"Everyone in this institute is arrogant in some manner," I interrupted, my voice calm but firm. "We all have arrogance flowing through our veins. We believe our lives are destined for greatness and honour. And that we are the authors of our own story."
"It's only natural to feel such emotions. We carry the weight of our families, the burden of the aetheric trials, and the expectations of what we are meant to become. And one day, we will face the next aetheric trial with that same arrogance—the certainty that we will conquer it, just as we have the ones before."
"But you are wrong, Apothus," I said, my voice steady. "It is not arrogance that fuels me today, but simple curiosity flowing through my veins."
I exhaled slowly, my gaze unwavering. The arrogance I didn't even realize I had... it corroded away in the eternal darkness of the trial. Burned to ash, like dry leaves at the end of a long summer. I had been humbled in ways I hadn't expected—forced to confront my own limitations and weaknesses.
And with that, I charged.
I was fast.
Within seconds, I was upon Apothus. His four arms came up in a guard like no other—layered, seamless, unshakable. I struck anyway. My fist crashed against his stone-like skin, and pain shot up my arm. My knuckles buckled under the impact, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
He stumbled backwards, Each strike hitting harder than the first. My Perusit was relentless; with each new strike, blood gathered among my knuckles, leaking between my fingers. I wasn't entirely sure if it was my blood or Apothus—or a mixture of both.
No matter. He would succumb under the weight of my fists.
Apothus let out a roar, his voice reverberating through the training grounds as he staggered back. His two foremost arms hung limp at his sides, encased in what appeared to be cracked stone, momentarily useless. Yet, his two remaining useful arms tensed, muscles coiling like vipers ready to strike.
"Tacitus, help me, you useless shit," Apothus growled, his voice tight with pain.
I glanced to my left and saw Tacitus standing there, mouth slightly agape, his sharp features twisted in disbelief. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected me to overwhelm Apothus so quickly.
But I wasn't done. My relentless pursuit wouldn't stop now.
Apothus lunged, one of his remaining arms snapping forward in a brutal punch. The air trembled from the force behind it. I barely had time to twist my body, the strike grazing past my ribs like a battering ram skimming its mark. Even that glancing blow sent a dull shock through my side.
I grit my teeth. If I took a direct hit, I was sure it would lead to a broken bone or two.
Tacitus finally snapped out of his daze. His hand flicked forward, a glint of aether sparking along his limbs. He was done watching. He was joining the fight.
He rushed with a speed that few Awakened could match. He was fast—blindingly so. The air itself seemed to bend around him, drawn into his wake, propelling him forward at a breakneck pace.
My instincts screamed. I barely had time to shift my stance before Tacitus was upon me, his form a blur of motion. His foot lashed out first—a feint. The real attack came an instant later, his fist streaking toward my jaw like a comet.
And for the first time in this fight, I used my soul ability.
Unlike Apothus, whose strength seemed tied to stone, and Tacitus, who commanded the very air around him, my power was something else entirely.
The moment I activated it, the world fractured into a kaleidoscope of possibilities.
Many versions of myself stood at the precipice of that moment—some taking the hit, some dodging too slow, others striking first. Possibilities bloomed within my wake, branching paths of what could be, what should be, and what would never come to pass.
Tacitus' fist hurtled toward me, the wind howling like a beast at his command. But I had already moved.
With a single, measured step back, I guided his punch past me with an open palm, feeling the force of the wind lash against my skin. His momentum carried him forward as I clamped down on his wrist like a vice.
Turning sharply, I lowered my center of mass and twisted my hips, using his speed against him. In one fluid motion, I sent Tacitus hurtling over my shoulder.
His shoulder popped under the torque of the throw as he was sent hurtling towards Apothus. Tacitus collided against the behemoth with a thud that reverberated through the surrounding area.
My powers… they felt so—godlike.
All of my affinities sat heavily within me, brimming with untapped potential. Unlike Apothus, who wielded stone with raw physicality, or Tacitus, who bent the wind to his will, I had yet to manifest my elements into the world around me. They remained caged within, coiled and waiting.
Sure, my pathway ability, Cosmic Reverie, allowed me to wield what I considered the most fundamental forces of the universe—space and time. And that wasn't even accounting for my Dream affinity, a power that lingered within the realm of conceptual forces but despite this, I had yet to fully tap into them. To let them breathe, to let them shape reality itself.
For now, they remained restrained, pulsing beneath my skin like distant stars on the verge of ignition.
Space was elusive—like trying to clasp a cloud within the palms of my hands. No matter how I reached for it, it slipped through my grasp, resisting control in ways I couldn't yet understand.
Time… Time was worse. It refused to bend, an immutable force that mocked my every attempt to command it. The only exception was when I wielded the Eye of the Eternal Weave, but even then, it was not true mastery. It was a borrowed glimpse, a fleeting moment where I could pull at the threads and peer into the innumerable timelines, watching possibilities unfold and collapse in an endless cascade. And in doing so, I could slightly bend its flow—like throwing a stick into the vastness of a river, causing only the faintest of ripples.