The air inside the Hall of Choice buzzed with excitement.
Dozens of newly accepted students filled the vast chamber, their eyes wide with anticipation, their hearts pounding in rhythm with dreams yet unrealized. The walls of the hall were etched with grand murals—depictions of ancient Ingraving Masters surrounded by glowing symbols and mythical beasts. The ceiling arched high above like the dome of a temple, glowing with dim azure light from floating inscription lamps that hovered silently in the air, casting flickering shadows across the polished obsidian floor.
At the center stood a long, semi-circular altar of crystalline stone, its surface lined with dozens of master Ingraving scrolls—each sealed in transparent, rune-locked tubes. Each one emanated a faint aura, resonating with the unique energy of the engraving it contained.
Among them stood Ryn, silent and sharp-eyed. His mind was still adrift in the storm stirred by his conversation with Elias. But for now, the present demanded his attention.
Elder Rahim stood before the group, his silver robe lined with deep blue threads, hands folded calmly behind his back. His long, braided beard shimmered with beads of jade and copper, and the curved staff at his side pulsed with the power of a Rank Five Master.
"You all used basic engravings to pass the entrance exams," Rahim's voice echoed through the hall, calm and clear, like ripples across a still pond. "Today, you will take your next step."
His gaze swept over the crowd.
"You will choose your first Main Engraving—the foundation of your path. The first true companion in your journey toward becoming Ingraving Masters."
A murmur passed through the students like a gust of wind.
Standing near the front, Ryn's eyes flickered toward the altar. His heart beat faster. Each scroll contained knowledge—ancient, powerful, and mysterious. It wasn't just about strength. It was about identity.
Beside him, a tall boy with fiery red hair clenched his fists tightly. His name was Tharic, known for his temper and eagerness to prove himself.
"Hah… finally," Tharic muttered. "No more of those starter engravings. I want something that burns."
A petite girl on the other side, cloaked in pale blue with her silvery hair tied in a braid, rolled her eyes. Her name was Mira.
"Typical," she said. "You just want something flashy. I'm going to choose something elegant. Precision over power."
"Elegance won't save you when you're staring down a beast's jaw," Tharic snapped.
"No," said a quiet voice from behind. It was Lys, a pale, thin boy with ink-stained fingers and a distracted expression. "But an engraving that predicts its movements might."
Students chuckled, but Lys didn't care. His eyes were locked on a scroll that glowed with a steady pulse—an engraving related to time perception.
Elder Rahim raised a hand, silencing the chatter.
"You will each approach the altar one by one. Place your hand above a scroll, and if it resonates with your spirit, it will respond. Choose wisely. What you pick today may shape your path for years."
The first student stepped forward—a broad-shouldered girl with short-cut hair and a hardened gaze. She moved straight toward a crimson scroll encased in black stone.
As her palm hovered over it, flames burst upward from within the seal, curling around her hand like a dragon's breath. Gasps filled the room.
"That's the Flamebrand Sigil!" someone whispered.
She grinned. "Perfect."
One by one, more students moved forward.
Mira took a scroll with silver frost etched across the casing. The moment her fingers neared it, it shimmered with a burst of snow-like light.
Tharic grabbed the scroll nearest to a molten-orange crystal. The fire burst so strongly it singed the air. "Now this is power," he laughed.
Lys, after much hesitation, approached a scroll glowing faintly with pale runes. When his hand hovered over it, the light slowed, pulsing at a hypnotic rhythm.
Each student reacted differently—some gasped, some grinned... Each match between scroll and student was like a tiny ceremony.
Finally, it was Ryn's turn.
He stepped toward the altar, his footsteps echoing louder than they should have. His eyes scanned each scroll. They were all beautiful, all powerful—but none called to him.
Until—
He stopped before a scroll sealed in a deep black casing, nearly invisible unless seen at an angle. The moment he raised his hand, the air grew colder.
The surface of the scroll pulsed once, and a dark light shimmered from within. It wasn't violent. It wasn't cold. It was… ancient. Quiet. Watching.
A low murmur moved through the room.
"That one..."
"It's cursed, isn't it?"
"No… it's just strange."
Ryn didn't flinch.
He placed his palm above it.
The runes within the scroll twisted, reshaped themselves in a spiral, and a low hum echoed through the chamber—like something whispering from beyond a veil.
Elder Rahim's brow lifted slightly.
Interesting…
Ryn stepped back, and the scroll floated into the air, rising before him like a silent promise.
"This one," he said.
A faint smile crept across Elias's lips as he watched from the back of the hall, arms crossed casually.
Then he turned behind him:" You're the reason this inscription is here, aren't you?"
There was no one there, but Elias could feel someone's gaze on this place. "This gets more fun."
The Hall of Choice remained alive with murmurs and flickering energies. Most students had made their decisions. The once-glowing altar was now dimmer, with only a few scrolls left hovering in their rune-locked tubes.
But anticipation hadn't faded—it had merely shifted. Now, all eyes turned toward the final candidates who had yet to choose.