence:

  “You are the fourth.”

  Another added,

  “The final breath of Maeraphis walks among us.”

  A murmur of awe passed through the shrine.

  But the High Priest of Hakobi did not bow.

  He watched.

  Not Lioren this time.

  Not Kaizo either…

  The shrine.

  The exits.

  The pillars.

  The crowd.

  Kaizo looked down at his own hands. He flexed his fingers. Turned his wrist.

  Nothing visible happened.

  “…That’s it?” he asked.

  One elder smiled gently. “Not yet.”

  Kaizo glanced up. “Not yet?”

  “The awakening of an avatar is not the same as the mastery of one.”

  Another elder stepped forward.

  “The first three awakened years ago. Their gifts have matured. Yours has only opened its eyes.”

  Kaizo’s brow furrowed. “So I’m… the weakest?”

  “You are,” the elder said kindly, “the newest.”

  A few people chuckled softly.

  Kaizo didn’t.

  He closed his hand slowly.

  Something inside him pressed back.

  Waiting.

  “The ritual cannot be performed until all four avatars can withstand it,” the elder continued. “A god’s descent is not gentle. Even vessels of divinity must be strong enough to bear it.”

  Another added,

  “You must train. Learn. Strengthen your body and spirit. Only then can Maeraphis be called into the world.”

  Understanding spread through the crowd like dawnlight.

  The miracle had happened.

  Now came preparation.

  Near the back of the shrine, a disturbance broke the rhythm of celebration.

  Sand scraped against stone.

  Two guards forced their way through the gathering, dragging a man between them.

  His wrists were bound.

  His clothing was worn from travel, dust-streaked, sun-faded — but the seams were too straight, the stitching too precise, as though even hardship had been measured before it touched him.

  A pale mask covered his face.

  Featureless.

  Smooth.

  Silent.

  The murmurs shifted.

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s not from here…”

  “How did he get past the border?”

  “The Gorath should have seen—”

  One guard announced, “Caught near the outer pillars. Watching the ceremony.”

  The second shoved him forward. “Wouldn’t say which land he serves.”

  The crowd tightened.

  Not afraid.

  Uneasy.

  Because outsiders did not simply appear inside Hakobi.

  Not unnoticed.

  Lioren watched the captive closely.

  The mask should have hidden everything.

  It didn’t.

  The man’s eyes were visible through narrow slits.

  And they were unlike any eyes Lioren had ever seen.

  Not dark.

  Not light.

  Silver.

  Not gray like stone.

  Not white like cloud.

  Silver like still water reflecting moonlight.

  Calm.

  Unblinking.

  Watching everyone as if they were the ones being examined.

  Lioren felt a chill he couldn’t explain.

  Sahra’s fingers tightened around her sleeve.

  “They came fast,” she whispered.

  Lioren glanced at her. “Who?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the captive.

  “Other lands don’t wait when avatars awaken.”

  At the altar, the elders frowned among themselves.

  One stepped forward. “You trespass sacred ground during divine selection. Speak your allegiance.”

  The man said nothing.

  His stillness did not look like fear.

  It looked like patience.

  Like someone who had already finished what he came to do.

  The High Priest of Hakobi moved.

  It was the first time he had shifted since Kaizo rose.

  He stepped forward once.

  That was all.

  The air seemed to tighten.

  The guards straightened.

  The murmurs died.

  The priest studied the captive.

  Long.

  Silently.

  As if confirming something rather than discovering it.

  Then he spoke.

  Not to the intruder.

  To the shrine.

  “To celebrate quickly,” he said, voice calm as still water, “is human.”

  No one answered.

  His gaze moved slowly across the gathered crowd…

  …and stopped on Kaizo.

  Then—

  shifted.

  To Lioren.

  “This trial,” said the High Priest of Hakobi softly,

  “is not finished.”