"I'm going to show you my Gaia Super-Piercing Torpedo! Please, place the target at six hundred meters!"
"Is here good?"
"No, you idiot! You can put it a bit… closer… ah, perfect!"
"RARE-SUMMON SUPER-PIERCING GAIAAAAA!"
In the great Warehouse, a blond man with long hair fired an arrow at a distance no ordinary human could reach. At least, not with that precision. The arrow crossed the air without showing signs of losing speed until the last meters — and, even while weakening at the end of the trajectory, it passed through the center of the metal target from end to end.
He was dressed theatrically — as though life were a stage set up just for him. A cape that fluttered without wind, bracers of worked leather, and a rehearsed posture before an audience that, in truth, didn't exist. Every gesture was too big. Every pose, calculated to impress eyes that weren't impressed.
The smug smile on his face said it all.
He had achieved exactly what he had trained his whole life to achieve. The effort was stamped on him — years of sweat, of dedication, condensed into that single shot. He had summoned a rare hero of a race that strongly resembled elves, though it was completely distinct from them in customs and manners. And the power he had acquired was the rarest of that species: the Eagle Eyes.
Tied to good archery, it was the kind of skill that made any human dangerous — and, at the same time, a valuable target to be brought down.
The arrow lodged in the exact center of the metal target, at six hundred meters, splitting the previous one in half. It was, without any doubt, an impressive demonstration. The kind of feat that would make any low- and mid-tier human family fight over that man at his weight in gold.
And maybe that was exactly the problem. Sebastian knew he was good. He knew it too well. Each arrow he hit was less a demonstration of skill and more a request for applause — and, in a place where silence was already the answer, insisting on being applauded was the kind of mistake that cost dearly.
✦ ✦ ✦
A few meters from there, at a rectangular table covered with exotic foods, seven people watched.
In the center, an older man, flanked by two henchmen standing. The other four were seated — all younger than the elder, and all with the same expression of contained discomfort, the kind of someone who learned, in the worst possible way, not to show what they think before that man.
"Who was it that brought this idiot?"
"Sir, he has a rare skill and is one of the best archers in the world, even before going to the Oasis. Besides, his family—"
"I think you didn't understand something, Celine. I don't give a damn about his family. And I give even less of a damn about an imbecile who keeps shouting the damn skill he's going to use. And what ridiculous name is that… piercing of what, again?"
A man with glasses, standing beside the elder, leaned in to whisper.
"Gaia Piercing, sir."
"Screw that damn Gaia."
Celine, who seemed to be the one responsible for bringing that candidate, tried to defend him.
"Elder, despite his… eccentricities, he commands a quite capable kingdom, full of max-level archers. In a garrison mission, an army of archers could—"
"Celine. I respect you, because you're part of the family's inner circle. But if you don't get this crap out of my sight in thirty seconds, I'll kill you and him myself."
Celine shrank.
She knew that old man was many things — but a liar wasn't one of them. If he said he would kill, it was because he would kill. That was, perhaps, the only absolute certainty within the Crivald family: the elder's word was worth as much as a sentence already carried out.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll remove him right now."
The woman stood up hurriedly, advancing to the archer, who was now trying to fire two arrows at once, completely oblivious to the fact that his life had just been spared by thirty seconds of someone else's good sense.
"Sebastian! You can stop!"
"Celine, my love! We were accepted! I knew that with my skil—"
"Shut up and let's get out of here fast, or we're both going to die."
Her look of desperation made the man store the bow in his ring and leave in a hurry.
He didn't understand. He probably never would understand how close to death he had passed, or that the woman dragging him out had just saved both their lives at the cost of her own prestige. To Sebastian, that had been just one more performance interrupted too soon.
Now, only four people remained at the table. And the old man finally brought his hand to his head.
"We're screwed. Do any of you have any other option?"
The four remained uncomfortable.
They understood that the elder's expectation was something they would never manage to meet. For three of the four there, Celine's candidate was, ironically, the best option they would have. He wasn't the strongest — but who, in their right mind, would accept such a risky mission for a pittance?
Ammit blood strengthened human vitality, yes, but there were countless other items that did something similar. Not with the same potency, most certainly. But with far less risk. That was the silent problem that hovered around the table: the reward, however large, didn't justify, for most of the competent, the near certainty of death in hostile territory. The good ones knew how to calculate. And the calculation, in that case, said to run.
What remained, then, were the desperate. And the fools.
"Bring the next candidate."
✦ ✦ ✦
The others didn't even have time to mourn the departure of the only decent option.
Because, before they could say anything, the gate of the great warehouse opened — and another man entered. He walked unhurried, without the archer's pomp, without the typical nervousness of someone presenting themselves before a powerful family. He just walked, as though that were any place and that, any afternoon.
"State your name, level, and skill."
It was customary for everyone to answer a small questionnaire conducted by one of the elder's henchwomen.
And she wasn't just any henchwoman. That woman possessed a peculiar power — the ability to identify fear, pain, pleasure, and a series of other things that allowed her to know whether someone was lying, whether they were being coerced, whether they were hiding something. It was a gift fascinating and terrifying in equal measure.
Being the elder's right hand, a single word from her made heads roll without mercy. But she was also useful: she filtered the summoned long before they even set foot in the test area. Liars were discarded. Spies, exposed. Cowards disguised as brave, revealed before they cost the family time.
"May I ask a question first?"
The four, still hunched over the table thinking about how to get out of that day alive, were surprised.
The man before them was clearly a rookie. And, even more, someone from a farm — the simple returnee clothing, handed out by the army, gave him away. For a second, the four almost smiled. After all, everything that rookie did was dig his own grave — which, for them, could even be good. That audacity might be an opportunity. It would take something foolish, any slip, for the rookie to draw upon himself all the elder's fury, making the incompetence of each of them be, at least for today, forgotten.
"How dare you address the Grand Elder of the Crivald family?"
The old man, unlike the fury of the henchman with glasses at his side, just smiled.
Interested.
And, for the four, that was a good sign — because the elder had the habit of placing expectation in places where he shouldn't. That rookie's boldness would be his ruin, should he dare say something stupid.
"What does a boy from the farms want to know?"
The man approached. The woman and the henchman moved in front of the old man — and were stopped by the man himself.
"Let him approach. I'm curious."
The four seated almost smiled. After all, everything that rookie did was deepen his own grave further. But not even they expected what he would say.
"I want to know if it's possible to advance the prize, in case I pass the challenge."
The shock was general.
Not only for the audacity, but for the total absence of caution — as though the man simply didn't care about the slightest tact when speaking to the elder. Favors were asked of that man on one's knees, with a trembling voice. And there stood a rookie, a farm commoner, negotiating conditions as though it were he doing the favor. They felt the old man could kill him right there.
But, to everyone's surprise, the elder didn't mind.
There was an instant — brief, almost imperceptible — in which the four thought they would see blood. The henchman with glasses even unsheathed his sword, like someone already preparing to kill the audacious one. But, unlike the expectation, the reality was even more disconcerting.
Because the old man simply began to smile.
"HAHAHA! You're very funny, boy. Let's do the following: show me what you're capable of. And, should you surprise me, maybe I'll accept your suggestion."
The woman behind the man leaned in quickly, whispering near the old man's ear.
"Grand Elder, don't you think you're going too far over a mere farm man?"
The old man wasn't bothered. He just smiled.
"Frida. Analyze this man. And you'll understand. I feel something emanating from him."
✦ ✦ ✦
Frida had been raised by the Crivald family since childhood.
Coming from a low family, she had never dreamed of being where she was. But the Oasis had favored her — with a rare summon, and even more with the only epic skill available from that summon. Of course, that cost years of hard work and loyal service. Sleepless nights. Trials that nearly killed her. But, with time, she understood that everything she had conquered was, one way or another, because of that man. For that reason, she swore to use her own power for the good of the family until her last breath.
Who would have guessed that his daughter — and Frida's dearest friend — would be punished with the same intensity with which Frida was favored.
But that was a wound for another moment.
"Understood, my lord. I'll analyze."
Her power was an epic skill poorly understood by most: the ability to analyze a person's soul.
Very few races could restrict access to their own soul — and humans, most certainly, weren't in that select group. Souls don't lie. They don't know how. However much the mouth lies, however much the face deceives, the soul remains naked before whoever can see it. Knowing the truth, however, was only the tip of the iceberg.
Frida's true gift, the one no one knew besides her master, was another.
To see the real power — that of each skill tied to the DNA, and, consequently, to the very soul of the individual.
It was a draining gift, one that dragged her into a kind of parallel world where she saw everyone's souls as spheres of light floating in the dark of the universe. A soul of a few centimeters — like a little ball of snow — was that of an ordinary human. The larger the sphere, the greater the potential. The more intense the light, the greater the power already awakened.
And she was already used to using her own boss's soul as a ruler.
Almost a whole meter, with the greatest light she had ever seen in her entire life. It was the standard against which she measured all the others — and never, not once, had anyone come close. Even the archer from before, who she knew was technically the best candidate present, had a sphere less than half the size of the elder's. That was how the world worked. There were the giants, like her master. And there was all the rest.
Her eyes rolled back, leaving only the white showing.
"She's doing it."
The four knew what that meant. From that moment on, she would analyze every detail — every word, every gesture, every spark of that man's soul.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Very well. I'll begin. Excuse me."
The man moved away, positioning himself in the center of the warehouse — where the archer had been before.
"Well… I'm a summoner, then. Come, Zaetar."
An enormous Aqrabuamelu appeared, startling everyone at the table.
The creature was immense — a scorpion-man of dark chitin, with pincers that could split a man in half and a tail that hovered in the air like a living threat. It wasn't the kind of summon you see every day. It wasn't the kind you see almost ever.
The four men at the table stiffened in their chairs. One of them, instinctively, brought his hand to the weapon at his waist, before realizing that a sudden movement before an offspring of that size would be the last thing he did in life. The creature didn't attack. It just existed there, monstrous and calm, awaiting an order that didn't come.
And the elder felt a strong squeeze on his shoulder.
It was Frida's hand — the whitened eyes, the hand clutching him with a strength he didn't expect. A positive sign. But not just any sign: that squeeze meant something so rare that, even having been the one to teach her the code, it was the first time in all those years he had seen it actually happen.
"So he has the same potential as me…"
The old man spoke more to himself than to the others — who were still fascinated with the summon.
After all, a summoner was already rare. And on top of that with a creature of that size, clearly made for battle. The few summoners he knew summoned small creatures, useful only for espionage or light transport. That there was a whole other category — a weapon of war with a will of its own.
"I also have a healing power. Simple."
The man took a knife from the ring and made a small cut on his own wrist — before casting a magic that closed the wound on the spot, the skin sealing as though the blade had never touched it.
The four were dumbfounded.
That should be impossible. A fresh rookie with two of the rarest and most coveted skills that existed. Summoning and healing. Each of them, alone, was already the kind of gift that made entire families go to war to recruit the bearer. The two together, in a single man, were almost a tasteless joke by the Oasis itself.
A new squeeze on the old man's shoulder made him even more anxious.
One thing was a strong power. Two was already absurd. The smile on his face was impossible to hide — a smile of almost sick desire, the expression of a collector who had just found the missing piece.
"And I also have one last power, simpler. It allows me to summon some weapons through my Mark."
The man simply made a sword appear from nothing.
But it wasn't the sword that shocked the table.
It was the scream.
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
Frida collapsed to the floor, her hands clutched over her own eyes, screaming in a way that chilled even the old elder.
It wasn't a scream of surprise. Nor of physical pain. It was something deeper — the sound of someone who saw something the human mind wasn't made to process, and that the body, for lack of another response, translated into pure screaming.
The man who summoned the weapon quickly approached the fallen woman, casting his own healing power over her. She still screamed a few times, writhing on the floor — but the magic, little by little, calmed her. It took ten minutes until everything quieted and she finally fell asleep, exhausted, her face still marked by tears that hadn't stopped even in unconsciousness.
"I think she'll be okay. I used all the healing I had on her, I hope she recovers. As for the exam…"
"You passed. One of you four, accompany this man to our hangar and prepare him."
The four were shocked — before something they had never witnessed.
In all the years serving the elder, they had never seen Frida react like that to anyone whatsoever. She had analyzed assassins, monsters, candidates whose souls were pits of violence — and never, not once, had she screamed. But there was nothing to be done now. One of them mustered the courage and guided the unknown man out.
"Cris. Take Frida to my room and care for her. When she wakes up, call me."
Cris, the henchman with glasses, looked at the master, who was moving away lost in thought, confused by everything that had happened.
It took nearly eight hours until Frida woke up with a start. And Cris ran to call his master.
✦ ✦ ✦
Frida was still pouring sweat.
She tried, with all her strength, not to think about what she had seen — but, whenever her mind wandered, it was that which returned. Relentless. The tears ran on their own down her face. She had never, in her entire life, felt so much fear — and the worst was that she couldn't even properly name the thing that terrified her.
While she held her own head, trying to contain the crying, a hand approached from behind and stroked her back.
"What happened, my daughter?"
She didn't respond immediately. She just turned and hugged the one who had always helped her, who had always been at her side like family.
"I'm sorry."
The crying became desperate, while the old man just calmed her.
To him, Frida was like a second daughter. And it was exactly for that reason he was so shocked — and so confused. He had seen that woman face horrors without blinking. He had seen the coldness with which she condemned enemies of the family. The Frida he knew didn't cry, didn't tremble, didn't apologize for anything. And yet, there she was, undone in his arms like the child he had taken in decades ago.
But, while he thought about what could have caused that, Frida's low voice reached his ears.
"Where is he?"
At first, he didn't know who she was talking about. Then, he realized it could only be one person.
"He was transferred to the family's hive."
"I see."
The voice came out thin. And he knew, as well as he knew his own daughter, what that tone meant.
Fear.
So he mustered the courage to get to the heart of what he suspected.
"What… did… you… see?"
Tears began to run down her face again as she tried to translate into words what her mind strained to hide — as though she were too afraid even to admit she had seen it.
The seconds turned into minutes. The man didn't rush her.
He just waited, his hand on her back, with the patience of someone who understands that some truths need their own time to come out. Until something reached his ears. A moan. Of pain, of fear — no, more than fear.
Terror.
"S… Sun…"
"Sorry, Fri, I don't understa—"
She raised her red eyes. And, for the first time, he saw in those eyes something that created a fragility that should never have existed. Something broken. Something that should never have existed.
"A Sun. Black."