The hall was not built.
That is what the ancient records say.
It was discovered… and then the clan was built around it.
Beneath the deepest layers of the main headquarters, where air pressure changes and breathing becomes heavier for no clear reason, stretched a vast hall, as if a cavity had been cut from the body of the mountain itself. The pillars were not decorated, and the walls were not painted, yet the place carried a presence that made decoration seem like a violation unworthy of it.
The stones were dark… so dark that light did not reflect, but was slowly absorbed, as if the hall did not want to be fully seen.
Even sound was strange here.
Any step could be heard… but its echo never returned.
As if the hall acknowledged only the present.
At the heart of this emptiness, across stone tiers carved with precision unlike the tools of this age, thousands of cradles were lined up. Long rows, perfectly parallel, with geometric accuracy. No chaos, no randomness. Every cradle was spaced at the same distance, as if the children, from the moment of their birth, had been entered into an equation.
No crying was heard.
Some children were asleep.
Others moved their limbs with slow instinct.
But something in the air made even the infants calmer than they should be… as if their small bodies sensed, without awareness, that they were in the presence of something older than the concept of childhood itself.
Above the tiers, on a semicircular platform rising several meters high, stood the elders.
No one announced their arrival.
No drums were struck.
Yet… when they settled into their places, the air changed.
Not metaphorically.
It was a real feeling of weight.
These were not merely clan leaders.
Each one was like a chapter from a history no longer told to the public.
Their robes were not luxurious. Their colors were quiet, their lines simple… but the simplicity was not humility. It was the mark of those who no longer needed to prove anything.
Sheikh Farin stood in the center, his back straight like a spear planted in an ancient battlefield. His silver hair fell naturally, and his eyes were fixed on the hall, not inspecting… but measuring.
To his right stood Sheikhah Vanara, her features sharp as if carved by a cold blade. She was not looking at the children, but at the spaces between them, the angles, the slight curves in the rows of cradles.
She said calmly,
"Is the matter truly so dangerous that the ancestors ordered us to change the test?"
Dravo answered without turning his head,
"Yes. We have all reviewed the records. The rate of anomalous births has risen recently."
He paused, then added,
"You all know that anomalies are individuals who grow up to cause changes that shake the entire universe and leave marks on history that cannot be erased."
"The clearest example is that mad family within the clan."
Sheikh Farin's eyes gleamed slightly as he added,
"You all know that when the birth rate of anomalies rises, especially within powerful clans, it signals an upcoming era of chaos."
Katara said,
"After receiving the ancestors' message, I reviewed the statistics sent by the ten supreme clans and the transcendent sects… despite hiding their data, the anomaly birth rate is indeed high."
Vanara nodded slightly.
"It seems we are truly approaching ages of chaos."
A faint smile passed across Katara's lips as he sat with his hands inside his robe.
"At least we will witness events that free us from this boredom."
Another voice intervened, rough but calm. It was Sheikh Zamasa.
"Indeed. At least we have lived long enough to witness these ages that were only mentioned in history."
Vanara turned toward him.
"A group of fools. Surviving in such ages is a blessing."
He replied without emotion,
"It doesn't matter."
Farin stepped forward slightly. Just one step… but it was enough for everyone to fall silent without being asked.
He said,
"We are not here to discuss the philosophy of survival."
Then he looked at the hall again.
"But to ensure it."
A brief silence followed… but it was not empty.
It was the silence of those who knew that what was happening now was not an administrative procedure… but a ritual the clan had preserved for centuries because it knew that neglecting beginnings is paid for with blood at the end.
Moments passed, then Dravo said,
"Whenever I attend this ritual… I remember a phrase engraved in the first archive."
Katara raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Which phrase?"
He answered,
"Clans that leave their future to chance… become a coincidence in someone else's future."
No one commented.
It was not a sentence to debate… but a truth history had proven enough times.
Below, one of the children moved slightly in his cradle, and Sheikhah Anata looked toward him.
She watched him for two seconds… three… then said,
"Neural response is good."
Zamasa smiled, barely visible.
"Even their breathing is read here."
Vanara replied coldly,
"Those who are not read early… are difficult to read when they grow up."
There was no threat in her words… only cold logic.
In this clan, luck was not a respected concept.
Luck was a word used by those who lacked the time or the ability to calculate.
Here…
everything was measured.
Even the future.
At the center of the hall, at an equal distance from all the tiers, stood a black slab, upright as if the earth itself had once expelled it and then regretted it.
It was not supported by pillars.
No mechanism was seen around it.
It was simply there.
Its surface was smooth… yet reflected nothing.
Even the light that fell upon it did not return, but quietly vanished, like a drop of ink dissolving into a night sea.
Farin approached it slowly, not with artificial reverence, but with the respect of a man who knows that some things are never fully understood… yet have proven their worth over time.
He said in a low voice, as if the hall itself were listening,
"The Mirror of Paths."
Anata murmured,
"Thousands of ages… perhaps more."
Dravo added,
"The oldest record indicates it was here before this land carried its current name."
Vanara passed her fingers through the air without touching the surface.
"The strange thing is that it shows no signs of erosion… as if time simply passes beside it."
Katara replied,
"Things that read time… are not consumed by it."
There was no poetry in his words… only observation.
Farin gestured with his hand.
Several guards stepped forward quietly, carrying the first cradle.
No ceremony.
No cheering.
Only precise, calculated movement, as if executing an equation.
The cradle was placed before the slab.
For a moment…
nothing happened.
Then—
a faint light appeared within the darkness.
Not a beam… but small points, like distant stars beginning to awaken.
Three bright points formed.
The elders watched without approaching.
Dravo said calmly,
"Three stars."
Vanara replied immediately,
"A stable path of ascent."
"No future anomaly expected."
One assistant recorded the note without raising his head.
No congratulations.
No surprise.
Only documentation.
The cradle was lifted… and another was brought.
This time, no stars appeared.
Instead, a long cracked line formed, like thirsty land.
Anata studied it.
"Early fracture… probability of an end before full maturity."
Zamasa asked,
"Survival rate?"
She answered,
"Low… but not zero."
He nodded.
"Then the path is not closed yet."
A third child.
A dark wave formed, resembling a still sea… yet its depth suggested violence.
Katara said,
"A sea without shores."
Farin replied,
"It often ends in war… or leads to it."
Then he added, as if speaking to himself,
"But the probability of being an anomaly that affects the fabric of the universe is nearly nonexistent."
Minutes passed.
Cradle after cradle.
Different symbols.
A broken crown.
A single faint star.
Intersecting lines.
And each time… the interpretation came as a short sentence, without emotion, as if they were not reading individual futures… but weather maps.
After a while, Dravo said,
"The mirror has never been wrong."
Vanara looked at him from the corner of her eye.
"Rather, we were sometimes wrong in understanding it."
He smiled slightly.
"True… it does not predict."
She completed his thought,
"It shows the most truthful path… at the moment of reading."
Zamasa asked,
"Do paths change?"
Farin answered,
"Everything changes… but change has a price."
He paused.
Then said,
"And whoever is born with a heavy path… will pay for it one way or another."
At that moment, those standing nearby thought the surface of the mirror rippled slightly… as if it had heard.
But no one commented.
In this place…
not everything that is noticed is spoken.
The ritual continued.
Quiet.
Precise.
Like a civilizational machine that had been running for centuries without failure.
Above, the elders kept watching.
No worry on their faces.
No haste.
Only that cold focus…
of people who know that the future is not left to happen.
It is read first.