The air was heavy, yet impossibly still. As Crim and I stepped into the open clearing, a hush, and suddenly everything seemed to fall over everything.
Cherry blossoms drifted gently through the sky like soft flakes of snow, settling on the stone path and grass with quiet grace. Birds chirped overhead, unfazed by the tension humming beneath the surface. It was beautiful almost scary so. A place like this didn't belong in a world bracing for extermination, but here it stood, like a pause in time.
Around us, Slayers stood or sat scattered across the clearing. Some leaned against trees, their arms crossed, others sat in meditative silence or quietly adjusted their gear.
All of them looked... composed. Like warriors not meeting their first battle, but their hundredth. Even some seemed younger than us. There was a pressure in the air, thick and quiet, like the moment before a lightning strike.
"Crim," I whispered, leaning in slightly, "Why in the hell does it feel like... we're not supposed to be here?"
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes were scanning the others, sharp and quiet.
"It's not that we don't belong," she said slowly, "It's that they've already figured out who does."
She was right. You could feel it some kind of presence rolling off them. It wasn't visible to the naked eye, but it pressed into your chest, made your breath shallow.
It made my body instinctively tense. I didn't have a word for it, but whatever it was, it made me feel small.
Yet we got the courage to walk past them and move on avoiding any interaction.
But something strange happened as we passed by one of the benches.
A girl, elegant and still, sitting among the cherry blossoms with an almost ethereal calm, opened her eyes briefly as we walked by. She blinked once almost startled then quickly looked away.
Another boy, lying asleep on the bench with his arms folded behind his head, shifted slightly, his fingers twitching just once before settling again.
I noticed it. So did Crim.
But neither of us said a word.
Maybe they were just being cautious, we thought. Maybe they were that attuned to everything around them. It never even crossed our minds that it could've been because of us.
Truth is—we didn't know how to sense our own power. We didn't know that the weight in the air wasn't just from them... but also from us.
Crim rubbed the back of her neck and gave me a sideways glance. "Don't make eye contact with anyone unless you want your faced filled in by a fist."
"Great," I muttered. "So the quiet ones are the ones who kill you first."
We walked further in and took our place near the edge of the clearing. There was no turning back now. Only waiting. And with every second, the pressure around us thickened warm, cold, calming, hostile. The pressure... everywhere.
But ours was stronger than we knew, it was humming ever so silently beneath the surface, unnoticed by us, but not by everyone else.
The low vibration that had hung over the waiting grounds stopped abruptly, as if a chord were being broken in the middle of a note.
Even the birds fell still. I raised my gaze from the clump of cherry blossoms at my feet—too unmarred, too still—and sensed the tension in the air like a quiet thunderclap.
Resonance. Thick and icy.
A blinding white burst of flame shot up at the opposite end of the clearing, suspended in mid-air. From the side of the blast emerged a figure clad in robes of obsidian, their face hidden except for the shining emblem cut across the chest—a solitary vertical eye.
I had never seen that symbol before. And yet. within me, something recognized what it was. Or rather. whom.
They all stood. Some with their hands placed just to the side of their weapons. Some with smiles of subdued eagerness. Others. didn't shift an inch. Not even a flicker. That sort of immobility terrified me more than any beast ever could.
And then there came the voice—not bellowed, not thunderous—but heavy, as if it had mass of its own.
"To all who are here—welcome to the Descent."
The figure floated through the air, not moving so much as floating over the petals soft as a cloud.
"I come speaking for the High Marshal. I am Major Ryuel. The Marshal himself will not waste breath on those who may be dead by dawn."
Crim stiffened next to me. She didn't utter a word. But the way her jaw clenched—she felt it too. The pressure. The presence. Resonance.
"You are all unranked. Unknown. Unproven. The Descent exists to correct that."
The Major raised a hand. Three fingers extended.
"Three trials. Three thresholds. Survive, and you join our world. Fail—and your corpse might be fertilizer for those who will."
I shivered. They weren't intimidating us. They were presenting facts.
"The first trial begins now."
Abruptly the earth trembled under our feet. Everywhere around us the cherry blossoms, the world unrolled like a skin flayed away.
Stone split. Trees shattered. The atmosphere shifted—like it was empty before, and now it was filled. A ring gate thrust upward from the earth, with runes etched on it that burned with pale crimson light. A portal. But one designed for difficulty, not comfort.
"Proceed," the Major said. "Your first trial is the Trial of Judgement."
I gulped.
"In there, your spirit will be weighed. Not against others. But against yourself. If you don't have the presence to meet it—you die."
Crim's hand swept mine. Not in comfort. In warning.
"It's not real," she whispered, "but it feels real."
I didn't nod. Couldn't. My heart was already in that darkness. I felt it calling.
Not a voice. Not even words.
Resonance a mysterious pressure that is dangerous —a pressure I didn't understand… but that seemed to know me.
And for some odd reason, it didn't seem like a test.
I didn't know what it was at first—this pressure that hung in the air, thick and alive, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
They called it Resonance.
Not magic. Not energy. It was something deeper, something woven into the core of every living being. Slayers carried it like a second soul—shaped by their will, emotion, and purpose. The stronger the spirit, the heavier the Resonance.
Some said it awakened through pain, others through conviction. No one really knew the exact trigger.
You couldn't fake it, and you couldn't steal it. It was earned. Felt. Bled into the world around you. Crim and I… we hadn't learned how to sense our own yet. But every step we took closer to the other Slayers made one thing clear: even without knowing how, something inside us was resonating back louder than we realized.
Resonance was not something taught—it was something awakened. Born from the deepest parts of the soul, it manifested as an invisible force that radiated presence, emotion, and intent.
Every Slayer possessed Resonance, though its strength and nature varied wildly. It could not be copied or borrowed; only cultivated through experience, willpower, and survival.
The more a Slayer endured, the more their Resonance grew—sharpened by loss, shaped by purpose.
Though invisible to the untrained, it weighed on the air like gravity, announcing strength without a word. To sense it was to feel someone's essence pressing into your bones undeniable, unrelenting, and real.
The words continued to ring out—"Begin The Descent."—when the blooms of the air ceased, as if time had momentarily stood still in awe. or terror.
I gulped.
The open field beneath our feet shook ever so slightly, a tremor no one else appeared to notice. But I did. Crim must have too—her jaw tightened, her shoulders bristling. They all looked toward the distant rim of the clearing where two great stone doors, shrouded behind floating mist, creaked open. The vibration of Resonance thickened with every inch those doors moved, as if the land itself were not breathing.
A thin road lay ahead of them, hanging over an infinite void—thin stone bridges, curving and disappearing into a too-thick fog. No railings, no torches. Only a chasm waiting to engulf the careless.
A woman stepped out of the mist her armor clean and pure white, a huge great sword strapped across her back. Her eyes swept the crowd unemotionally. She lifted one hand, and silence descended.
"Alright you children this is Section One," she declared, her voice sounding like broken ice. "The Trial of Judgment. No instructions. No maps. No rescue."
Her eyes swept over me for only a moment. I could feel the heat of them.
"You walk across the Forgotten Path. You either make it to the other side… or you don't."
Crim leaned in close and whispered, "They really aren't softening first impressions, are they?"
I responded with a slow nod as not to catch the attention of the big woman in front of me. I was listening—not with my ears, but with my soul. My skin prickled. My chest constricted.
That odd buzzing within me, the one that had started the moment we stepped into the field, had intensified into a murmur. I glanced around and saw it—everyone standing in that unobtrusive distance from us. Not looking, not talking. Just. observing.
Crim hadn't caught on yet. Her attention was on the woman in white and the bridge in the distance. She was doing her thing—attempting to appear unfazed, resolute, like she was supposed to be there. But even now, I could see the slightest quiver in her hand.
Then, a few paces in front of us, someone laughed.
It was a lanky boy, with the build of a fortress, dressed all in black. His Resonance oozed from him like heavy oil—choking, nearly. "This sure will get those incapable being incapable of being strong ," he grumbled to the one beside him. "See how long the outer rim kids can last."
I breathed deep, then moved forward.
Crim caught up to me, standing at my side. "He isn't wrong," she whispered. "We aren't like them."
I moved my head to the side. "You're right. We're not. But still he didn't have to be rude about it."
She arched a brow.
"We're worse," I growled. "We're untested."
Crim gazed at me. Then grinned, slow and lopsided. "Let's hope that's exactly what they'll regret."
And we walked out onto the bridge, where judgment awaited.
The instant our feet landed on stone, the air changed.
It was evanescent at first—like entering a room that recalled screams. The bridge creaked beneath us, ancient and splintered but adamantly whole. Step by step, we advanced. The others had set out too, some moving confidently ahead, others gingerly testing each step. The fog engulfed them quickly.
Crim matched my strides, her hand running up against the hilt of her sword with each third step. To the rear, a loud crack sounded—the unmistakable thud of stone shattering. Someone had overestimated the edge. A shriek, and then nothing.
No one glanced back.
Before us, the fog throbbed. Figures slipped through it—tall, thin silhouettes that didn't move, but slid. I had no idea if they were observing, waiting, or leading.
My heart pounded with each step. Not out of fear—but excitement. Something within me awakened once more, that rich thrum of Resonance pulsating beneath my ribcage like a war drum.
Crim grasped my sleeve for a moment. "Auren," she breathed. "I sense something. watching us."
Before I could answer, a form materialized out of the fog in front of us—an illusion, perhaps. A mirror? It was me.
Not only in looks, but in movement. In breath. In hesitation.
I stood still. So did it.
The instant shattered like glass—and the bridge underfoot was filled with light, glowing dully in tendrils of writing I couldn't decipher. Dozens of reflections materialized before us, rippling and trembling like shattered memories.
Then, there was nothing. Footsteps, the wind's breath, the world's hum—silent.
A resonant gong boomed from somewhere in the fog, ancient and eternal.
The Trial had commenced.
And the bridge beneath us shook as if poised to judge who deserved to continue. and who was to tumble into nothingness.