Sylas watched as Akashia lifted Sera from his shoulder with effortless grace. His fingers twitched instinctively, but he held himself back.
"Unfortunately," she said, holding Sera carefully, "for your trial, she won't be there to help you."
"Please step in." Akashia said as she pointed at the door.
"What exactly is this test about?" he asked, his voice steady.
Akashia met his gaze with an expression that betrayed nothing.
"There are three tests," she said smoothly. "Each one evaluates an aspect that every member of the Valtheris bloodline should possess. The first is a test of reflex."
Sylas rolled his shoulders, the corner of his lips quirking into a smirk. "Sounds simple enough. what about the rest?"
Akashia tilted her head slightly. "You will find out if you pass the first one. Once you enter the temple, take the first door to your right. That will lead you to the first trial."
She paused, then let her gaze drift downward to the Aether sword at his waist. "You won't be needing a weapon."
Sylas arched a brow but didn't argue. With a casual flick of his wrist, he detached the Aether sword and handed it to her.
Akashia accepted it without a word, her grip firm but relaxed. Then her eyes flickered to his chest, where the sleek plating of his Anti-Aether armor rested against his shirt. "The armor as well."
Now, Sylas hesitated. "Seriously?"
Akashia gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Your test is of reflex, not survival."
With a sigh, Sylas tapped his chest piece and the armour and felt it peel away from his body in seamless layers, retreating into its compact form.
Beneath it, he was left in a simple blue shirt and trousers—an almost laughable downgrade from his usual battle-ready state.
He ran a hand over the now inert piece of armor before passing it to Akashia. "This is a nano-tech suit. Not exactly something I'd call unfair for a test of reflex."
Akashia inspected the armour for a moment, then shook her head. "No, it's not nano-tech. A true nano suit should be able to reshape itself into anything you wish. This material only shifts into its preprogrammed forms. That makes it programmable armour, not nano-tech."
Sylas folded his arms, processing her words. "So, by your standards, a lot of things in my world are labeled wrong."
Akashia offered a rare hint of amusement in her expression. "Yes. Very wrong."
Sylas huffed out a breath and rolled his shoulders again, already feeling the absence of his equipment. He cast one last glance at Sera, who remained silent in Akashia's grasp.
"Alright then," he muttered, turning toward the towering temple doors. "Let's see what you've got for me."
*******
As soon as Sylas stepped through the doorway, the temple sealed shut behind him with a deep, echoing thud.
Darkness swallowed the space but the door on his left remained visible so he stepped through it.
The door also shut behind him with a thud.
A sharp mechanical whir filled the air. Then, a single red dot flickered to life in the distance. Another appeared. Then another.
A shrill beep cut through the silence.
Lasers erupted from every direction.
Sylas barely had time to react. He twisted as a crimson bolt scorched past his shoulder, the heat brushing his skin. Another shot from above—he ducked, rolling forward just as a third blast lanced toward his back. His instincts took over, his body moving faster than his mind could process.
No pattern. No rhythm. The lasers fired from every angle, erratic and relentless.
He kicked off the ground, flipping over a horizontal beam before landing into a crouch. A sudden shot from below forced him into a handspring, twisting midair to avoid a cluster of incoming blasts.
His legs barely touched the floor before another barrage came at him. He pivoted sharply, dropping into a slide under a rapid succession of beams. Heat crackled above him.
Sylas exhaled sharply through his nose. Fine. If they wanted to see his reflexes, he'd show them.
He stopped thinking.
Every movement became instinct. He dodged, rolled, leaped, and spun, threading his way through the unrelenting storm of laser fire. The air hummed with energy, the scent of scorched stone filling his lungs.
One shot nearly caught him in the ribs—he twisted just in time, feeling the heat graze his side. Another blast streaked toward his legs; he jumped, tucking his knees to his chest mid-air before landing in a crouch.
The barrage intensified.
Sylas moved faster.
Time blurred. His breath came in steady, measured beats, his body reacting before he could register the danger. The more the lasers fired, the more he adapted—his footwork becoming sharper, his movements more fluid.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
The lasers powered down, retreating into the walls, leaving behind a room of silent darkness once more.
Sylas stood in the center, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
"That all you got?" he muttered to the empty space.
Almost on clue a mechanical hum filled the chamber.
The floor beneath him shifted, revealing intricate symbols glowing with a faint, golden light. At the far end of the room, six figures materialized—humanoid, but something felt wrong.
They stood unnaturally still.
Each wore the armour of ancient warriors, their weapons varying from swords to polearms, even to clawed gauntlets.
A voice echoed through the chamber.
"Let see how fast you are young master Sylas."
The figures moved.
They rushed him all at once.
Sylas braced himself, dodging the first strike—a blade whistled past his cheek, close enough to feel the air shift. He countered immediately, twisting low and driving an elbow into the nearest attacker's side. The figure staggered but didn't fall.
"Oh you are not suppose physically touch them."
A second came at him from the left. He leaned back, narrowly avoiding a spear thrust aimed at his throat.
His instinct was to lash out with his leg, catching the attacker's knee and sending it skidding back.
But he didn't, he simply moved back.
Another lunged from behind.
At that moment something clicked in his mind. Akashia said, 'Oh you are not supposed to physically touch them.'
Why would she say that.
'No, more like why would she say it like that.'
Because he could attack them with something else.
His Aether abilities.
Yes, he did use the precognition ability like he was doing now but apart from that when did he ever use it actively.
He got his answer instantly.
Rarely.
He rarely ever used his aether abilities in a fight even though would give him a massive edge against his enemies.
Sera had indeed mentioned this to him previously but he was never trained to fight.
Maybe with sticks but that was playful which is probably why he instinctively went with using the swords.
He did spend hours or even days at a time meditating because that was in fact the only thing he was taught.
But not anymore.
Sylas spun, using telekinesis to catch the attacker's wrist and yanking it forward, using its own momentum to slam it into the ground.
They recovered too quickly.
These weren't normal enemies. They fought with perfect coordination, relentless and precise. There were no wasted movements—every strike was aimed to kill.
Sylas ducked under a wild slash, using the momentum to jab a knee in the direction of another opponent's chest.
A telekinesis pulse erupted and slam into the opponent's chest.
He didn't get to see what happened because he twisted away as a sword arced toward his head, barely avoiding the lethal edge.
They're adapting.
The thought barely formed before they adjusted their strategy, forcing him onto the defensive.
One attacker struck low while another went high, their attacks weaving together seamlessly.
Sylas blocked a strike with a telekenetic shield.
He gritted his teeth as the force from the blow pushed him back. He pivoted sharply, slamming his palm in the direction of an enemy's head, sending it staggering back.
But they kept coming.
For every one he knocked down, another filled its place.
Sylas exhaled sharply. Enough.
He shifted his stance. If they wanted efficiency, he'd give it to them.
What happened next could only be described as a brutal art and then.
Silence.
Then, the figures dissolved into golden mist.
Sylas straightened, breathing heavily. His muscles burned, but he was still standing.
Then, Akashia voice spoke again.
"Young master Sylas, Please proceed to the next test when you are ready. Do feel free to rest."
The next door opened.
Sylas exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders.
He took a sit on the ground cross leg before going into meditation.