Morning light spilled through the hospital window, but the sun didn’t stir me.

  Soft thumps echoed against tile—Pahu’s heartbeat, ancient and steady.

  I danced.

  Barefoot, I let my body sway in rhythm with the silent hymn in my bones. Pahu kept time, his gourd-like form pulsing with sound. My robe clung to me, damp with sweat; its soft, familiar fabric is a lifeline in this sterile world.

  I danced not for display—but to remember. To anchor myself. To heal.

  Every step was a verse: every breath, an offering.

  The door creaked, but I had already sensed her.

  “Hope you’re decent,” came Cami’s voice, light with amusement.

  “You came early,” I said, lowering my arms as the last motion faded.

  “You were practically glowing,” she smirked. “We’ve got your licensing exam today. I pulled a few strings, so don’t bail on me.”

  I tilted my head. “Bail?”

  “Oh—slang,” she said, scratching behind her ear. “It means to quit or abandon before finishing something.”

  “Ah. Then rest easy. I don’t abandon effort freely given,” I said.

  Cami gave me a grin and tossed me a towel. “Then let’s go, dancer boy.”

  The city overwhelmed me.

  Towering glass spires pierced the sky, glowing signs danced above streets, and invisible voices whispered from unseen speakers.

  Cami moved through it all like a fish in water. She pointed at strange constructs—mana converters pulsing with sterile energy, vehicles that floated without oars or wheels, mechanical birds that watched from overhead.

  “That dome powers half the block,” she said, gesturing toward a humming shield. “Step too close, and you’ll lose your ankles.”

  I slightly nodded, unsure whether it was a warning or humor.

  The city’s mana was unlike any I had known. Not warm, not wild—just… processed. Like water boiled until flavor vanished.

  The west branch of the Hunter Association loomed before us—glass and steel stitched with glowing mana lines, like veins through a machine’s skin. Its entrance towered like a citadel, guarded by two sentries whose armor shimmered with embedded enchantments.

  Inside, the cold wasn’t just in temperature but in silence.

  Hovering lights cast clinical white across obsidian floors. Every surface gleamed like a scalpel. Every step echoed as if daring someone to falter.

  Then I entered.

  Conversations stilled. Heads turned.

  Hunters in form-fitting battle gear, apprentices wrapped in sponsor logos, researchers in immaculate coats—each took their measure of me.

  My robe, though clean, clung to me like a memory. In a world of blade lines and branding, I wore legacy.

  “What’s with the ceremonial look?” someone whispered.

  “Did we get a LARP group scheduled today?” another muttered.

  A few sneered. Some laughed. None approached.

  I walked forward—not in defiance, but in peace.

  Let them doubt. I would not sing to prove myself. I would sing because the world forgot how to listen.

  Cami didn’t react. If she noticed the stares, she didn’t show it. She walked beside me purposefully, leading me to the front desk like I belonged here.

  “Candidate for evaluation,” she said, flashing her ID. “He’s with me.”

  The receptionist hesitated. “You’re the president’s daughter?”

  “Yup. Just put us through.”

  We passed through enchanted gates into a glowing hallway. I was about to ask a question when a guard stopped her.

  “Sorry, miss. We’ll need to take the candidate alone from here.”

  Cami gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this, Ola.”

  I nodded, stepping forward.

  The chamber was silent—circular and bare, save for a towering crystal pillar in the center. Its surface was jagged, formed of fused mana shards that pulsed faintly, like a heart slowed by grief.

  A robed examiner stood nearby, arms folded behind his back.

  “State your class,” he said without looking up.

  “Summoner,” I replied.

  He finally met my eyes. “Place your hand on the crystal. We’ll assess your mana potential.”

  I stepped forward. My palm met the stone.

  Nothing.

  The silence grew heavy. I heard his breath falter into a sigh.

  “No resonance,” he said flatly. “Likely a false classification or unawakened—”

  I closed my eyes.

  And I sang:

  Aroh’kai lun, sel’ven dorah,

  Vah’tel rinn, noa’kin morah.

  Shal ven thu, en’dar ai,

  Open, open, heart to sky.

  English Translation:

  Old roots rise, soul awakes,

  Silent breath the crystal takes.

  Sing with me, don’t ask why,

  Open, open, heart to sky.

  My voice didn’t strike the crystal—it embraced it. Not a command. An invitation.

  The shard stirred. A flicker of violet. Then gold. Then, every color I had ever danced beneath.

  The crystal didn’t flare. It bloomed—like petals slowly opening to an old, familiar hymn.

  The examiner stepped back, his eyes wide.

  “Impossible…” he whispered.

  The room filled with gentle light, circling me like a tide.

  I lifted my hands slowly, smiling as the magic welcomed me home.

  “You… may proceed,” he said, his voice smaller than before.

  The second room was vast—ringed in containment runes, its walls reinforced with arcane plating. Behind the thick glass, staff murmured and watched.

  The new examiner stood like a statue: arms crossed, gaze sharp, frame forged in battlefield experience.

  “Show us your strongest summon,” he said flatly. “Impress us.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I hesitated. “Strongest…?”

  He snapped his fingers.

  “Diamond Golem. Step forward.”

  A towering creature emerged from a side gate, its body forged from gleaming crystal. Mana seals flickered along its chest like brands. It let out a low, resigned sound before bowing slightly—an obedient construct, not a living soul.

  “Try not to embarrass yourself,” the examiner muttered.

  I looked at the golem—not with awe, but sorrow.

  “To be bound... and forgotten,” I whispered.

  Then I began to sing:

  Zel’mora nai, dul’kan thrun,

  Vah’rel kin, dor’mek sun.

  Thal’esh ven, kai’ru meh,

  Dance once more, oh soul now free.

  English Translation:

  Shackles fall, the silence breaks,

  Bound no more, the earth awakes.

  Rise with joy, no need to flee,

  Dance once more, oh soul now free.

  Pahu joined me, his beat soft and steady, guiding the rhythm from below.

  I moved.

  My feet kissed the floor like the tide meeting shore. My hands drew symbols in the air, weaving memories in motion. Hips swayed like a tree in the wind. Each breath I took became part of the dance—a breath for freedom and dignity.

  The golem trembled. Its seal groaned.

  A crack formed. Then another.

  The glass watchers leaned in. The examiner frowned.

  And the final sigil shattered.

  The golem’s eyes blinked open—genuinely open.

  Then it moved.

  Not toward me. With me.

  Massive limbs mirrored my motions. It stumbled at first—clumsy, unsure—then grew confident. Graceful. Alive.

  Together, we spun.

  Light scattered across the chamber like refracted memory. The golem bowed, and I bowed back. We raised our arms skyward as one.

  We danced. Not master and tool.

  Equals.

  Behind the glass, mouths opened. The examiner dropped his clipboard.

  But I saw only the golem.

  I didn’t free it to impress.

  I freed it to remind it that it was more than magic.

  It was soul.

  Then the second examiner stepped forward, a flicker of something unreadable on his face.

  “…That’s enough,” he muttered.

  With a swift incantation and a gesture of dismissal, glowing blue seals reappeared beneath the golem’s feet. The creature gave one last look toward me before its form collapsed into diamond dust and vanished into the seal with a gentle hum.

  “Return to the hall,” the examiner said, not meeting my gaze.

  I gave the space where the golem had stood a respectful bow, then turned and followed the attending staff toward the final chamber.

  I was escorted through another long corridor—this one narrower, colder, silent.

  The walls hummed with wards.

  At the end of the hallway stood a thick door carved with symbols I didn’t recognize—old, tired symbols. They looked less like protection and more like warning.

  The final test.

  Two guards waited outside in heavy armor, their faces hidden behind silver masks.

  They nodded and let me in.

  The final chamber was circular and windowless, lit only by a crystal lantern that cast pale shadows across stone walls. In its center sat a man in long, pristine robes—face unreadable, posture perfect.

  To either side stood enforcers: silent, armored, watchful. Their eyes tracked my every breath.

  I stepped forward, calm.

  The examiner placed an obsidian disk on the table. With a whispered command, the etched glyphs sparked to life—soft blue light circling inward like a breathing eye.

  “Truth seal,” he said. “It reads your voice’s cadence and reveals your true intentions. Just answer honestly and you will be okay.”

  I nodded.

  “We’re not here to gauge strength,” he continued. “That part is... already under review.”

  One enforcer made a soft, dismissive sound. The examiner ignored it.

  “This is about intention,” he said. “Are you a danger?”

  His eyes met mine. Then the questions began.

  “Name?”

  “Ola Pale.”

  The glyph pulsed white—truth.

  “Origin?”

  “Far from here.”

  Another pulse—white.

  “Purpose for seeking a license?”

  “To protect others.”

  Still white.

  “Would you harm another to protect your summon?”

  My hand brushed Pahu’s side.

  “If no other path remained—yes.”

  White again.

  “Have you ever made a pact with a demon, cursed spirit, or entity of forbidden realms?”

  “No.”

  The light held steady.

  “Do you serve any country, association, or guild?”

  “No. I serve none.”

  The seal glowed again.

  “Would you take a life if ordered by this Association?”

  I paused.

  “No.”

  The light dimmed—but did not falter.

  The examiner studied me. Then nodded slowly.

  “That will be noted.”

  He closed the book before him and waved a hand over the glyph. It dimmed to nothing.

  “You’re not like the others,” he said. “That doesn’t make you dangerous. It makes you someone to keep an eye on.”

  He stood.

  “Your provisional license will be granted. You’ll begin as E-Rank. Do not give us a reason to rethink that.” The examiner said with narrowed eyes. "We will be keeping an eye on you, young summoner."

  I bowed slightly. “I’ll walk carefully.”

  The enforcers parted for me as I left the room.

  But I felt their eyes on my back until the door shut behind me.

  I stepped out of the final chamber, the heavy door closing with a dull thud behind me.

  Cami was leaning against the wall just outside, arms crossed, one foot tapping the floor in idle rhythm. Her posture relaxed when she saw me, but her eyes quickly scanned me for damage, worry hidden beneath a smirk.

  “Well?” she asked. “You don’t look vaporized, so I guess that’s a win.”

  I nodded. “It’s over.”

  She pushed off the wall and walked beside me. “So? What rank did they give you?”

  “E.”

  She stopped mid-step, blinking. “E? As in... entry-level?”

  “Yes,” I replied calmly.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered. “You lit up a mana pillar like a divine tree, made a diamond golem dance, and they stuck you with E-rank?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps... they fear what they do not understand.”

  She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue but stopped herself. A flicker of tension passed across her features—quick but not unnoticed.

  “…Right. Never mind. Let’s not push it,” she said, quieter this time. “Better to keep a low profile. My siblings already ask enough questions, and if my dad finds out I fast-tracked you…”

  She shook her head and forced a smile. “Come on, let's celebrate. I know a place.”

  We found ourselves in a narrow corner of the city, between towering holo-billboards and neon clutter.

  “Slice of Heaven,” the sign read—its letters flickering in soft pink LEDs.

  Inside, the air was thick with warmth and scent: baked bread, melting cheese, woodsmoke, and herbs I didn’t know the names of.

  My stomach groaned in anticipation.

  Cami ordered a half-meat, half-veggie mix drowned in extra cheese without hesitation. I didn’t ask questions.

  When the plate arrived, I stared at the circular dish before me. Steam curled upward.

  “What... is it?”

  “Pizza,” she said, grinning. “Sacred food of the modern era. Trust me.”

  I lifted the slice gingerly—hands steady, reverent—and took a bite.

  The world stopped.

  Tangy sauce. Soft, molten cheese. Crust that crackled just right. My eyes widened as the flavors bloomed across my tongue.

  I swallowed, exhaled, and said, “This... is divine.”

  “Told you,” Cami smirked.

  Pahu hovered nearby, curious. I broke off a piece and offered it.

  A small mouth unfurled from his smooth surface. He plucked the morsel, chewed, then released a soft hum—content, glowing.

  “Oh my gods, he purred!” Cami laughed. “You’re raising a food critic.”

  I chuckled.

  In this moment, surrounded by laughter, spice, and spirit—I felt something I hadn’t known since before the fall.

  Home.

  Then I turned to Cami. "How did you know what happened during my tests?"

  She raised an eyebrow, then grinned. "I might’ve pulled a few more strings than I let on. They let me be an on-looker from behind the observation panels—got to see everything."

  I blinked. "Even the golem?"

  "Especially the golem," she said. "Everyone in the viewing hall nearly dropped their jaws when you started dancing with it. I thought the examiner was going to faint."

  I chuckled softly. "It only needed to be reminded it was alive."

  Cami rested her chin on her hand, watching me. "You really aren’t like anyone else here, Ola."

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. So I didn’t. Not with words, at least.

  The world's noise faded momentarily, and I sat—full, calm, and... strangely welcome.

  "So what is the plan after this?" I ask, looking up at Cami while taking small bites of the pizza slice in hand and handing parts to Pahu, who hungrily devoured it.

  After the last slice was claimed and Pahu began a satisfied hum that made nearby diners smile, Cami stood up, brushing crumbs off her hoodie.

  “Alright, last step,” Cami said, stretching. “Let’s get your citizenship started. I’ve got a priority tab open through the Association's internal network. If we move quickly, we might skip the queue.”

  I nodded though wariness coiled low in my stomach. Luck had never walked beside me for long.

  We stepped out into the late afternoon glow. The breeze smelled of ozone and dust. Cami flicked open her holoband, pulling up a digital slate and preparing to scan her credentials—

  “Camila Reyes. You’re coming with us.”

  The voice cut the moment like a blade.

  Three agents approached coats bearing the Hunter Association emblem—silver on black, faintly glowing. Their expressions were carved from stone.

  “Escort protocol said I had clearance,” Cami replied, stepping between me and them.

  “Directive changed,” the tallest agent said. “Both of you. Main branch. Now.”

  Her jaw tightened. She glanced back at me, weighing resistance.

  Then sighed. “Fine. But we’re not criminals, alright?”

  The agents didn’t respond.

  The building they led us to was the same—but not—the lights dimmer. The halls emptier. The silence... watchful.

  We passed closed training arenas, sealed archives, and portraits of old warriors with heavy eyes. The carpet muted our footsteps like we’d stepped into a memory.

  At the end of the hall are double doors of lacquered wood and aged mana carved with the crest of a time before the current age.

  One opened without a word.

  Inside sat an old man. There was no frailty in him—age-honed into authority. His robe bore the oldest iteration of the Association’s crest, its threads faded but unyielding.

  His gaze swept over me, then fixed on Cami.

  “Is that your father?” I whispered.

  “Worse,” she muttered under her breath. “My granddad.”

  “Camila.” His voice rolled through the room—measured, unshaken. “Of all my grandchildren, you should know better than to hide things from me... or to pull strings in your father’s name without his consent.”

  We said nothing.

  Not yet.