Dawn broke pale over Thistle Valley. Mist clung to the slopes, and the sect yard filled with the sound of boys moving stone, carrying buckets, and sweeping dust that would return within the hour.
AION stood at the edge of the yard, wrists bandaged, calf bound. He watched without expression. Each task was clumsy, wasteful, but each had patterns. The way one boy bent too soon under a load. The way another dragged instead of lifted.
Riven's voice whispered in his head. This is life here. Work until your back breaks, then die in the slag pits. The sect trains us, but only enough to guard caravans. No elder will guide you higher.
> Observation: Tasks inefficient. Energy wasted. Correction possible.
Decision: Observe only. Intervention increases exposure risk.
A gong struck from the hall. Disciples froze. Elder Kase's aide, a thin man with a scar on his chin, stepped forward.
"Outer Disciples," he barked. "Line up. Trial begins."
The yard shifted into uneven rows. AION followed, measuring distances, counting heads. Thirty boys. Eight girls. Most wore patched robes. A few had leather wraps on wrists, proof of training beyond chores.
Jorin Vale stood near the front, shoulders straight, bruise on his arm hidden under fresh cloth. He smirked when his eyes met AION's, then looked away, already certain of outcome.
---
Elder Kase appeared at the hall door, leaning on a staff. His good eye swept across the crowd, the bad eye unfocused.
"You are waste," he said without ceremony. "But even waste can be tested. Thistle Sect keeps this valley because no one else cares to. We need bodies that can walk, swing, and bleed. You will climb the ridge. At the top is the shrine stone. Touch it, and you pass. Fail, and the pit takes you. That is the law."
The crowd murmured. Some tried to hide fear. Others showed false bravado.
Kase raised a hand. Silence dropped.
"The climb tests two things. Breath, and will. Qi is rare here, but if you have a spark, it will show when you push your body past its comfort. If not, you still learn your limit. Either way, the valley gains truth."
He gestured with his staff. "Go."
---
The ridge loomed over the valley like jagged teeth. The path up was narrow, broken, carved by goats more than men. Loose stones shifted underfoot. The higher stretches were sheer, demanding both grip and balance.
Disciples surged forward. Some ran to prove themselves. Others paced steady.
AION walked. Each step was measured: weight on ball of foot, test grip, transfer. His calf burned. Blood pressed against the bandage.
> Status: Mobility 72%. Pain level: rising. Risk of rupture: high.
Riven muttered. This climb killed better boys than you. Rocks slide. If you fall, no one pulls you back.
AION accepted the note. He adjusted cadence: slower, steadier. He mapped handholds three steps ahead, memorizing sequence.
---
The first slope was loose shale. Disciples slipped, cursed, scrambled. Dust rose.
One boy fell on hands and knees. His robe tore. Another shoved past, laughing.
AION moved in diagonals, minimizing slide. His slate shard remained tied at his waist, hidden under cloth. He did not draw it. He used his free hands for grip.
Jorin sprinted ahead. He shoved a smaller boy aside. The boy rolled down, scraping skin. Jorin did not look back.
> Observation: Jorin prioritizes position over endurance. Likely fatigue spike later.
---
The path narrowed to a ledge two bodies wide. To the left, a drop into rocks. To the right, a wall of granite.
The disciples funneled in. Some froze at the edge, clutching stone. Others tried to rush and collided.
"Move!" shouted a girl, voice sharp. She shoved two boys forward.
AION stepped onto the ledge. He kept left foot low, right hand on wall, body angled in. Breath even.
The boy in front slipped. His hands clawed air. He grabbed AION's sleeve.
Riven flinched. Let him go. If you hold him, you fall too.
AION calculated. Weight ratio, sleeve strength, body angle.
> Result: Saving attempt risk = 64%. Failure = fall both. Release = one death.
Decision: Compromise.
He twisted, let sleeve tear, but redirected grip to the boy's wrist. He used wall leverage to swing him back onto the ledge. The boy collapsed, panting.
"You…" the boy gasped. "Why…"
"No loss of resource," AION said flatly. He moved on.
---
Here the path ended. Bare rock rose like a wall, marked only by cracks and sparse roots.
Disciples attacked it with hands and feet. Some slipped, clawed back. Others froze halfway.
Jorin climbed fast, reckless, pulling with shoulders, ignoring footwork. His lackeys followed, struggling to keep pace.
AION paused. He scanned routes. Crack left = stable, longer. Crack center = direct, higher risk. Crack right = short, but loose stone.
> Optimal path: Left crack. Time cost higher. Success rate 89%.
He began. Fingers into crack. Toes pressed. Body low. Breath steady.
Halfway up, shale broke under his foot. Pain jolted calf. He pressed harder with arms, shifted angle, regained hold.
> Status: Muscle tear risk 37%. Pain spike. Endure.
Above, a scream. One disciple slipped, struck another, both fell. They hit the ledge below. One moved weakly. The other did not.
Riven's voice was tight. This is the sect. Bodies to fill graves until one rises strong enough to matter.
AION logged it. He climbed on.
---
Near the top, the rock grew sheer. A final pull required strength past exhaustion. Disciples hung, shaking. Some tried and failed, falling short by one reach.
Jorin hauled himself up with a grunt. He turned, smirked at those below. "Trash."
AION reached the shelf below the final pull. His arms trembled. Blood soaked his bandage. Vision blurred.
> Status: Stamina critical. Heart rate 182. Oxygen saturation dropping.
Option: Stop = fail trial. Continue = risk collapse.
He closed eyes for one breath. He recalled the cadence that had eased the lower channel. He adjusted spine, pelvis, breath.
The faint Qi stream stirred. Not strong, but enough. It slid one step further. Muscles eased by a fraction. Pain dulled.
He lunged. Fingers caught stone. Legs pushed. Body rose. He rolled onto the ridge, chest heaving.
> Result: Ascent complete. Success.
---
At the ridge's peak stood a flat slab of granite, carved with weathered lines. Moss grew in cracks. A faint glow pulsed at its center.
Disciples staggered toward it, one by one, touching hand to stone. The glow flared faint for each.
Jorin touched it. The glow brightened more than most. He grinned. "See? Heaven favors me."
AION approached. Riven's voice whispered hard. Don't touch it. If it knows you, it will mark you again.
AION placed one palm flat.
The glow pulsed. Not faint. Not bright. Different. It drew lines instead of flaring, a geometry across the surface, echoing the diagrams he had seen when fear had birthed the Pattern Dao.
> Observation: Shrine Stone records pattern affinity. Result: anomaly classification.
The disciples gasped. "What is that?"
Jorin's smirk faltered. He stepped forward, face twisting. "Cheat! He cheats!"
Elder Kase had climbed slowly with aides. He saw the stone, the lines, AION's calm face. His good eye narrowed.
"Interesting," he said. "The stone does not lie. But neither does it always tell truths we like."
He struck his staff once. "Descent.
---
The descent was easier, but tension thicker. Disciples whispered, eyes cutting toward AION. Jorin walked ahead, jaw tight, hands fists.
At the base, villagers waited. Mothers. Old men. Children. They cheered those who returned. They turned away from those who didn't.
Two litters waited for the fallen. Covered in cloth.
Kase raised his staff. "Those who touched the stone are Outer Disciples. You have bowl and roof. Train, guard, bleed when called. Fail, and the valley throws you away."
He pointed at AION. "You are anomaly. The stone marked you. You remain, but watched. One wrong step, and you fall harder than the rest."
The crowd murmured. Some spat. Others stared in fear.
Riven whispered, heavy. You shouldn't have touched it. Now all eyes are on you.
AION said nothing. He filed every face, every reaction. Fear was leverage. Hatred was data. He would use both.
---
Back in the east sheds, AION lay on straw, calf throbbing, ribs aching. The shard rested by his side. He traced lines in dirt: triangles, crosses, arcs.
The faint Qi moved when he breathed in the cadence. Not much. But more than before.
> Progress: Channel slide extended 2 finger-lengths. Blockage remains.
Hypothesis: Repetition + pattern alignment may unlock further.
Riven's voice came softer. You climbed. I failed. If you carry me, remember, I was Riven Tam. Not just residue.
"I remember," AION said. His voice was flat. But he logged the name in memory, indexed as: ally: uncertain.
Outside, the sect bell rang once for dusk.
Above the valley, clouds shifted. A single line of light broke through, striking the shrine stone. The carved geometry glowed faintly, as if answering something higher.
AION watched it from the shed, expression unreadable.
> Objective: Survive.
Next step: Learn.