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Chapter 9
The ground beneath Ren's feet began to glow.
Thin lines of pale blue light traced a perfect circle across the stone floor of the stadium, ancient runes activating one after another with a low, steady hum. The sound vibrated through his bones, calm and terrifying at the same time.
Ren inhaled.
He was six years old.
And this was the moment everything changed.
As the teleportation circle stabilized, the world around him seemed to slow, and his thoughts drifted—not forward, but backward.
---
One Month Earlier
Silverstream City had announced the decree under a cloudless sky.
The Two-Year Junior Guild Competition.
Open to children aged six to eleven.
Free entry.
Survival-based preliminary trial.
Top performers would earn guild admission, resources, and recognition.
The announcement alone had shaken the city.
For Ren, it was the end of waiting.
That same evening, Kael asked him the question Ren had been expecting—and dreading.
"You heard the decree," Kael said, sitting across from him in their rented room above the supply shop. The oil lamp between them flickered softly. "Do you want to enter?"
There was no pressure in his voice.
No expectation.
Just honesty.
Ren didn't answer immediately. He looked at his hands—small, still bearing faint scars from training, from falls, from pushing a child's body too hard.
"Yes," Ren said at last. "I do."
Kael closed his eyes.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he nodded. "Then we prepare properly."
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Limits and Discipline
Training during that month was different.
No reckless experiments.
No desperate breakthroughs.
Only control.
Ren woke before sunrise each day. He ran until his legs burned, then practiced casting under strict limits.
Fire Spear — three casts. No more.
Each one tighter, faster, less wasteful.
Flight — one minute.
Not height. Balance.
Tornado — once.
Only as a last resort.
After that, meditation. Recovery. Silence.
Darian oversaw the physical training whenever Kael's work allowed it.
The retired adventurer never raised his voice. Never praised Ren excessively.
"Again," Darian said, correcting Ren's grip on the wooden sword.
"No strength. Precision."
The technique never changed.
Slash.
A simple, efficient cut meant to conserve stamina and reduce openings.
Ren practiced until sweat soaked his clothes and his arms trembled.
Sometimes he fell.
Sometimes he cried quietly into the dirt when he thought no one was watching.
Darian pretended not to notice.
---
The Weight of Coin
Weapons were a problem.
Real ones, at least.
Ren understood money well enough to know the truth—Kael couldn't afford proper equipment without sacrificing food or shelter.
Ren didn't ask.
One evening, Kael returned late, hands calloused and bleeding slightly. He placed a small bundle on the table.
Inside was a cheap iron short sword.
Secondhand. Dull. Slightly chipped.
Ren stared at it.
"I won't be able to buy you armor," Kael said quietly. "And this blade won't save you by itself."
Ren bowed his head deeply. "It's enough."
Kael rested a hand on Ren's hair.
"Just remember," he said, voice rough, "you're allowed to run."
Ren didn't answer.
But he remembered.
---
The Day of Departure
The stadium was larger than Ren had imagined.
White stone walls rose like cliffs, layered with seating that stretched endlessly upward. Mana formations glowed faintly across its surface, reinforcing the structure against whatever violence would soon occur within.
Above the central arena floated four enormous crystal screens, each blank for now.
Forest.
Desert.
Ruins.
Ocean.
The trial zones.
The crowd roared with excitement.
Children gathered in clusters—some confident, some terrified, some hiding behind guardians who would not be allowed to follow them inside.
Ren stood beside Kael at the edge of the arena floor.
People stared.
Some scoffed openly.
"A six-year-old?"
"Doesn't he know this is where children die?"
Kael ignored them.
He crouched in front of Ren, meeting his eyes.
"You still want this?" he asked one final time.
Ren nodded.
Kael exhaled slowly. Then he pulled Ren into a tight embrace.
"You survive," Kael said, voice low. "That's all I ask."
---
The Gate Opens
A deep voice echoed across the stadium, amplified by magic.
"Participants, step forward."
Ren walked.
Each step felt heavier than the last, not because of fear—but because of everything he was leaving behind.
As he reached the teleportation circle, he felt Kael's presence at his back.
Then the runes flared.
The air bent.
Mana surged.
Ren's last thought, as the world dissolved into light, was calm and sharp:
This is only the beginning.
And somewhere far above, the crystal screens flickered to life.
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