The ruins were cold in a way that felt personal.
Not the clean cold of snow or wind, but the stale chill of old stone that had never known warmth. Broken pillars lay scattered across the cracked pathway like the bones of something ancient and forgotten. Dust clung to everything. To the air. To the walls. To her boots. To her clothes.
Aria stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed tightly over her chest, face twisted in disgust.
"This is bullshit."
Her voice echoed, sharp and loud, bouncing off stone until it came back to her louder than before. She clicked her tongue and looked down at her boots, now coated in grime.
Do you know how hard it is to get this makeup right? Do you know how expensive these clothes are? And this is where I get dropped.
She lifted her foot and scraped it against a fallen slab, trying to shake off the dirt. It only smeared more dust along the leather.
Unbelievable.
She stormed forward, heels crunching against debris, muttering nonstop. Every step sent another puff of dust into the air, and every puff made her scowl deepen.
"And of course," she continued, voice rising, "of course he does not have to be here."
Her lips curled as she said his name in her head.
Bahamut.
That blind freak.
She stopped suddenly and spun around as if the ruins themselves were listening.
"Passed the fifth stage," she sneered. "So what. So what if he fought a little harder than the rest of us? That does not mean he gets to skip everything. That does not mean the elders should coddle him."
She laughed, high and bitter.
"I saw him. Wrapped up like a corpse. Bandages everywhere. Could barely stand. And they still treat him like some chosen hero."
Her hands clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms, but she did not seem to notice.
"If I were that injured, they would have sent me home. Or worse. But no. He gets to lie down somewhere comfortable while we are thrown into hell."
She kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering across the ground. It clattered loudly before falling into a dark crack between tiles.
"Preferential treatment. That is what it is. Pure and simple."
The ruins answered with silence.
Aria paced back and forth, agitation pouring out of her like heat.
"Blindness is not an achievement," she snapped. "Getting hurt is not an achievement. Anyone can throw themselves at monsters until they almost die. That does not make you special. That makes you reckless."
She scoffed, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve.
"And everyone just eats it up. Oh, he is so strong. Oh, he is so inspiring. Please. If he were not blind, if he did not look so pitiful, no one would care."
Her voice trembled now, sharp with something ugly underneath.
"I worked hard, too. I trained. I prepared. I belong here just as much as he does. More than him."
A faint sound echoed from deeper within the ruins. Stone grinding against stone.
Aria froze for half a second.
Then she scoffed again.
"Tch. Trying to scare me."
She marched forward, chin raised, refusing to show hesitation.
"I should have been the one exempted," she continued loudly, as if daring the world to argue. "Not him. Me. I am not some barbarian who fights like an animal. I am refined. I know my limits. I know when to stop."
The sound came again. Closer this time.
A scraping sound. Slow. Heavy.
Aria hesitated, heart skipping a beat. She glanced toward a collapsed archway ahead, shadows pooling thickly beneath it.
Her mouth tightened.
"No," she muttered. "No. Do not start now."
She took a step back.
Another sound. This one unmistakable. A low breath. Deep and steady.
Her anger flared instantly, burning away the fear.
"Come out," she shouted. "Whatever you are. I am not afraid."
The shadows shifted.
Something moved.
Aria swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
"And this," she said, voice rising again, forcing confidence, "this is exactly why it is unfair. I have to deal with this. While Bahamut is probably sleeping somewhere, breathing quietly, being praised by elders."
A shape emerged from the darkness.
Tall. Broad. Stone-skinned. Its body was carved with old runes worn smooth by time. Its eyes glowed faintly, cold and empty.
Aria's breath hitched.
Her legs trembled.
"No," she whispered. "No no no."
The stone guardian took one step forward. The ground shook.
Her anger snapped back like a whip.
"This is not supposed to happen," she screamed. "I am not supposed to be here. He is."
The guardian took another step.
Aria turned and ran.
Her boots slipped on dust and broken stone. Her breath came in panicked gasps. Her earlier rage dissolved into raw terror, but even as she ran, the bitterness did not leave her.
"This is his fault," she sobbed. "All of it. If he did not exist, if he did not pass that stupid test, I would not be here."
The ruins swallowed her screams as the stone guardian chased after her.
...
The viewing hall was nothing like the trial grounds.
Wide stone tiers rose in layered arcs, packed with spectators from failed contestants to outer sect disciples, wandering elders' attendants, and opportunistic observers who had paid or begged their way inside. At the center hovered a massive projection array, dozens of shifting panels of light showing fragments of the survival trial. Forests. Ruins. Deserts. Snowfields. Fog-choked swamps.
And boredom.
"So that's it?" someone scoffed loudly from the upper tiers. "That's the famous Trial of Survival?"
On one panel, a contestant, Gabi, crouched behind a rock, breathing heavily, eyes darting as he waited for something to pass. On another, someone was slowly, painfully trying to start a fire with shaking hands. On a third, a girl, Aria, screamed while running from something off-screen until the projection cut away.
A wave of sighs rippled through the hall.
"This is dull," a man complained, propping his chin on his palm. "They're just running. Hiding. Scraping by."
"What did you expect?" another replied lazily. "They're Tier 1. Circle of Body. Of course, they look like prey."
"That blind guy didn't," someone muttered.
That was all it took.
The name spread through the hall like sparks catching dry grass.
"Caveman."
"He made the combat test interesting."
"At least when he fought, things died."
A group of failed contestants near the front leaned forward, eyes glued to a frozen projection of a participant shaking in fear.
"This one's been crouching there for ten minutes," one of them said flatly. "Ten. Minutes."
"He's terrified," another replied. "You can see it."
"So what?" a third snapped. "Fear doesn't make this watchable."
Laughter broke out, sharp and mocking.
"Remember the Sand Wyrm?" someone shouted from a higher tier. "Now that was something."
"Yeah!" another voice eagerly joined in. "The way the ground split open. The way he kept moving even after getting crushed."
"He was blind and still fought better than all of them combined."
A few people clapped sarcastically.
On the projections, Gabi could be seen crouched low in the fog, breathing heavily as he dragged a carcass out of view. Sel appeared briefly in a glowing forest, carefully marking trees. The wolf twins were huddled together against the cold, arguing quietly.
The hall groaned.
"Strategy. Survival. Patience," someone said, yawning. "How inspiring."
A failed contestant slammed his palm against the stone railing.
"This is a waste. Drop Caveman in."
The words hung in the air.
Then someone else laughed.
"Yeah. Drop him in. Let's see what a real fight looks like."
A ripple of agreement spread.
"Even injured, he'd make this interesting."
"Give him a day's head start. Or don't. I don't care."
"I want to see blood again."
"That crow beast earlier," someone said. "Did you see how slow that was? Bahamut would've snapped its neck in seconds."
A group near the middle tiers stood up, voices rising.
"This trial is supposed to test survival, right?"
"Then why is the one person who clearly mastered it sleeping somewhere safe?"
"Let him in."
"Let him show them."
A few others frowned.
"He's injured," one person said hesitantly. "Didn't you see his condition?"
"So?" someone shot back immediately. "That's his problem. He chose to fight like that."
Another laughed cruelly.
"If he dies, he dies. At least we won't be bored."
The murmuring grew louder. More heated. Some shouted toward the elders' viewing platform, though none of the elders were present. Their seats loomed above, empty and silent.
"Caveman carried the combat test," a voice rang out clearly. "Without him, this is just watching people panic."
"Trial of Survival?" someone scoffed. "More like Trial of Waiting."
On one projection, Aria was seen sprinting through ruins, screaming as stone shifted behind her.
The hall burst into laughter.
"Look at that one."
"She was talking big earlier."
"Now she can't even breathe properly."
The laughter faded quickly, replaced by more grumbling.
"I miss the fifth stage."
"I miss real pressure."
"I miss someone who doesn't freeze the moment things go wrong."
A man leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"When that blind guy wakes up," he said quietly, "this whole sect is going to shake."
Around him, several people nodded.
Unaware, or uncaring, that somewhere far from the projections, Bahamut slept on.
And the trial continued.