For three days after the Dominion envoy's arrival, the Flintclaw tribe could talk of nothing else.
Every courtyard rang with practice blows. Even the half-starved youths who could barely lift stone weights were swinging sticks like swords.
The day of testing came at dawn.
The sky was still half-gray when Captain Darius Valen strode into the training ground, the red sun glinting on the fanged-wolf crest of the Ironfang Dominion.
Behind him came two Dominion soldiers in matching black armor, carrying a chest bound in silver seals.
The crowd fell silent as he stopped before the Patriarch's dais.
"Thirty will stand," Darius announced. "No more. No less."
He opened the chest; inside lay crystal spheres, each the size of a clenched fist.
When he lifted one, the air hummed. Light swirled within it—essence condensed so pure that even the villagers could feel it pressing on their skin.
"This," he said, "is a Measuring Crystal. It weighs not your body, but your spirit. Those whose essence cannot stir it are unfit to walk beneath the Dominion banner."
He placed the crystal on a pedestal of stone. "Step forward."
One by one the warriors came. Each gripped the orb, forcing their energy into it.
For most, the crystal flickered faintly, then dulled.
Only a handful produced real light.
When Ren Flintclaw's turn came, he swaggered forward in polished armor, his eyes full of pride.
He pressed his palm to the sphere. The orb blazed crimson, the glow reaching twice the height of the others.
Gasps rose from the tribe.
Darius inclined his head, unreadable. "Intermediate resonance. Impressive—for the frontier."
Ren smiled like a king crowned. He turned to the crowd, voice loud enough for all to hear.
"You see? The Flintclaw blood is not weak!"
The villagers cheered, desperate for hope. But Darius's gaze was already moving on, cool and impassive.
Zac stood at the edge of the crowd, hood pulled low, silent among the miners and children.
He could feel the Yellow Amethyst beneath his chest begin to hum—a faint vibration that resonated with the Dominion soldier's crystals.
When Darius had lifted the sphere, the amethyst's pulse had quickened, almost as if answering a call.
He focused on the Dominion captain.
There was something about the man's aura—steady as stone, sharp as flame—that felt… familiar.
It was the same pressure he'd sensed that first day climbing from his grave.
Zac's veins thrummed in quiet recognition. He's not just powerful… his essence rhythm is pure. It's like he's one with the elements themselves.
The Fourth Vein—Convergence inside Zac resonated in reply.
For a heartbeat, the crystal on the pedestal flickered—not red, but a flash of gold—then steadied again.
Darius turned, brow creasing slightly. His eyes scanned the crowd but found nothing.
Zac exhaled, easing the hum of the amethyst back into silence. Not yet. No one can know.
By midday, the ground was littered with the exhausted. Out of nearly two hundred hopefuls, only twenty-three made the crystals truly glow.
Seven spots remained.
Darius addressed them all. "Understand this: the Dominion does not gift power. You will earn it—or you will die seeking it. What you have seen today is only the first weight. The next will measure your veins themselves."
His gaze swept over the crowd again, lingering briefly where Zac stood. "Even the smallest ember can become flame… if it survives the wind."
Ren Flintclaw puffed his chest. "Captain Darius, if I may—our tribe's best have yet to be tested. I'll see to the rest myself."
Darius merely nodded. "Then see that your best are worth my time."
That night, torches burned high in celebration.
Music, meat, and wine filled the square.
But Zac sat alone on the outskirts, watching the flames dance and feeling the echo of the Dominion crystals deep within his heart.
Each pulse whispered a promise of the world beyond these walls—a world he intended to reach.