The sun had barely breached the horizon when the golden bell tolled.
One deep, resonant chime echoed across Aerith's Spine, shaking the stone beneath thousands of feet and silencing the restless murmurs of the gathered crowd.
From farmlands to noble circles, from cliff camps to forest watchtowers — all eyes turned toward the arena below.
The first P.R.I.M.E. event had begun.
A slow, ceremonial wind passed across the sandstone circle as the Council of Five Judges took their seats upon the platform above. King Farhan sat at the center, dressed in deep silver robes, with his chain-hand resting gently atop the marble armrest — visible, unashamed.
To his right sat Julious, eyes scanning the entry paths with razor focus.
To the left, Parche, Rivers, and Camero sat in a triangular formation — all prepared not to rule, but to witness.
---
The circular trial grounds began to glow as magical threads embedded deep within the stone lit up with soft blue and gold light. The five sectors waited like sleeping beasts, each humming faintly with anticipation:
The Ring of Control pulsated calmly, its center prepared to judge restraint.
The Hall of Resistance shimmered with rising heat and pressure.
The Trial of Precision spun slowly, already reacting to the approaching magic in the air.
The Path of Reflection remained veiled, unreadable.
And the Pulse Arena, untouched and sacred, waited silently at the end.
A council herald stepped forward.
> "Let the first participant enter," his voice rang, enchanted to carry across the Spine.
---
The First Participant
From the far northern gate, a figure emerged — a tall woman with pale violet skin, her eyes glowing faintly under a white headband. The symbol of a wind spiral was etched into her shoulder.
Her name was Seren Vellin, a trained gustweaver from the Aerra district.
She bowed once to the Council, then stepped into the Ring of Control.
As her foot touched the sector, the circular boundary shimmered, reacting to the energy coiled inside her body.
With a deep breath, Seren raised her hands, and the air around her began to spiral, forming tunnel-like winds that spun vertically above her — controlled, elegant, tight in form.
The judges watched closely.
Then suddenly, the winds dropped.
No explosion. No collapse. Just a soft descent.
Julious raised a hand. "Well-measured. No damage to the ring.Just a loss of control .No breach."
> "Seren Vellin… ranked Alpha."
A cheer rippled through the northern section of the crowd.
---
One by One, They Entered
Dozens followed.
A man named Tarin with burning red eyes entered the Hall of Resistance and endured the pressure of magical gravity for three full minutes before falling to his knees. He was awarded Mythic, for his sheer mental grit and pulse stability.
Liora, a girl whose tears could solidify into stone, faltered in the Ring of Control when her panic triggered a spike of uncontrolled magic. She accidentally cracked the boundary wall — but managed to stop herself before it struck anyone.
> "Powerful," Rivers murmured. "But dangerous."
She was marked Omega, with potential for growth.
Kaien of Flintreach, a quiet youth, entered the Path of Reflection — and stood still for almost seven minutes, facing visions only he could see. When he exited, his face was pale, but calm.
> "He did not shatter," said Camero. "He adapted."
He was given Mythic, quietly honored.
One contestant — a boy too young to fully understand his power — collapsed when the Trial of Precision disoriented him. He was safely removed by Council guards and told to return next year.
The Council had promised: this was not a punishment ground. It was a mirror.
Some reflections were simply too early to see.
---
The Pulse Arena – A Trial of Composure
By midday, two participants faced off in the Pulse Arena.
A young woman whose palms emitted electric vines clashed gently against a man who could warp wind into whips.
They fought not for victory, but for control — their energy meeting in loud snaps and silent dodges. The woman, after dodging and restraining rather than attacking recklessly, was ranked Apex.
> "Not just power," King Farhan noted aloud. "She chose not to dominate."
This philosophy echoed across the crowd — a lesson to all watching.
---
Tensions, Nerves, and Whispers
The crowd grew louder as the hours passed. Flags waved. Dust rose. Ranks were posted on magical boards near the front of the arena, shimmering for all to see.
Omega – 9 Participants
Alpha – 21 Participants
Mythic – 7 Participants
Apex – 3 Participants
Zenith – 0
No one had reached the peak.
Yet.
By evening, dozens had entered and received their ranks. The crowds were buzzing with voices, food stalls opening across the ridges, and bardic chants already weaving songs around the names of the day's top-ranked.
But amid the celebration… was a growing pressure.
No Zenith. Not yet.
And several powerful contenders remained in waiting — including one whose name had been passed quietly among the watchers like a spark in dry grass.
> "The one who walks with silence."
"The one who doesn't belong to any base."
"The one who wears chains."
The Council closed the day's first phase.
King Farhan stood and spoke briefly to the crowd:
> "Today, we have seen discipline. We have seen mistakes. We have seen promise."
> "Tomorrow… we will see what rises from the unknown."
> "Some have passed. Some will return."
> "But the arena is not finished with its purpose."
He turned to Julious.
> "The ones yet to come may change everything."
And the bell rang once more — closing Day 1