Chapter 100 – The Path of the Incomplete

  The underground chamber hummed with residual energy, the air thick with the weight of Eo’s words. Silence stretched between the children, a fragile moment where decisions teetered on the edge of uncertainty.

  Then, movement.

  The girl with violet eyes—her mana still unstable—took a hesitant step forward. Her gaze remained locked onto Eo, wary but unbroken. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the energy surrounding her.

  “You said… we’re incomplete,” she murmured. “That we don’t fit into their system. Then… what are we supposed to be?”

  A flicker of something unreadable passed through Eo’s hollow gaze. Not quite satisfaction, but acknowledgment.

  “You are anomalies,” Eo said, his voice measured. “Outliers. The natural world does not accommodate those who stray from its rules—it rejects them, hunts them, erases them.” His gaze swept across the others. “That is your fate. Unless you rewrite it.”

  The children shifted, uncertain. Some lowered their heads, avoiding his gaze. Others clenched their hands, struggling to suppress emotions they didn’t fully understand.

  But the silver-haired boy—the one with the dull, empty eyes—spoke next.

  “If we don’t fit… then why are you interested in us?” His tone was flat, but there was an edge to it, a hint of defiance buried beneath layers of detachment.

  Eo turned his attention to him. “Because neither do I.”

  The chamber fell into another stretch of silence, but this time, the weight of it was different. He had given them something to consider—not a promise, not a reassurance, but a statement of undeniable truth.

  The violet-eyed girl inhaled sharply. Her hands clenched at her sides.

  “What do we have to do?”

  Eo raised his hand. The energy in the chamber stirred, shifting like an unseen tide. The ground beneath them pulsed with power, faint glowing lines beginning to spread outward in intricate patterns—magic circuits, ancient and unknown to the common world.

  Eo's thoughts remained sharp, detached, as he observed the formation unfold. This was not a simple test. It was the culmination of his research, an experimental design built from his understanding of both science and magic.

  The formation was a Self-Adaptive Trial Construct, a network of interconnected circuits woven into the very foundation of the chamber. It functioned on three primary principles:

  Resonance Analysis – The formation actively scanned each participant’s mana structure, physical condition, and psychological state, constructing a tailored challenge that would target their deepest flaws.

  Iterative Refinement – The trial was not fixed. It adjusted in real time, adapting based on the participant’s reactions. A test of intelligence would shift based on problem-solving strategies. A test of endurance would escalate in intensity based on resistance. Failure was not static—it evolved.

  Potential Extraction – Most trials merely evaluated. Eo’s construct forced growth. It manipulated external stimuli to draw out latent abilities, even those buried within a participant’s subconscious. It was not meant to be fair. It was meant to be absolute.

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  This system was not something he had copied from the world. It was something he had created, a concept born from his relentless analysis of magic and structure. The world relied on predefined systems, but Eo had already learned that such things were limitations in disguise. If the world was bound by rules, he would rewrite them.

  He spoke, his voice carrying an almost imperceptible reverberation, as if it came from something beyond the realm of flesh and blood.

  “You will face trials. Not ones dictated by tradition or doctrine, but by the very essence of existence itself.” His head tilted slightly. “You will break, again and again. And in that breaking, you will either forge yourselves anew… or you will be lost.”

  Some of the children flinched at his words. Others remained silent, absorbing them.

  Then Eo lowered his hand. The patterns on the ground solidified, forming what appeared to be separate paths, each glowing faintly in different hues—subtle, yet distinct.

  “This is the beginning,” he said. “Step forward, and your paths will be revealed.”

  The children hesitated. The weight of their choice was clear.

  And then, the violet-eyed girl stepped forward once more.

  The moment her foot touched the glowing path before her, the energy reacted—magic rising around her like invisible threads. Her body shuddered, her unstable mana fluctuating wildly, but she did not retreat.

  One by one, the others followed.

  The silver-haired boy, his expression unreadable. The dusk-skinned girl with the glowing markings. The rest, each uncertain but compelled forward.

  The chamber pulsed with life as the paths activated, each child drawn into their own trial. Their figures flickered, then vanished.

  The room returned to silence.

  Caelum, who had watched the exchange without speaking, exhaled slowly. “You’re testing them.”

  Eo turned, his featureless mask reflecting the dim light. “I am refining them.”

  A beat of silence passed between them.

  Caelum adjusted his stance. “And if they fail?”

  Eo did not answer immediately. He simply watched the glowing paths, his expression—if he had one—impossible to read.

  “They either evolve,” he finally said, “or they cease to matter.”

  Vera opened her eyes.

  The chamber was gone. The others were gone.

  She stood in an unfamiliar place, a vast expanse of endless sky stretching in every direction. No ground, no walls, no sky above or below—just space, suspended in infinity.

  Panic flared in her chest, but before it could take hold, a voice echoed around her.

  “What are you?”

  She turned sharply. No one was there.

  But she felt something—something pressing against the edge of her thoughts, slithering through the corners of her mind.

  A test.

  She exhaled, steadying herself. She had taken that step forward. Now, she had to prove that she wasn’t a mistake.

  “I am Vera,” she said, her voice firm. “And I will not be erased.”

  The space around her trembled.

  And the trial began.

  Lucien stood in darkness.

  Unlike Vera’s trial, there was no endless sky, no vast space. Only the void.

  Cold. Empty.

  Nothingness stretched before him, around him, within him.

  A low whisper curled through the air.

  “You are nothing. You have always been nothing.”

  Lucien closed his eyes. The words should have shaken him. They didn’t.

  He had always known.

  But that was why he was here.

  To become something more.

  He exhaled. “Show me.”

  The void stirred.

  And it consumed him whole.

  Caelum glanced at the last remaining path. It had not yet activated.

  He frowned. “One didn’t enter.”

  Eo turned his gaze toward the boy still standing at the edge. A younger child, smaller than the others, his features delicate—almost fragile. Unlike the rest, he had not stepped forward.

  He simply stood there, staring at the glowing paths, his fingers curled tightly into his sleeves.

  Caelum raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to do with him?”

  Eo remained silent for a moment.

  Then, he crouched slightly, lowering himself to the boy’s level. The child tensed under his gaze.

  “You hesitate,” Eo observed.

  The boy bit his lip, looking away. “I… don’t know if I should.”

  A flicker of something passed through Eo’s form. He studied the child for a long moment.

  Then, instead of pushing him forward, he did something unexpected.

  He offered his hand.

  No force. No command.

  Just a choice.

  The boy’s fingers trembled.

  And after a long, uncertain moment…

  He reached out.

  The last path activated.

  And he vanished.

  Eo straightened, his gaze lingering on the space where the boy had stood.

  Caelum crossed his arms. “That one… is different, isn’t he?”

  Eo turned. His hollow gaze bore into Caelum, unreadable as always.

  Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he answered.

  “Perhaps.”

  And the chamber fell silent once more.