The hall darkened as the illusion lunged.
Black frost bled across the runes at Lauri's feet, twisting in shapes that felt older than language. The thing wearing his mother's face—then shedding it—moved with a grace that made every instinct in his body recoil.
Not a beast.
Not a spirit.
Something designed to prey on lineage.
A fate‑eater.
Mei slammed her palms against the barrier, jade light bursting outward.
"LAURI! Don't break your focus!"
Yanmei braced her shattered sword like a crutch.
"Endure! The Silent Meridian answers only to your breath!"
The Pavilion Master didn't shout.
Their voice carried like winter wind.
"Survive this illusion, Lauri Kallio—and your first meridian is truly yours."
The shadow lunged again.
Lauri inhaled.
Not with fear.
Not with panic.
With a slow, steady breath learned from a thousand Finnish winters.
A breath that didn't rush.
A breath that didn't flee.
A breath that simply endured.
The runes responded.
A ring of frost pulsed outward from his feet, quiet as snowfall.
The illusion staggered—not defeated, but disrupted.
It hissed, form bending like broken starlight.
"You defy instinct. Why? Your kind is built for obedience. Your mother understood this."
Lauri's jaw tightened.
"My mother wasn't obedient," he said softly.
"She died protecting me."
The illusion froze—just long enough for him to understand that the words had struck something true.
"A lie," it whispered.
"A comforting lie mortals tell themselves. She defied the pact. She stole you. She doomed herself."
A flicker of pain shot through Lauri's chest.
Not physical.
Something deeper—an ache behind the sternum, as if the meridian itself trembled under the accusation.
Mei saw it happen.
Her voice cracked. "Lauri, don't let it in! It feeds on doubt!"
Yanmei barked: "Focus on the breath! On the frost-light! Don't give it an emotion to latch onto!"
The illusion's mouth split into a grief‑shaped smile.
"That's it. Remember her face. Remember how she died. Remember the silence afterward—"
Something inside Lauri broke.
Not in weakness.
In clarity.
Silence wasn't absence.
Silence was truth.
Finnish silence.
Northern silence.
The kind that wasn't emptiness—
but center.
He exhaled.
The frost-light in his chest intensified.
The runes spiraled faster.
The whole arena trembled.
The illusion recoiled, shrieking as its limbs dissolved into black threads.
"No! You cannot—"
Lauri took another breath.
Slow.
Deep.
Steady.
Sisu.
The first meridian blazed open, white qi flowing through him like the northern wind breaking through a stormcloud.
The illusion screamed— A sound like a dying glacier fracturing for the last time.
And Lauri stepped forward.
"This is my path," he said.
"Not yours."
He placed his palm against the illusion's chest.
Frost bloomed.
A ring of aurora‑white radiated outward.
The illusion shattered.
Light exploded across the hall—cold, pure, blinding.
When it faded, Lauri was kneeling, breath ragged but alive. Frost steamed from his back like faint wings dissipating into air.
The Trial Circle dimmed.
The runes stilled.
The Silent Meridian…
was open.
Mei rushed into the circle first, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around him without hesitation. The warmth of her embrace hit him harder than any qi‑surge.
"You idiot," she whispered, voice shaking.
"You stubborn, impossible idiot."
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
"Sorry."
"You should be sorry."
She buried her forehead against his shoulder.
"You scared me."
Yanmei stepped close, sword dragging lightly. She examined him with the stern concern of a warrior who wasn't ready to admit she cared.
"You survived," she said.
He nodded.
"Barely."
"That is the correct amount," she replied.
Finally, the Pavilion Master approached. Their footsteps were silent on froststone.
"Rise, Lauri Kallio."
He tried. Mei helped. Yanmei steadied him from the other side.
The Master studied him with unreadable eyes.
"You carry an unpredictable inheritance," they said slowly, "and an enemy that violates realms to claim you."
A pause.
"But you also carry a breath that endures winter without breaking."
Then—
They bowed.
Elder Yao gasped.
The disciples stared in shock.
"You have passed the Trial of the Silent Meridian," the Master declared.
"And by its verdict… the Jade Frost Pavilion will shelter you."
Mei exhaled sharply in relief.
Yanmei closed her eyes, shoulders lowering.
But the Pavilion Master was not finished.
"However…"
Lauri felt his stomach tighten.
"There is a cost."
The hall dimmed.
A new presence bloomed behind the Master—
cold, vast, ancient.
"The enemy who hunts you has already marked this sect."
The air trembled with unseen danger.
"If you stay," the Master said,
"you must train."
"Train what?" Lauri asked quietly.
The Master's robe sleeves drifted like falling snow.
"Your heart," they said.
"And the next meridian."
A faint crack echoed—
not from the hall,
but from the sky outside.
As if something enormous had just arrived at the Pavilion's borders.
Mei grabbed Lauri's hand.
Yanmei reached for her broken sword.
The Pavilion Master turned toward the entrance.
"The first test ends," they murmured.
"The second begins."
The light outside flickered—
aurora‑white
and shadow‑black.
Something had found them.