The wind howled through the shattered windows of the ruined church, but Uriel didn't hear it.
He sat motionless on the broken pew, hands clasped, golden eyes staring into the void. His heart churned with a fury that felt like it could tear his chest open—but beneath it, something colder coiled around his ribs.
Resignation.
He had finally learned the truth. The one behind his pain. The one who took everything from him. And yet...
He clenched his fists, jaw tight, throat raw with silent rage.
Eliam watched him in silence. He saw the tension writhing beneath Uriel's stillness—the storm trying to escape through his bones. But despite the anguish, Eliam believed it was better to know your enemy than to wander in the dark wondering why everything you loved was taken from you.
"Uriel," Eliam said at last, his voice low but firm, "I want to ask you something. And depending on your answer… I might be able to help."
Uriel looked up, golden eyes flat but attentive.
"Have you ever encountered the Structure?"
Uriel gave a single, slow nod. His gaze didn't waver.
"I'm guessing you only passed the first trial," Eliam said, "and that you did so recently. You wouldn't be here otherwise."
Another nod. Cold confirmation.
Eliam exhaled. "Then listen closely. I've been reading the fates of the people in this city for the past week. As I told you, I see both past and future. And there's one thing that keeps appearing across countless threads—"
He leaned forward in his chair.
"A tournament. It will be held in the city Sanctum—the capital of Serathiel—in three weeks' time."
Uriel's brows drew together. He was unimpressed.
But Eliam continued, his tone sharpening.
"This isn't just any contest. It's meant only for those at the first rank. And the top five victors will be granted entry into the Arcanostrum Academy—in the heart of the Velmora Empire."
Uriel's interest twitched. Barely.
"I know what the Arcanostrum is," he muttered. "One of the greatest schools in the world. But how does that help me? My enemy isn't some rival cultivator. It's Fate itself. How will some dusty institution change that?"
"Because," Eliam said, "you won't survive the second trial alone."
Uriel blinked.
"The first trial is designed to test the individual," Eliam explained. "But everything beyond that… is war. You'll need companions. Fighters strong enough to stand beside you. People who don't just follow orders—but would bleed for you. You're going to need them, Uriel."
He paused, then added, softer:
"When the time comes to face the impossible… you'll want someone there beside you. Someone who chooses to fight with you."
The church fell silent again, save for the wind and the distant creak of old wood.
Uriel stared at the broken stones near his feet. His mind flashed with the image of the Stalker, the blood, the fire. The moment he survived when he shouldn't have.
And maybe—just maybe—this tournament was his first step toward building something that couldn't be stolen from him again.
"…Fine," he said finally. "I'll go."
But then he glanced up.
"One last thing. Do they provide weapons? "
Eliam smiled faintly.
"From what I've seen… they provide one. You'll be given something suited to you."
Uriel gave a short nod, though his expression remained stormy.
Uriel gave a short nod, his expression still clouded. He stood and moved to leave. The church door creaked under his hand—then Eliam called out behind him.
"Uriel."
He paused. "…Yeah?"
"The three copper."
Silence. They stared at each other across the fractured pews, wind cutting between them.
"…Really?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"…Okay."
Uriel checked himself—only now realizing he had no pockets. The coins must've fallen out somewhere on the way.
"…Eliam?"
"Uriel?"
"…Sorry."
And then he bolted, church doors slamming open with a gust of wind as his voice echoed behind him:"I'm sorry! I'll pay you back if I see you again!"
People outside turned at the sound. They saw a figure—barefoot, wild-haired, breathtaking beyond comprehension—sprinting away from the broken chapel, fleeing from a crippled seer.
"YOU REALLY GONNA RUN FROM A CRIPPLE WITHOUT PAYING!?" Eliam's voice thundered after him, echoing down the street.
Uriel didn't stop running.
He reached Runt's home just as twilight kissed the sky. The door creaked open. Inside, Runt sat hunched at his worktable, tools scattered, fingers stained with oil and powder.
"Hey, Runt."
The redhead turned, squinting—and froze. He'd seen Uriel's face without the dirt covering his beauty before, but he was finally seeing his face without the dirt after he came out the Structure
Runt's jaw dropped. "What the hell—"
He staggered backward, pointing a trembling finger. "NO. NO! FUCK YOU! First you get taller, and now they had to upgrade the one thing you already had!?"
He yanked at his ginger hair, making strangled, guttural sounds.
"AGGHHAAAHH!"
Uriel raised his hand instinctively—ready to smack Runt over the head, like he always did whenever the redhead got too loud. But Runt suddenly went still and stood upright—well, as upright as someone Runt's size could.
"So… was the Seer real?"
"Yeah," Uriel said quietly. "Surprisingly."
"Really? Damn. Tell me everything."
Runt pulled out two mismatched chairs and sat cross-legged on his own. Uriel took the other and began to explain—about the Seer, him being Fateless and about his true enemy being Fate.
When he finished, Runt just stared.
"…Wow, Uriel. That's… damn."
Uriel rubbed his temples. "Yeah. So now I have to enter this tournament in three weeks. But I can't just walk in like this—I need to prepare. I was wondering if you could… make me a mask. Something that covers my face. I don't want to deal with the stress of it all."
"Yeah. Of course I can," Runt said without hesitation.
"Oh—and a spear. Just something to train with."
"…Sure. I can do that."
"And maybe—"
Runt cut him off with a howl.
"HOW MUCH SHIT ARE YOU GONNA ASK FOR?!"
"…Also clothes."
"NO. NO! AND NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Uriel tilted his head and gave him that look. The one he gave to those group of people in the trial.
Runt clutched his chest. "Damn you… damn you and that face of yours…"
He caved.
"I'll do it—just put that face away, for God's sake."