The light bends as I pass through the gate.
One moment, I am stepping across the water's surface—next, I am beneath a sky that does not belong to the world I left behind.
Stillwater Reach.
The air here is colder. Thinner. The clouds curve like threads of smoke drawn by unseen hands, and the trees nearby—blue-leaved, tall, unbending—stand in perfect unnatural rows. It's too quiet, too measured, like the land itself is watching.
I take only one step forward before I feel it.
A ripple in the air.
Not from my ring.
From someone else.
"Remove your mask," a voice says behind me.
I turn slowly.
She stands atop a stone outcrop above the path, draped in blue-gray robes that shimmer like mist. Her hair is black, bound in coils that rise like a crown. No weapon in sight—but her eyes are the sharpest things I've seen today.
"I'd rather not," I say.
She doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch.
"You entered through the gate. You passed the Trial of Reflection. But Stillwater does not permit secrets."
"Then it's already doomed," I reply.
That earns me a pause.
And a smile. Just faint. Just enough.
"Name?" she asks.
"I've given it up," I say.
"Then what should we call you?"
I tap the edge of my mask. "Call me what this calls me."
She studies me for a moment longer. Then descends from the stone as if walking on wind. Her boots never touch the dirt.
"Very well, Masked One. I am Keeper Elvare. Warden of the Threshold and Head of Induction."
She gestures down the mist-veiled path.
"Stillwater Reach accepts all who pass the gate. But understand—entry is not belonging. You must *earn* your place here."
"I've done that once before," I mutter.
She hears it.
But doesn't ask.
Instead, she hands me a narrow slip of parchment marked with a symbol of two crescent moons interlocked.
"Your schedule. Your trial mark. And your provisional rank—until the Elders assess your foundation."
She leans in slightly, voice lower now.
"You reek of hidden cultivation. I don't know how you got here so fast. But don't think no one else will notice."
She's right.
Someone already has.
Footsteps echo behind me. Too loud. Deliberate.
I turn.
A tall youth in green robes steps forward, flanked by two others. His aura is scattered, raw—but he's been training longer than most in Darnem Hollow ever lived.
"Another stray worm creeping in under Elvare's shadow," he sneers. "Let's see if your mask hides a coward or a corpse."
He draws a training stave from his back and slams it into the ground.
"Trial Challenge. Right here. Right now."
Elvare raises a brow but says nothing. She watches me.
My hand doesn't reach for the ring.
I step forward.
One step.
Two.
Then I speak.
"If I knock you down, will you shut up long enough for me to learn something *useful* today?"
Gasps ripple from the path beyond. Other initiates have gathered, drawn by the commotion.
The green-robed boy lunges.
He's fast. Proud of it. He swings low, sweeping for my legs.
I don't dodge.
I *turn* with it.
His blow scrapes air.
And I drop my weight onto his center—elbow to collarbone. The movement is clean. Silent. Years of war honed into one breath.
He collapses.
Groaning.
No ring used. No light. Just memory. Precision.
I look at Elvare.
"Was that part of the welcome?"
She shrugs. "Stillwater tests in its own ways."
The crowd parts as I walk past them.
Let them talk.
Let them wonder.
They can guess at my foundation all they like.
The ring hums beneath my cloak.
Still quiet.
Still hidden.
But ready.