The sky above the Primordial Academy shimmered with the fading grace of Solara. As her light retreated, the stars gently took their place like scattered memories glinting in the tapestry of night. Students bustled like stirred embers in the central courtyard, voices rising in excited swells. For the second-year students, the new curriculum had begun—marked by the formal introduction to Celestial Marks.
Instructor Valeris stood atop the grand stone dais, his lean figure casting a long shadow in the last light of day. He was not like the Grand Instructor, who appeared as often as myths in children's tales. Valeris was the presence that stitched routine and rigor together, and when he spoke, the courtyard fell into reverent silence.
"Your halos," he began, voice sharp and ringing, "will form the foundation. Solara and Lunara—our guiding lights—will provide the necessary current. But it is the Alternator you must now seek. A tool, a weapon, a book, even the land itself—something that will transform your Primal Origin Light into more than energy. Into function. Into form."
He gestured to the structure behind him. A massive, seamless dome of mirrored obsidian, ancient and humming. "The Hall of Choices awaits."
Gasps rippled across the students. They had heard of it—a sentient construct, artificially made, perhaps, but aware. Vast beyond comprehension, it could decode desires and intentions into blueprints for Celestial Marks. Each student would experience their own reality within it. Each journey would be solitary.
Valeris continued, "There are three known paths. Material: to make your light into form, guided by the strength of your body. Energy: to refine your light into power, wielded by your intention. Abstract: to give light the shape of concepts—manifesting the intangible. Your marks shall be one to twelve in number, aligning with your halos. None may walk this path for you."
One by one, students stepped forward, swallowed by the mirrored surface as if passing through water. Some trembled. Others exhaled slow, steady breaths. But none were unchanged upon entry.
---
Ingrid felt her breath vanish as she entered. There was nothing. No sensation. No sound. No self.
Then—light. Filaments of it. Billions. Too many to be real.
Each thread pulsed with some mysterious essence, whispering functions, ideas, paths. Energy surged around her—not chaotic, not hostile, but profound. She couldn't make sense of it all. It was like being dropped into an endless sea of knowledge where even swimming was impossible.
Instinctively, she reached inward, toward choice.
Energy.
The word rang in her heart like a tolling bell. Suddenly, the sea responded.
Most filaments dimmed. A few flared brighter. She was no longer everywhere—she had a direction.
She leaned into it. What energy? Heat? Sound? Radiation? Thought?
The filaments twisted and pulsed in response. This was no archive. This was an interface. The Hall was answering. It was showing her possibilities, hopes, dangers. Her future.
Her eyes glowed brighter than they ever had in life.
---
Gary did not falter. He had a path in mind the moment he stepped in—Material. He felt no panic, no confusion. But choice? That still weighed heavy.
Where Ingrid had felt overwhelmed by the vastness, Gary was pulled by temptation.
A hundred golden threads offered the edge of a blade that could cleave mountains.
A thousand red ones whispered of armor that could withstand world-ending force.
There were gauntlets that turned will into action, boots that defied terrain, and cloaks that bent light. How could one choose?
He stared long and hard, then closed his eyes.
"What do I need?" he whispered.
Not what was cool. Not what was strong. What did he require to stand beside Dawn, to protect Ingrid, to surpass the weight of his family name?
He opened his eyes. The stars had rearranged. Fewer this time—but clearer.
His heart surged with determination.
---
Dawn stepped into the void. But it did not feel empty.
It felt... familiar.
He could see the filaments clearly. Not as light, but as data. As will. As structure. He understood them. He could grasp their functions. His trials, his Will, his forged soul—everything had prepared him for this.
But none of the lights pulled him.
He walked among them as one walks among toys long outgrown.
Nothing called to him. Not energy, not form, not abstraction.
He did not feel limited by choice—he felt caged within it.
He looked deeper, not at the lights, but beyond them. Past the interface. Past the suggestions. Past the Hall's mind itself.
Could a mortal-made blueprint ever satisfy his ambition?
Could any Alternator bend his light in the way he desired?
He wasn't sure. But the Hall trembled around him.
Something noticed.
A distant ripple. A filament darker than black. A shadow of a possibility.
He stepped toward it.
---
To be continued.