Fresh lukewarm air greets them as they appear before the gothic gates, and a tremor quivers her hands.
The anxious pressure in Catalina's chest heightens at the sight of the grand and imposing structure of Lightless Institute, which is located on an island planted in the center of the four continents.
The sturdy walls expand across a sprawling complex in red stone, with a wide central courtyard and tall creamy watchtowers rising into the heavens at each ending route.
As she part ways from her parents, her eyes drag over to the arched clear windows of the classrooms, narrowing in on the largest one with intricate dragon, siren, angel, and phoenix designs marking the walls.
Each clan is guarded by a mythical creature, and the founding families, treated as higher beings, possess extraordinary traits of their guardians handpicked by their ancestors.
Dragons are the northern protectors, allowing Winter Clan to have heightened sight, cold resistant, strong endurance, spatial memory, rejuvenation, beast transformation and effortless flight skill.
The Lightless Institute is in modern terms of a military academy that trains people with the talent to glimpse a zodiac path. It has a survival and success rate below 26% and was established on the day the holy clan's ancestors signed a pact.
The institute allows anyone to register, even unregistered individuals from beyond earth can attend Lightless if they have a recommendation from an esteemed Ophanim, a legal status with a document of identification, but making it through the Abysmal Trials is another story.
People die or quit in fear of their lives during these trials.
Only once you survive a trial will your position at Lightless be guaranteed.
Generally, people from holy clans like herself who have been trained since childhood are seen as successful right off the bat and succeed in graduating.
She is not afraid for the same reasons common folk bold enough to pursue godhood are fearful of.
In Winter Clan, her first and only school had a requirement of a mastery of all weapons for every member in possession of a guardian trait to attend. Surviving is the least of Catalina's concerns.
10 minutes later.
One thousand and twenty youths in the age range of fifteen- and eighteen-years old line up in rows, clad in a similar attire to her; heavy plated boots, a black jumpsuit made of fitted silk, which enables them to stretch and move freely, developed by western continent greatest craftsmen, Night Chaser.
Catalina nose twitches, face threatening to break its impassive state, proving her disdain.
She forces herself to keep from staring downward, keeping her head held high, eyes constantly roaming.
Her heart beats fast, an annoying tension clinging to her muscles. From the depths of her heart, she curses the Sage of Emotion for his blessing.
'It already sucks ass that a clan can sense and manipulate emotions but seeing them in our eyes is like stripping us the freedom to feel.'
Time seems to crawl onward slowly, her anxiety faltering from normal to abnormal.
'Good grief. If this trial doesn't just get fucking started, I might scream.'
She untightened her reddened hands, the pressure in them loosening, and she folds them behind her back. Her eyes temporarily lock with charcoal ones belonging to a boy with a crimson pendant.
"Goddess Luna, you are the shine of the moon, Reaper of the Celestial's…"
Beside her, a light pink-haired girl mutters a prayer to one of the eight; head bowed reverently and eyes gently closed.
Lush greenery lines the perimeter of the pit they were in, located in the Shrine of the Eight Phlthartic, thick columns surrounding them, their tips gleaming with pointed stars.
Seventy feet above, a grand bridge of starlight glints, majestic teal fog concealing the spectators consisting of elite students, members of the holy clans and the council of Lightless.
Despite not being able to see them due to the fog, she's aware of their exact location thanks to the knowledge blabbed by her deceased brother.
Ziven used to share tales of this place at weekend dinners and family time. She can see clearly his proud smirk like it just happened yesterday in her head.
She reminisces her memories to block out whatever emotion visible in her eyes, replacing the anxious with longing and sadness.
He stated that as a mentor you will participate in the trials once more, but as proctors. This is very helpful for heirs to select talented warriors with the potential to ascend to an Ophanim; the highest rank a mortal being can possess that's on par with gods.
Catalina shifts her feet; dirt rumbles beneath her boots, pricking into the rich leather. Nerves flutter in her veins, a hint of impatience rushing through her.
To her parent's distress, concern for the trial is absent; an apathetic demeanor enveloped around her. She is aware of how serious and dangerous they are but is devoid of the care for her own survival.
If she lives, great. If she doesn't, oh well.
Life is full of possibilities. A galaxy with sanctum stars, each trailing into different realities and realms.
'I want to watch TV and eat. How long will this take? Ziven's trial took a month. If I get what I want, it'll be in a day, but that's just hopeful thinking.'
"Yo, hello!"
A soft tap on her right shoulder disturbs Catalina carefree air, dragging her attention to a cheerful high-pitched voice appertaining a short light pink-haired girl.
"The slit in your eyes tells me you're from the north, and since you're taking this trial, you must be Catalina Melpomene, second daughter of the Snow God. I'm Rhea Misul. We haven't officially met, only in fleeting glances and stolen conversations, but the beauty in not officially meeting is when we do."
"Uh, hey."
Catalina gaze sweeps over her, taking in pale skin, pale blue eyes, button nose, sleek hair styled up in two small buns with orange knife clips, and wavy bangs framing her round face.
Misul—the founding name of Moon Clan.
This family possesses connections to the sirens of the rivers. The mythological legend of this clan begins with the True Goddess, who is said to have blessed mankind with spiritual essence.
The current heir to Moon Clan is unknown to the public; many speculate it to be the youngest son, Akira, though the Pillar of Moon Clan has yet to confirm anything, solely stating that she cultivates the growth of all her children.
'How they got away with it not being public is the favor of the Sages. Lucky bastards. From what I recall, all direct line of descendants in Moon Clan attend Lightless.'
She turns her head, thinking that'll be the end of their conversation.
"Goddess, this is nerve racking, right?"
Rhea taps her fingers together, appearing calm despite her words. "I mean, most of the people around us will be, well, you know, dead. I believe you and I will survive, which is why I am talking to you. I don't want to make friends with a future dead person, you know."
'No, I don't, since I don't wanna make friends with either.'
Catalina ignores Rhea, hoping she'll take the sign and go away.
She doesn't.
"That sounds so heartless, I'm sorry! I don't mean it like that, but it's never been more than the truth. I usually don't talk this much, so…eh, blame it on, well, me. I'm not nervous or anything. I know I'll be okay. I just have to go through it. Endure it. At the finish line, it'll be okay for good. Right now, though…. I'm just so goddamn bored out of my mind!"
The girl who Catalina vows to steer clear of won't stop talking her ear off for what feels like forever as they wait for the arrival of the instructors.
Finally, a full hour later, six figures descend from the starlight bridge, one with shimmering white angel wings, one an older woman with a blank face, one with emotionless vertical eyes, and the last three bronze skinned, male, with a gold sun symbol on their foreheads.
They all appear to be in their thirties or higher.
The one she's most familiar with steps forward, her uncle, Hadeon Demios. "Welcome to the pre-stage of Lightless!"
His droll voice booms, dispatching vibrations through the air.
"As you all know, to even attempt to become an Ophanim you must pass an Abysmal trial and graduate from this institute with perfect scores in all divisions—physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual. Evolving is the product of loss, and you are here to be found.
"A habit, a bond, a desire, a goal, a version of yourself, a weakness, a strength—whatever you believe to anchor you will be granted to die here on this island if you aren't dead. To ascend the natural order of your species is to discard yourself and be anew."
The older woman speaks up next, her voice as bland as the cloudless sky, "Do you have what it takes to wield what gods strike? To be the light of devotion instead of the bringer of it? It is not an easy feat, but you're all here despite that obvious factor. I wish you all the luck and blessing of fate."
A silence travels to every corner of the pit, awaiting the courage and determination in the challenges of mortal life to dissolve and the cowardice to show.
No one leaves, so the council of Lightless continues.
"First, ladies and gentlemen, we must see if your body and soul can handle the imprint of a zodiac path," Haedon says.
"This year there will only be one trial. Afterward, if you survive, you'll duel a mentor proctor and if you survive it all, you'll gain your Chronicle Points. It'll be explain more later for those unaware."
He pauses; his gaze presses a heavy weight as he scans the crowd of teenagers and young adults.
"Deathly Journey is the name of the trial. You will begin your journey by traveling to the top of the mountain that surrounds this building. Along the way, you'll encounter roads made of ice, lava, and cold rivers, as well as various snow beasts."
"Once you reach the top, you will take a different path down. This descent will be free of physical dangers but will challenge you with mental games and questions about our history."
"If you fail to answer a question correctly, you must walk down that path, return here, and then redo the first path again. After successfully completing both paths, you will return here and wait for the other contenders to start the dueling."
Nervous mumbling breaks out around Catalina.
She forces her gaze to remain on the loud man, not wanting to give away her anxiety as she is most likely being watched.
She is the daughter of Hael Melpomene—Snow God of the Northern continent, and sister of Ziven—Warrior Prince.
Two successful people in Winter Clan—well, almost two.
If she shows any signs of weakness, then it'll be used against them.
'Though it's not like we're not already a disgrace,' she muses. 'Thanks, brother and sister! The runway whore and druggy brother!"
It matters not if she brings shame to an already shunned clan, but being mocked is different than actually being weak.
For once in her life, Catalina has something to prove. She isn't simply here as an heir but a messenger.
"Let them know, daughter," Hael whispered gravely before parting in farewell. "The Winter Clan is just as promising and terrifying as the others. We are the cold that never warms."
She shall not fail in her delivery.