The final week before P.R.I.M.E. had begun.
Lumisgrave, once steeped in uncertainty, now stirred with focused determination. Training Centers buzzed day and night. People sparred, meditated, channeled, and collapsed into the earth from exhaustion — but no one stopped.
From cliffside platforms to forest-clearings, from water domes to flame valleys — the Awakened were preparing.
And within the highest tower of the palace, King Farhan stood at the head of the obsidian roundtable, his hands clasped, his gaze cast into the golden light of morning.
Surrounding him sat the most trusted minds of Lumisgrave:
Julious, his black robe and quiet thoughtfulness as sharp as ever.
Camero, youthful and determined, sitting with his fists closed.
Parche, observant and silent, always listening before he spoke.
Rivers, the eldest, his white hair like frost laced in experience.
The chamber was quiet — but the tension, like a drawn bow, could be felt in every breath.
Farhan finally spoke.
> "We are six days from P.R.I.M.E."
No one replied. They didn't need to. The pressure of that truth was already tightening around every pillar of leadership.
The King stepped from his seat and walked slowly around the table.
> "We have done what no kingdom has done before — accepted awakening. Encouraged growth. Given the people space to find their gift."
> "But now comes the true test… not of them… but of us."
He paused beside Julious.
> "We ask them to show us what they've become. But how do we decide what that means?"
The question hung in the air like a bell's echo.
Julious cleared his throat. "You're asking… how do we measure them?"
> "Yes," Farhan said. "Control. Strength. Discipline. Resistance. Will. These cannot be guessed. They must be proven."
Camero leaned forward. "We can design tests, your Majesty. Combat, endurance, accuracy—"
> "That's not enough," Farhan interrupted softly. "P.R.I.M.E. is not a tournament. It's the foundation of our future."
> "If we judge incorrectly… we could exalt the unstable. If we judge too harshly, we may crush those meant to lead."
He walked back to the center.
> "We need a place of power. A space not just built for trials — but one that responds to them. A living structure, one that absorbs energy, shifts, adapts."
Parche finally spoke.
> "You mean… a testing ground that reacts to powers?"
Farhan nodded.
> "Yes. Something that does not just test — but challenges."
Julious added, "Something alive in its design. Magical. Responsive. A place that can measure intensity and depth. If someone loses control, the ground itself absorbs it. If someone shows precision, it marks it."
Rivers leaned back slowly. "We do not have such a place."
Farhan looked up. "Then we must build it."
Over the next hours, scrolls were brought in. Maps unrolled. Architects of stone and sorcery were summoned into the discussion. Guardians of ancient relics entered the room with dust on their sleeves and fire in their eyes.
Together, a vision was formed.
The Trial Grounds of P.R.I.M.E. would be built not inside the city, nor among the existing training centers — but atop an ancient stretch of land known as Aerith's Spine, a long, flat mesa carved by old winds and energy surges, abandoned centuries ago due to unstable magical pulses.
> "Perfect," said Julious. "Let the ground itself test them."
Five Sectors were planned within the circular arena — each designed to challenge a core trait of the awakened:
1. The Ring of Control – An energy-sensitive dome that reacts violently to uncontrolled power. Only those who can stabilize their gift within the sphere will pass.
2. The Hall of Resistance – A sector that simulates pressure, heat, and magical interference. The more one resists losing consciousness, the higher they rank.
3. The Trial of Precision – A shifting platform where the awakened must hit energy points while maintaining balance. Raw power is useless here — only accuracy matters.
4. The Path of Reflection – A mirror-fog sector that shows challengers their own past failures and deepest fears. Mental discipline is the key.
5. The Pulse Arena – The final test. A small, enclosed ring where contestants must face each other, or simulated threats, using full force — not to win, but to survive without losing control.
Each test would score the participant silently through the arena's enchantments, recorded in arcane threads to be read by the Council after.
At the end of the event, those who passed all five would be ranked based on their results, marking their place among:
Omega – Foundational powers, often developing, rare but unstable.
Alpha – The strong-willed, dependable force-users with potential.
Mythic – Masters of unique skill-sets with tactical minds.
Apex – Powerhouses of rare control and resistance.
Zenith – The peak of potential. Few, if any, would reach this rank.
Farhan looked at the proposed designs, his fingers brushing the surface of the map.
> "Begin construction immediately. Let Aerith's Spine awaken once more."
He turned to Rivers. "Send a team of protectors to guard the site. Only our builders may enter."
To Camero: "Have your finest guards assist. The trials will not be sabotaged."
To Julious: "Oversee the enchantments yourself. Let the arena feel what we cannot."
Julious bowed deeply. "It shall be done."
And finally, to them all:
> "Let this be a place not of punishment — but of truth. Let every person who walks into that ring… leave knowing who they are."
That evening, as the sun fell over Lumisgrave and bathed the Training Centers in gold, a silent caravan of engineers, enchanters, and elemental architects began their march toward Aerith's Spine.
Within six days, the place would be reborn.
A field of winds, stone, fire, and reflection. Alive with magic.
The Arena of P.R.I.M.E.
Where no lie could survive.
Where no uncontrolled power could hide.
Where the future of Lumisgrave would be seen — one soul at a time.
The Night Before P.R.I.M.E.
The winds over Aerith's Spine carried something heavier than dust or magic now.
They carried expectation.
Below the ancient mesa, what was once a wild and forgotten plateau had become a coliseum of power — carved with precision, infused with enchantments, and standing proudly under the twilight sky like a monument to the new era of Lumisgrave.
At the center of the arena, the five sectors glowed faintly, responding to the final calibration of the magical circuits etched deep into the ground:
The Ring of Control pulsed softly, waiting to test restraint.
The Hall of Resistance was already generating subtle heat and pressure.
The Trial of Precision spun silently on floating platforms.
The Path of Reflection shimmered behind illusionary veils.
And the Pulse Arena... stood still, calm before its inevitable storm.
But it was not the arena alone that breathed with life.
It was the land around it.
---
The People Arrive
From every edge of Lumisgrave, they came.
Caravans of villagers, marches of youth from rural cliffs, even boats drifting down the riverlines, carrying Awakened and Dormants alike. The crowd grew by the hour — more than twelve thousand souls arriving to witness the first dawn of structured power.
Some walked with hopeful hearts, curious to learn where they stood.
Others came with a fire in their eyes, prepared to ascend, to prove their superiority — not just to the world, but to themselves.
The roads that circled Aerith's Spine had turned into living rivers of sound:
> "I heard a girl from East Veil can control every type of wind."
"There's a boy who paints flames with his fingers — just paint, no spell."
"Have you seen the one who grows feathers from his arms? Real ones."
Every traveler had a story. Every pair of eyes had a secret behind them.
They camped in rows along the highlands. Flags were raised — not of war, but of family names, training centers, and home districts.
Bards began singing songs about the future — songs without endings yet.
And everywhere, there was one question shared in laughter, whispers, tension:
> "Who will be the most powerful?"
Not far from the camps, a private tent with shimmering drapes had been prepared for the royal family and high council.
Prince Kabir, sitting in quiet meditation, opened his eyes slowly as he felt the raw currents of awakening outside the camp. His hair was tied back, lightning flickering gently across his fingertips like a heartbeat.
His instructor approached.
> "You feel it too, don't you?"
> "Yes," Kabir whispered. "They're all different. Some unstable. Some glowing with quiet force. Some… feel like oceans."
> "And you?"
"I feel like thunder in a cave," he said, cracking a smile. "Not loud — but waiting."
Further within the tent, King Farhan stood before a crystal orb showing an aerial view of Aerith's Spine.
He studied the completed arena — the responsive platforms, the enchanted sand fields, the runes of measurement glowing like veins in stone.
Beside him, Julious spoke:
> "The people are ready."
Farhan's eyes narrowed with both pride and concern.
> "So is the world watching. Let this event show not just power… but the heart behind it."
Just before midnight, as the last campfires dimmed and the stars shined brighter than ever, King Farhan sent a final message to be delivered across all districts by aerial scrolls, posted at every tent, every city, every border.
> "To the People of Lumisgrave—"
> "Tomorrow, your journey reaches its first true step.
Not as citizens. Not as awakened.
But as those who dared to understand themselves."
> "You will not be judged for your power alone.
You will be seen for how you carry it.
How you use it.
And how you control it."
> "Let the ranks reveal what you are today —
But never let them limit what you become tomorrow."
> "May P.R.I.M.E. be your mirror, your guide, and your challenge.
The bell awaits.
Let your truths rise."
---
And So the Night Passed
The people slept.
The powers simmered beneath skin and stone.
And far above, as if the sky itself was watching, the stars circled slowly…
…holding their breath for dawn.