The feather hovered and waited above the table.

The scroll beneath it bore a single name–

Aizrel.

Hylisi's chest tightened.

The gap before her pulsed faintly, the image within sharpening until Aizrel's figure stood in merciless clarity. Every breath. Every shift of muscle. The chamber magnified it all, and with it came a low, creeping pressure–a thin whistle that crawled along the edges of Hylisi's hearing.

A drop of sweat slid from her temple to her chin.

Not from heat, but from weight–

The value of what she was about to write was not ink.

It was life and death.

Memories surged unbidden–brief, sharp fragments rather than scenes. A young lady's survival bought with precision, not mercy. One assessment after another, endured without ever asking why the path kept narrowing.

Her hands trembled.

Not because Aizrel's fate rested in her judgment.

But because this position did.

Regret surfaced–raw and sudden.

She had guided them here.

The safest route she had known had twisted into the deadliest trial she had ever seen. The realization struck hard, sharp as an arrow loosed too late to stop. The Association token at her wrist pulsed faintly, and in the same breath, the memory of her dead husband surfaced–silent, unmoving, accusatory.

Arrows, all of it.

She inhaled deeply.

Then exhaled.

The spiraling thoughts drained away–not by will alone, but by the faint warmth spreading from the bangles encircling her wrists. They steadied her pulse, grounded her breath.

A memory rose, unbidden but welcome.

The Patron's voice, distant in time yet unshaken.

"You are strong. Strong people do not rot in self-blame. They decide what comes next. Let your sweat and blood shape this land–not your tears."

Hylisi's fingers stilled.

She closed her eyes for a single heartbeat.

Then she opened them.

"They came here by my hand," she thought calmly. "And they came knowing death was possible. Those who fell before were not unworthy–only unprepared for what followed."

Her gaze hardened.

"To hesitate now would be to belittle everything they endured."

Her reflection vanished from the gap, replaced once more by Aizrel–moving now, alive, choosing.

"They are running," Hylisi continued silently. "So I will run with them."

Not with her feet.

With her fingers.

With these feathers.

"I will prove your worth the only way I can. I will carve every chance for survival this formation allows. You will survive. You must survive."

She reached out.

The feather met her grasp.

Ink still glistened at its tip.

Hylisi guided it toward the scroll.

The moment ink touched parchment–

She felt it.

The resistance.

What she intended to write dissolved, replaced by what had already been weighed and concluded within her–layer by layer, moment by moment, across blood and silence.

The feather moved on its own.

Category: Female Strategist

The words settled, unembellished.

Temperament: Restrained. Capable of cruelty when required.

A pause.

The image in the gap sharpened–Aizrel's eyes in battle, cold but unclouded.

Combat Inclination: Poison-oriented. High offensive execution.

The ink darkened, absorbing the line without protest.

Mental State: Calm under pressure. Decisiveness observed.

Ethical Boundary: Present. Actions not indiscriminate.

The feather hovered.

Then wrote the final line.

Observation: Ongoing.

The feather lifted.

Hylisi stared.

A cold realization passed through her.

Had she ever doubted her–even once–had a single malicious thought crept in under the guise of fear or protection…

The record would have reflected it.

Her daughter's life might have ended before the battle even began.

She released a long breath.

The chamber responded.

Branches twisted and curled, wood flowing like living muscle. A chair formed at the center of the seven tables, shaped precisely to her posture, offering rest without indulgence.

Hylisi sank into it slowly.

Relief came–not joy, not safety–but reprieve.

She did not reach for another feather.

Not yet.

Her eyes returned to the gap.

Aizrel had stopped running.

Three miles from the starting point, the cave mouth waited–pink orchids blooming on either side, flawless, inviting.

Too inviting.

Aizrel did not advance.

She stood still, studying them.

Observing.

Analyzing.

Hylisi's gaze sharpened.

Carnivorous, she thought. Or guardians. Or both.

Her fingers tightened on the armrest.

"What do you see?" she whispered.

The chamber did not answer.

It only watched.

Hylisi's focus wavered.

Not from fatigue–but from instinct.

Her gaze slid away from Aizrel's gap and settled upon another.

The Chief.

He was still running.

She watched the distance markers shift beneath his feet–three miles passed, then more. His breathing had grown heavier, his pace steady but unremarkable.

Another mile remained before the cave.

Hylisi tilted her head slightly, something between concern and quiet reproach.

So much slower than his daughter, she thought.

Her gaze moved on.

The next gap made her freeze.

She rose from the chair without realizing she had done so.

12.3 miles.

Already crossed.

Her eyes fixed on the figure within the projection.

The Patron.

Her breath caught.

"What kind of existence… are you?" she whispered.

He did not look hurried. He did not look strained. The land seemed to yield to him without resistance, as though distance itself had been rendered irrelevant.

Hylisi turned away.

She began to walk slowly around the seven tables–not in search of an answer, but to still the turbulence in her mind. One step. Then another. The chamber's living branches breathed softly with her movement.

Gradually, her thoughts settled.

Her fingers brushed against a feather.

White, with a stem of pale grey streaked faintly in black.

The reaction was immediate.

The feather lifted from the table.

At the same moment, the gap projecting the Patron sharpened–his image drawn into clarity beyond the others.

The floating scroll above trembled.

A fragment separated and descended toward the destined table.

Ink gathered.

A name formed.

Kiaria

Hylisi's eyes widened.

"So… that's your real name."

Even she had only ever known him as Patron. Ghost. Something beyond titles.

Her heartbeat quickened.

What am I supposed to write?

For the first time since entering the chamber, nervousness seized her outright.

Yet a strange calm followed.

If anyone could pass this assessment–regardless of outcome–it was him.

That certainty anchored her.

She took the feather.

Memories surfaced–merchants in her village whispering his name with reverence, kneeling as if before divinity.

She began to write.

Category: God.

The ink vanished.

She frowned and tried again.

Temperament: Calm. Analytical. Divine–

Gone.

Each word dissolved the moment it touched the scroll.

Her breath hitched.

"…Because I think of him as overpowered?"

She hesitated, then loosened her grip, allowing the feather to move freely.

It did not respond.

She tried again–changing her intent.

The ink on the table evaporated.

The ink upon the feather dried instantly.

Then–

The scroll ignited.

No flame.

No heat.

It burned away in silence, reduced to nothing.

Hylisi staggered back.

Her limbs trembled.

"I… I've made a grave mistake."

Her thoughts spiraled.

I should never have touched that feather.I overstepped. I trespassed.

Her breathing grew shallow, fear flooding her veins like poison.

Before panic could claim her entirely–

Light flared before her.

The Association token appeared, suspended in the air.

Words etched themselves upon its surface.

Candidate: KiariaStatus: Honorable PositionEvaluation: Examiner Not Authorized

Hylisi froze.

Then exhaled.

The tension drained from her body all at once, leaving her weak, shaken–but intact.

"So that's it," she murmured.

Relief did not feel like victory.

It felt like survival.

She lowered herself back into the chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes returning to the seven gaps.

The trial was moving forward.

And now she understood something clearly–

Some existences are not meant to be judged.

Only witnessed.

Hylisi remained seated.

Her hands rested calmly upon the armrests, yet her thoughts refused to settle.

If the Patron stands in an honorable position…

Then the one he protects–

The one he allows close–

Her gaze shifted, almost against her will.

Could it be her?

The thought surfaced uninvited, sharp and dangerous.

She immediately tried to suppress it.

Curiosity, in this chamber, was not harmless.

Yet restraint faltered.

Not from recklessness–but from instinct.

Her eyes moved to another gap.

The image sharpened.

The girl had already reached her destination.

Hylisi stiffened.

10.9 miles.

She stared.

"That distance…" she murmured. "How did she–?"

This was not mere speed. Not endurance alone.

Something else was guiding the paths.

Her fingers curled slowly.

"These seven gaps…" she whispered. "How am I meant to watch all of you at once?"

A pause.

"I missed something."

The realization settled quietly.

And with it came a decision.

She stood.

Not abruptly. Not in panic.

Deliberately.

Her gaze dropped to the tables.

One feather remained untouched.

It aligned perfectly with the gap she was watching.

Different.

Its shaft shimmered in layered hues–deep crimson near the base, fading through muted scarlet, then darkening into blue, deepening further until it reached the shade of a starless night.

Her breath slowed.

This one… is hers.

She reached out.

The chamber reacted instantly.

The feather rose.

Ink gathered.

A scroll separated from the greater one above and descended.

A name formed.

Not the name she knew.

Diala.

Hylisi did not flinch.

So that is your true designation.

Then–

The name erased itself.

Gone.

Her brows knit slightly.

This had not happened before.

Even the Patron's name had remained–only her judgment denied.

But this– was different.

Her fingers tightened.

"These secrets…" she thought slowly. "They are not meant to be handled."

Before she could withdraw–

The feather moved.

One letter etched itself upon the scroll.

L

Nothing else.

The moment the letter settled–

The feather ignited.

Not in flame, but in dissolution.

It crumbled into ash mid-air.

From that ash, two forms emerged.

One blazed in radiant white-gold fire.

The other burned in absolute cold–dark, devouring, soundless.

Heavenly Fire Phoenix.

Abyssal Cold Flame Phoenix.

They did not cry out.

They did not spread their wings.

They descended.

The scroll incinerated.

The gap shattered.

The image of Diala vanished–not obscured, not severed–

Erased.

At the same instant, the great scroll above blackened along one edge.

A fracture spread across the surface of Hylisi's Association token.

Hairline cracks.

Contained.

Neither was destroyed.

Both were marked.

The phoenix souls vanished.

Silence returned.

Hylisi did not move.

She did not gasp or rise instead expression remained composed.

Only her eyes shifted, slowly, toward the empty space where the gap had been.

"So that is the boundary," she said softly.

The Association token did not respond.

No clarification appeared.

No warning followed.

She understood.

Diala would never be evaluated.

Never recorded.

Never observed.

Not by her.

Not by this chamber.

Her gaze drifted back to the remaining gaps.

Outside, the others had reached their cave entrances.

Seven paths.

Seven thresholds.

The air beyond the grasslands tightened.

The assessment had not begun yet.

But it was about to.

And now Hylisi knew–

Some truths do not punish the curious. They erase them.

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