The tunnel opened into in a massive arena... the Radin—warrior's soil, churned and blackened by the blood of countless unrisen. All around the perimeter stood fully suited deathstalkers, donning the mask of the skorpis— a creature of war and violence.
The sweet pungent smell of radiation invaded Luma's nose, but he did not shy away from it, for this too was part of the trial.
He looked up, past the point where the earthy walls of the arena ended, at the elders standing on a platform above the arena. He recognized a few of them, the chieftain and his advisors, but most were strangers. They wore black cloaks and their faces were covered by masks of silver. Above them were the adults of the tribe, looking down at everything in perfect silence.
The whisperers, he thought, and his heart began to thunder. The mothers of the tribe told tales of these warriors, of how their might was comparable to the lower angels, and how they assisted in the reformation of the surface.
Even standing all the way down there, Luma felt like a mouse under the gaze of predators.
"Whisperers," he heard someone comment beside him. He turned to see others suited up just like him, their gazes fixed on the whisperers. They were his seniors, here for their rising too.
One of them, a red haired man, skin paler than most of the tribe turned to him. "So they let the tiny boy-child have his rising, huh?" he asked.
"And they let the rock-brain fool, have his?" Luma shot back.
A slow smile crept across their faces.
Luma opened his mouth to say something before—
"Silence!" a voice boomed from the platform above, and Luma found that his throat burned, like boiling water had been poured into it.
All eyes turned to the platform's center, where a towering figure emerged, cloaked in white. Black circuitry veined the fabric like living lightning, and their golden mask shone light throughout the arena.
The head whisperer, Luma thought, a buzzing feeling tickling the hairs of his body.
"To the centre!" the head whisperer shouted, and the air around their mouth rippled, echoing out towards the candidates. Without their consent, their legs moved to stand in the centre.
Such was the power of a whisperer, those who spoke on behalf of the sun.
The head whisperer consorted with one of the other whisperers beside them, before looking back down on the candidates.
"Inferi!" they shouted.
"Inferi!" The entire arena shook from the roars of the tribe, even those deathstalkers stationed around the perimeter shouted for their voices to be heard.
"The sun watches us this day," the head whisperer continued.
"As the sun watches every day!" the arena roared back.
"The trial shall transpire as the sun permits!"
"All transpires as the sun permits!"
Luma found himself reciting the words of the creed, his mouth moving without his control.
"Today our sons and daughters will be tested!"
"It as is the sun permits!"
As the sun permits, Luma grew tired of hearing those words. His father had been killed as the sun permitted, his mother taken by another tribe through the same words.
Once he was high ranking tuneller, he would free himself from those words, take his sister to one of the faithless villages.
"Today those chosen will rise!"
"As does the sun!"
At this the candidates were forced to bow with their hands clasped and stretched to the sky.
"Rise! Rise! Rise!" the arena chanted, with each repitition Luma's heart thundered even faster, his blood growing hotter.
The bracelet on his wrist began glowing, as did all the other candidates's. But this was not the blue light of its circuitry, but a strange golden light, hot yet cold at the same time.
The head whisperer waited for the chanting to come to an end, before presenting their right hand. It was made of pure gold, just like those of the angels on the surface.
"We shall now begin."
With that, veins of blue light bled through their palm, releasing streaks of blue unto the arena.
The ground began to rumble, revealing blue veins that branched out towards the centre.
The top layer of soil began to rise, creating rough walls that separated the candidates into isolated sectors. Each sector had two deathstalkers, currently bowed towards the headwhisperer.
"The first of your trials, is that which all tunellers must master before they can take a life," the head whisperer shouted, and a small pillar rose from the ground in each candidate's sector, carrying an irridaited green rock.
"The creation of life."
"Those who fail to create life before the sun rises—" they continued, and a ball of glowing red light emerged from their hand, moving towards the centre. "Will be stalked, and their blood returned to the earth."
The deathstalkers stood up at this, and beat against their chests, sending a thundering echo throughout the entire arena.
A moment later, the blood red stones around their necks began glowing and a raizer —a tool much like a dual headed pickaxe— materialized in front of them.
"May the sun guide you," the headwhisperer finished, and the deathstalkers grabbed their raizers, before stamping them into the ground.
The soil beneath Luma bubbled into a black soup, that released searing hot steam, cooking him from within his suit.
For a moment, he was stunned, unable to think. Were they really going to kill off candidates this early? He heard that candidates died during fighting trials, but over something like this?
I need to focus. He took a deep breath, and slapped himself across the face. There was some commotion coming from the audience platform above, however that was quickly silenced by the a glance from the whisperers.
Why am I hesitating? he thought, moving towards the stone, each step a dip into the boiling hot lava that was the ground.
The trials were as much about showing you were a true warrior as they were about completing the challenges. So he could not show weakness here, however even the slight facial expressions he was allowing himself were enough for some whisperers to shake their heads in dissaproval.
Calm down. Things are only as you envision them, he thought, mentally reciting a maxim taught to him by the instructors. The ground is not hot, it is icy cold, burning me only through it's chill.
And with that, the heat became slightly more bareable. He opened his eyes, and found that the deathstalkers had moved a step forward, the purple eyes of their mask staring through his flesh at the fear he hid under.
I have to hurry up.
They said we should create life? What can you create using an irradiated stone? Luma thought, eyeing the stone with hesitant hands.
You can process it into radiation. That much is obvious, but its too obvious. Not at all a test for a rising ceremony, he realized.
But radiation could be used to create so many other things. What do the scriptures say about life?
Luma recalled the first words in the scripture that spoke of the creation of their universe.
The sun was here before all things. After it bathed the world in its light, water gave birth to life.
So its water then? he thought, before shaking his head. That's the stuff of myth, transforming radiation into water isn't possible even with the mining artifice.
He looked around him, then up at the head whisperer. Life? What does life mean in terms of a tunneler? What can a tunneler not survive without? he thought, closing his eyes to try and remember the teachings of his instructors.
A heavy thud disturbed his thinking, and even with his eyes closed, he could feel the air around him changing as the deathstalkers approached.
Quickly.
Wait, the head whisperer mentioned that a tunneler must master it's creation before they can take a life. So what gives life, but allows us to take it as well.
Then it hit him. Of course. Stimulants, he thought.
He pointed his wrist at the rock. "Program 3, processing!" he shouted, and his mining artifice powered up, releasing a steady stream of blue energy at the rock.
The adults above cheered at this, however another glance from the head whisperer and they fell silent once more.
The ground beneath him seemed to grow hotter —his little mental trick was wearing out. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.
He fought to keep his hand steady, any sudden movements and the processing could be ruined, instantly failing him.
On top of all this, he still had something else to figure out.
How am I going to create a stimulant without a base to dilute it in?
There was another loud thud. He stole a glance at the deathstalkers and found that they had taken another, even bigger, step forward.
Their cheating, he thought in a panic.
A few more and he would be in striking range of their raizers. Those tools that could cut through rock like water, and through flesh like air.
I'm running out of time.