Ariel stood before his desk, looking down at the mountain of materials Jeffkin had provided. Twenty three books, fourteen scrolls, each one containing information that could mean the difference between life and death in the Deep Forge. Seven days to absorb it all. Seven days to transform ignorance into competence.
He sat down, pulled the first set of books toward him, and opened them.
The cultivation texts were dense, technical, requiring complete focus. Ariel read methodically, his enhanced mind absorbing and organizing the information as he went.
The books explained that cultivation at its core was about expanding your capacity to contain and control mana. Your core was essentially a reservoir, and your meridians were the channels through which energy flowed. Advancement happened when you pushed both to their absolute limits, forcing them to grow by constantly operating at maximum capacity.
Under normal circumstances, cultivators cycled mana through their systems, drew it from the environment, compressed it in their cores, and gradually expanded their capacity over time. This was safe but slow. A talented cultivator might advance from E rank low to E rank mid in six months under normal training conditions. Reaching D rank could take a year or more.
But extreme environments changed the equation dramatically. When mana density was high, your core was constantly flooded with more energy than it could comfortably handle. Your meridians strained to circulate the excess. Your body was forced to adapt or fail.
The Deep Forge measured fifteen times normal atmospheric mana density in the outer chambers, climbing to thirty times in the deeper regions. For comparison, most cities maintained two to three times normal density through natural accumulation.
When a cultivator entered such high density environments, their mana core automatically began absorbing the excess energy. This was instinctive, the core drawing power like lungs drawing air. But meridians had maximum safe capacities. Push too much energy through too quickly and they strained, developed microscopic tears, eventually ruptured completely.
The solution was controlled circulation. The texts provided specific techniques. Threshold Stepping involved gradual adjustment rather than immediate adaptation. Spend ten minutes cycling at your normal rate, allowing your meridians to adjust to the new baseline. Then increase circulation speed by ten percent. Wait another ten minutes. Increase another ten percent. Continue until reaching optimal flow rate for the environment.
Pressure Sensing taught you to recognize when your meridians approached their safe limits. The books described it as similar to recognizing when a muscle was about to cramp, a tightness, a warning tension that preceded failure. Experienced cultivators developed this sense instinctively. Beginners needed to actively monitor themselves constantly.
Emergency Venting covered what to do if you miscalculated and oversaturated your system. You forced energy out through your extremities, literally bleeding off power into the environment. It was wasteful and left you temporarily weakened, but temporary weakness beat permanent injury.
The texts also covered compression theory. During combat or extreme situations, your body flooded your system with mana, survival instinct overriding normal limits. If you survived the fight, you might find yourself with a core overfilled beyond safe capacity, bloated with energy that needed somewhere to go.
Compression was the solution. You took the excess energy and squeezed it, condensed it, packed it tighter into the same space. This required engaging your will, consciously grasping the energy in your core and imposing your intention upon it. The mana had to understand that you commanded it, that your will superseded its natural tendency to expand.
The process was exhausting mentally and spiritually. It required focus, willpower, and precise control. Mistakes could crack your core, damage your foundation, or cause explosive energy release.
Each successful compression cycle expanded your effective capacity slightly. Do it enough times, push hard enough, and eventually your core underwent breakthrough, advancing to the next rank with permanently increased volume.
The cultivation books also covered emergency breakthrough, situations where advancement happened whether you wanted it or not. Extreme circumstances could trigger premature breakthrough. Your core reached its absolute limit and forcibly expanded in a violent transition that either succeeded or killed you.
The texts were blunt about the danger. Emergency breakthrough usually happened in the worst possible moment, during combat or crisis, when you had no preparation and no control. The pain was described in visceral terms: being torn apart from within, every nerve screaming simultaneously.
The technique for managing it involved releasing all compressed energy instantly, flooding your meridians with power, and maintaining circulation despite agony that made conscious thought nearly impossible. If you lost control completely, the energy could go wild and cause permanent damage.
Ariel read it all, committing the processes to memory despite hoping desperately he'd never need emergency breakthrough procedures.
Hours passed. The sun moved across the sky. Lyra brought food at regular intervals, which Ariel consumed quickly before returning to his studies.
The elemental manipulation texts were different, more practical and immediately applicable.
These books explained that the Crowcrest bloodline wasn't just about having an affinity for elements. It was about possessing the fundamental ability to manipulate elemental molecules directly, forming connections with the basic building blocks of matter itself.
All Crowcrest were born with what the texts called Elemental Bloodline, though most only awakened compatibility with a single element. The books listed eight primary elements: Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Light, Darkness, Lightning, and Ice. Each element corresponded to specific molecular structures that the bloodline allowed you to perceive and control.
Fire manipulation meant controlling Hydrogen and Oxygen molecules, exciting them to create combustion. Water manipulation involved the same molecules but in different configurations. Air required manipulating varying amounts of atmospheric gases. Earth meant controlling varying metals and minerals. Ice was water with energy removed through mana. Light meant manipulating Photons. Darkness was Photons with their light removed using mana. Lightning involved controlling Electrons.
The revelation that elements were molecular rather than purely mystical forces changed how Ariel thought about cultivation entirely. This wasn't just channeling abstract energy. This was direct manipulation of physical reality at its most fundamental level.
The texts described five stages of elemental mastery.
First Stage meant you could only wield your element within immediate touch. A fire manipulator at this stage could create flames on their skin or heat objects they physically contacted, but nothing beyond direct physical connection. The power remained confined, an extension of your being, limited to your touch.
Second Stage allowed projection beyond your body. A fire cultivator gained ability to create flames in the air around them, to throw fire at distant targets, to manifest their element without needing physical contact as the starting point.
Third Stage extended control to encompass a significant range. You could subtly manipulate your element within a defined radius around yourself, bending it to your will without obvious gestures or techniques. An earth manipulator could cause the ground to shift beneath an enemy's feet. A water cultivator could draw moisture from the air within their sphere of influence.
Fourth Stage involved creating a domain, a space where reality itself bent to reflect your elemental affinity. An earth user's domain would feature cliffs, valleys, and caverns shaped by their elemental command. Within your domain, your element obeyed you absolutely, and opposing elements were suppressed. The texts stated that mastering domain creation was essential for reaching S rank.
Fifth Stage meant becoming one with your element, transforming yourself into elemental form. This was only accessible to Transcendent rank cultivators and represented the pinnacle of elemental mastery. You ceased being a person who controlled fire and became fire itself, unlimited by physical form.
Ariel looked at his status mentally, confirming what he already knew. He'd awakened fire but possessed dormant affinities for seven other elements. Most Crowcrest only ever awakened one. The implications of potentially mastering all eight were staggering, but also distant. Right now, he needed to focus on fire.
The texts explained that advancement through the stages wasn't automatic with cultivation rank. You could be D rank and still stuck at First Stage elemental control if you hadn't practiced properly. Conversely, exceptional talent and training could push you to Second or even Third Stage while still E rank.
Practice was key. The books provided exercises for developing elemental sensitivity. For fire, you started by perceiving the Hydrogen and Oxygen molecules around you, learning to sense their presence through your mana. Then you practiced exciting them in controlled ways, causing small reactions, building familiarity with how the molecules responded to your will.
The texts also mentioned something called arts. These were techniques preserved in special books that, when a cultivator channeled mana into them, fed instant knowledge directly into the user's mind. The books emphasized that arts weren't shortcuts, they still required practice to execute properly, but they provided immediate understanding of complex techniques that would otherwise take months or years to develop independently.
One art was mentioned repeatedly across multiple texts: Elemental Mimicry. This was described as a vital foundational art that all Crowcrest should learn as their first technique. It allowed a cultivator to sense and temporarily mimic elemental techniques they observed, adapting the principles to their own element.
Ariel made a mental note to find this art specifically. If it was considered essential for all family members, he needed it.
The combat and survival texts provided practical knowledge. Beast identification, tactical considerations, wilderness skills adapted for volcanic environments. Ariel absorbed information about Magma Serpents that hunted through heat sense, Obsidian Beetles with impervious armor, Ember Stalkers that were apex predators capable of killing cultivators three ranks above themselves.
Each beast entry included physical descriptions, behavioral patterns, weaknesses, and recommended tactics. The texts were blunt about dangers. Phrases like "avoidance is the best strategy" and "pray you never encounter this" appeared frequently.
The survival texts covered water procurement in contaminated environments, food identification when normal sources didn't exist, shelter construction using volcanic materials, first aid for burns and mana oversaturation, navigation in underground systems where getting lost was easy.
Days blurred together. Ariel read constantly, his enhanced mind processing and organizing vast amounts of information. He took breaks only when Lyra insisted, eating quickly and sleeping minimally, driven by the knowledge that every piece of information absorbed might save his life.
By the fifth day, he'd worked through all the technical manuals, all the combat guides, all the survival handbooks. His mind felt saturated, packed with knowledge that would take years to fully internalize through practice.
One book remained. The one Jeffkin had called most important.
Personal Accounts from Deep Forge Survivors, Restricted Collection.
Ariel opened it carefully, noting how the leather had been worn smooth by decades of handling. The first page contained a simple dedication.
For those who face the forge: Learn from our pain so yours might be less. Learn from our mistakes so you might avoid them. Learn from our survival so you too might live.
The accounts that followed were raw, unfiltered testimonies written by cultivators immediately after completing Deep Forge training. They described experiences with visceral honesty that technical manuals couldn't capture.
One account from a fire cultivator who'd entered at D rank low described the first week.
The heat is beyond description. You think you understand hot because you've stood near forges or sat by large fires. You don't understand. This is heat that makes breathing painful, that cooks the moisture from your eyes, that turns your skin red just from existing. The formations prevent you from actually burning alive, but they don't make it comfortable. I spent the first three days thinking I'd made a terrible mistake. Only pride kept me from activating the beacon.
Then I encountered my first beast. Magma Serpent, maybe fifteen feet long, emerging from a lava pool I was skirting. I froze. Just completely froze, terror overriding all my training. It struck, fangs sinking into my shoulder before I even reacted. The venom felt like someone injecting molten metal directly into my veins.
I should have died. Would have died if the serpent hadn't been young and inexperienced. It released me after the bite, probably expecting the venom to do its job while it waited safely in the lava. That hesitation gave me time to remember I could fight back.
I used everything I had. Flame projection at maximum power, not caring about mana efficiency, just desperate to kill it before the venom killed me. Burned through half my core in thirty seconds. But it worked. The serpent retreated, wounded, and I stumbled away to find somewhere I could treat the bite.
The treatment was worse than the bite. I had to burn out the venom using my own fire, literally cooking my own flesh to destroy the poison before it spread. I've never screamed so loud in my life.
But I survived. And I learned. Fear will get you killed faster than any beast. You have to push through it, make decisions, act even when every instinct screams to freeze or flee.
Another account from a water cultivator who'd entered at C rank mid.
Day forty three. I've lost track of how many beasts I've killed. Ten? Twenty? They blur together. What stays distinct are the ones that nearly killed me.
Obsidian Beetle swarm yesterday. I counted thirty before stopping. They cornered me in a narrow passage, tried to overwhelm through numbers. I used the terrain, forced them into a chokepoint where only three could attack simultaneously. Took two hours to kill them all. My arms are so tired I can barely lift them. My water techniques ran dry after the first hour, had to resort to using a broken beetle mandible as a club.
But I won. And I advanced. Felt the breakthrough coming during the fight, right around beetle number fifteen. Couldn't stop to manage it properly, had to breakthrough while still fighting. The pain was indescribable. My core tearing itself apart and reforming larger while I was simultaneously dodging attacks and trying not to die.
I'm C rank high now. Three weeks in the Deep Forge and I've advanced more than I did in two years of normal cultivation. The price is pain. Constant, grinding pain. Burns, cuts, exhaustion so profound I sometimes hallucinate. But I'm getting stronger. Faster. Better.
Worth it? Ask me when I leave. If I leave.
Ariel read account after account. Stories of terror, desperation, survival against impossible odds. Common themes emerged. Fear was normal but had to be overcome. Pain was constant but became manageable. Isolation wore on you mentally more than physical hardship.
Several accounts mentioned the importance of small victories. Celebrating when you survived a day. Taking pride in killing a beast cleanly. Finding safe spaces where you could rest. These moments of relief kept you sane when everything else tried to break you.
Then Ariel reached an account that made him stop completely.
The handwriting was different from the others. Stronger, more confident strokes. And at the top, a name he recognized.
Aldric Crowcrest
His father's testimony.
I entered the Deep Forge at twenty three, C rank low, believing I was prepared. I'd trained intensively, studied every manual available, consulted with previous survivors. I thought I understood what I was facing.
I understood nothing.
The Deep Forge doesn't just test your cultivation or your combat skills. It tests your will to exist. Everything in that place wants you dead. The environment, the beasts, your own body pushed beyond its limits. And when you're alone in the dark, wounded and exhausted, with nothing but more suffering ahead, you have to decide whether existing is worth the cost.
I almost said no. Day fifty eight, after fighting an Ember Stalker that nearly killed me, bleeding from a dozen wounds, my mana core cracked from pushing too hard during the fight. I sat in a small cave, treating my injuries, and seriously considered activating the beacon. Requesting extraction. Admitting defeat.
What stopped me wasn't pride or duty or any noble reason. It was stubbornness. Pure, irrational refusal to quit. The Ember Stalker had hurt me, yes, but I'd hurt it worse. I'd fought something three ranks above me and survived. And if I could survive that, I could survive anything else this place threw at me.
That realization changed everything. I stopped trying to just endure the Deep Forge and started actively conquering it. I hunted beasts instead of avoiding them. I pushed deeper into the dangerous zones. I treated every day not as something to survive but as an opportunity to grow stronger.
Seven months. I spent seven months in hell. And I emerged reborn.
To whoever reads this: The Deep Forge will offer you chances to quit every single day. Your body will beg for mercy. Your mind will construct elaborate justifications for why giving up is rational. Ignore all of it. The only way through is forward. The only acceptable outcome is victory. Everything else is death or failure, and both are unacceptable.
Push until you break. Then push harder. Discover what lies beyond your limits. Become something more than you were.
This is the way of Crowcrest. This is how we forge strength.
Below the account, in different ink suggesting it was added later, were annotations.
Note on Day 58 Ember Stalker encounter: The beast was C rank peak. I was C rank mid at the time. Combat lasted fourteen minutes. I cracked my core during final exchange but killed the beast. Core repaired itself during recovery, emerged stronger than before. Lesson: Sometimes breaking is necessary for true advancement.
Note on final week: Achieved B rank peak on day two hundred three. Attempted to push to A rank breakthrough but recognized I wasn't ready. Exited voluntarily rather than risk catastrophic failure. Knowing your limits is as important as pushing them.
Ariel sat back, processing what he'd read. His father's words carried weight that the other accounts lacked. This wasn't just advice from a survivor. This was legacy from someone who'd used the Deep Forge to become Primarch.
The message was clear. Survival alone wasn't enough. You had to embrace the suffering, use it as fuel for transformation. The Deep Forge wasn't punishment to be endured. It was opportunity to be seized.
He continued reading through more accounts, but his father's words kept echoing in his mind. Push until you break. Then push harder.
By the sixth day, Ariel had finished all the books and scrolls. His mind was saturated with knowledge, everything from molecular elemental theory to beast behavioral patterns to emergency medical procedures.
But something nagged at him. A gap in his preparation that he'd only now recognized.
His Soul Regalia.
He could summon and dismiss the katana easily enough. But he didn't actually know how to use it properly. He had no formal weapon training, no techniques specific to blade combat. The Regalia was part of his soul, yes, but that didn't automatically grant him mastery.
Moreover, none of the materials Jeffkin had provided covered Regalia specifically. There were general combat texts, sword techniques that could theoretically apply, but nothing addressing the unique nature of Soul Regalia as weapons.
Ariel stood from his desk, decision crystallizing. He needed more information. Specifically, he needed texts about Regalia themselves, what they were, how they developed, what to expect from them.
"Lyra," he called.
She entered from the adjacent room where she'd been organizing his training equipment. "Yes, young master?"
"I'm going back to the library. There's something I need to research."
"Of course. I'll accompany you."
They made their way through the estate corridors, now familiar after days of study. The library doors opened at their approach, formations recognizing Ariel's bloodline.
Inside, Jeffkin looked up from whatever he'd been reading at his central desk. His weathered face showed surprise, then understanding.
"Crown Crow. Back so soon? Have you finished the materials already?"
"I have," Ariel confirmed. "But I need one more text. Something about Soul Regalia. Their nature, development, capabilities. Everything wasn't covered in what you provided."
Jeffkin's expression shifted to something like approval mixed with concern. "Ah. Yes, that was an oversight on this old one's part. I focused on immediate survival skills and neglected the deeper mystery." He stood, moving with surprising spryness for his age. "Follow me. The Regalia texts are kept in a restricted section."
He led them deeper into the library, past the main collection areas, through a doorway marked with warning formations. The space beyond was smaller, more intimate, lit by formations that provided gentle illumination.
Jeffkin stopped before a shelf holding perhaps three dozen volumes. He ran his finger along the spines, considering, then pulled out a relatively slim book bound in dark red leather.
"Soul Regalia: Foundation and Evolution," he read from the cover. "This is the comprehensive text on Regalia nature. Everything the family has learned about these weapons over generations of study."
He handed it to Ariel carefully, as if the book itself was precious. "What I tell you now is not in the text but is common knowledge among those who've forged Regalia. They're not simple weapons, young master. They're believed to be sentient, though this has never been proven conclusively. What is proven is that they grow alongside their wielder, developing capabilities as you develop."
Ariel held the book, feeling its weight. "What kind of capabilities?"
"Arts," Jeffkin said. "Every Regalia reveals techniques to their wielder, combat abilities unique to that specific weapon. The number of arts you can learn depends on both the user and the Regalia's quality. The least number recorded in family history is two arts. The greatest was twelve, achieved by your great grandfather's Regalia."
"How do you know what quality your Regalia possesses?"
"You don't, initially. The Regalia reveals its arts gradually as your bond deepens and your cultivation advances. The first art typically manifests within weeks of forging. Subsequent arts appear at seemingly random intervals, though advancement in cultivation rank often triggers revelations."
Jeffkin gestured to the book. "That text covers everything we know. Formation theories, documented cases, techniques for strengthening your bond with the Regalia. Study it carefully. Your weapon is as important as your cultivation. Perhaps more so, since it's uniquely yours and cannot be countered or copied by opponents."
Ariel tucked the book under his arm. "Thank you. This is the last piece I was missing."
"Then your preparation is as complete as it can be." Jeffkin bowed slightly. "This old one wishes you success in the Deep Forge, Crown Crow. May you return to us stronger and ready to claim what is yours."
They made their way back to Ariel's chambers. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded him uncomfortably of the volcanic environment he'd soon be entering.
He sat at his desk, opened the Regalia text, and began reading.
The book started with history. Soul Regalia were unique to the Crowcrest bloodline, a manifestation of the family's ancient power. Every Crowcrest who awakened their core could potentially forge a Regalia, though the quality and capabilities varied enormously based on individual factors.
The text explained that Regalia were extensions of the wielder's soul given physical form. They represented the cultivator's essential nature, their deepest self made manifest as weapon. This was why Regalia couldn't be stolen or used by others. They were fundamentally tied to their creator's existence.
But the true mystery was sentience.
Cultivators who'd bonded deeply with their Regalia reported strange phenomena. The weapon would feel warm or cold in their hands based on circumstances, as if expressing emotion. It would guide their movements during combat, suggesting attacks or defenses through subtle sensation. Some claimed to hear whispers from their Regalia, not words exactly, but impressions and urges that communicated intent.
The family had debated this for generations. Were Regalia truly alive? Or were these sensations just the wielder's subconscious manifesting through their connection to the weapon? No definitive answer existed.
What was definite was that Regalia revealed arts.
The text categorized arts into several types. Offensive arts that enhanced attack capabilities. Defensive arts that improved protection or evasion. Utility arts that provided unique abilities outside direct combat. Transformation arts that changed the Regalia's form or properties temporarily.
Each Regalia possessed a predetermined number of arts it could teach its wielder. This number was called the Regalia's quality rating. Common quality Regalia possessed two to three arts. Uncommon possessed four to five. Rare possessed six to seven. Epic possessed eight to nine. Legendary possessed ten to eleven. Mythic possessed twelve or more.
Quality couldn't be artificially increased. It was determined at the moment of forging, a reflection of the wielder's potential and soul depth at that specific instant.
The book provided examples of various arts from family history.
One fire cultivator's Regalia, a spear, possessed an art called Ember Trail. Every thrust left behind lingering flames in the air that persisted for several seconds, creating zones of fire that damaged enemies who moved through them.
An earth cultivator's Regalia, a hammer, possessed Seismic Impact. Striking the ground triggered shockwaves that traveled outward, damaging and disorienting everything in range.
A lightning cultivator's Regalia, dual daggers, possessed Arc Resonance. The two blades could discharge electricity between them, creating a deadly field that electrocuted anything caught between the weapons.
The variety was enormous. Each Regalia developed unique arts that complemented its wielder's fighting style and elemental affinity.
The text also covered bond strengthening. The connection between wielder and Regalia could be deepened through several methods. Regular use in combat familiarized you with the weapon's nature. Meditation while holding the Regalia created mental resonance. Feeding it mana directly, similar to cultivation, nourished the weapon's essence.
A strong bond provided multiple benefits. The Regalia became more responsive in combat, practically moving itself to intercept attacks or exploit openings. Arts activated faster and with less conscious effort. New arts revealed themselves more frequently.
Ariel read about documented cases of exceptional bonds. One ancestor had achieved such perfect synchronization with his Regalia that observers couldn't tell whether the man wielded the sword or the sword wielded the man. Their combat became a perfect fusion of intent and action.
The book's final chapter discussed growth patterns. As the wielder advanced in cultivation rank, the Regalia grew stronger proportionally. A weapon that cut steel at E rank would cut through spiritual barriers at A rank. The growth was automatic, tied to the wielder's advancement, requiring no special effort beyond normal cultivation.
But there were techniques for accelerating Regalia development. Bathing the weapon in elemental energy corresponding to your affinity strengthened its connection to your element. Incorporating rare materials into the blade through specialized rituals enhanced its physical properties. Exposing it to extreme conditions, similar to how cultivators trained in harsh environments, tempered the weapon's essence.
The Deep Forge, the book noted, was particularly effective for Regalia development. The extreme mana density, constant combat, and volcanic energy all contributed to rapid weapon evolution. Many cultivators who entered the Deep Forge found their Regalia undergoing dramatic changes during training, revealing multiple arts in compressed timeframes that would normally take years.
Ariel closed the book, mind working through implications.
His katana had been forged from his soul less than a week ago. It was still new, barely awakened, its full potential unknown. He didn't know its quality rating yet, didn't know how many arts it would eventually reveal.
But the Deep Forge would change that. Five months of constant use, constant combat, constant exposure to extreme conditions. His Regalia would evolve alongside him, growing stronger as he grew stronger.
He needed to start building that bond now, before entering the forge. Every day spent familiarizing himself with the weapon was investment that would pay dividends later.
Ariel stood and moved to the center of his chambers, clearing space. He summoned his Regalia, the silver and white katana materializing in his hand with comfortable weight.
For several minutes, he simply held it, feeling its presence. The weapon hummed faintly with energy, responding to his attention. He cycled mana through his core and pushed a small amount into the blade, feeding it, strengthening their connection.
The katana's glow brightened slightly, white veins pulsing with increased luminescence. Ariel felt something, an impression more than thought, a sense of recognition or acknowledgment. The Regalia knew him. They were bound, connected at levels deeper than simple possession.
He began moving through basic forms, his enhanced body finding balance and flow despite lack of formal training. The katana moved smoothly, cutting air with sounds like tearing silk. Each motion felt natural, as if he'd practiced these movements before despite never having held a sword in either life.
Was this the Regalia guiding him? Or just his body adapting quickly to the weapon's balance? Impossible to say definitively, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he and the blade were learning each other, building the foundation for future mastery.
Hours passed. Ariel practiced until his arms ached, until sweat soaked his clothes, until his mana reserves dropped below half from constantly feeding the weapon. Then he stopped, dismissed the Regalia, and stood breathing heavily in the center of his chambers.
Tomorrow he would enter the Deep Forge. Tomorrow everything changed. But tonight, for this moment, he felt as prepared as possible.
He knew cultivation theory. He understood elemental manipulation. He'd studied beast behaviors and survival techniques. He'd read accounts from previous survivors, including his father's testimony. And now he understood his Regalia's nature, knew what to expect from the weapon that was literally part of his soul.
Seven days of intensive preparation. Hundreds of hours of study. Vast amounts of knowledge absorbed and organized by his enhanced mind.
The old Ariel, the dying child everyone had dismissed, wouldn't have survived a week in the Deep Forge. Would have died immediately from environmental hazards or been killed by the first beast encountered.
But he wasn't that person anymore.
He was awakened. E rank and climbing. Possessed of knowledge that most cultivators spent years accumulating. Equipped with a Soul Regalia and understanding of how to develop it. Ready to face hell and emerge stronger.
The Crowcrest family expected either his death or his failure. They'd written him off, dismissed him as someone who'd gotten lucky with awakening but would inevitably fall short when truly tested.
Ariel intended to prove them catastrophically wrong.
The Deep Forge would either kill him or forge him into something worthy of the Crown Crow title. There was no middle ground, no compromise, no path except forward through fire and blood and pain.
He thought about his father's words. Push until you break. Then push harder.
He thought about the tournament in six months, about facing Roderick and others who'd spent years positioning themselves for succession.
He thought about becoming someone who would never be powerless again, who would never have to bow to circumstances beyond his control.
The materials on his desk represented knowledge. The Deep Forge would provide experience. The combination of both would create something unprecedented.
Tomorrow morning, he would depart for the Ashen Peaks. Tomorrow, the real test began.
Ariel looked out the window at the estate stretching before him, at the family that had dismissed him, at the world that had given him a second chance to become more.
He was ready.
Let the forge do its worst.
He would survive it, master it, and return transformed into something this family had never seen before.
The dying child was dead.
What walked into the Deep Forge would be something else entirely.