The wind sang around the platform.
Lihuen remained silent, arms wrapped around the sleeping Kal'ra. The creature breathed peacefully, nestled against his chest, its fur radiating a gentle, almost living warmth. All around them, the sky unfurled—vast and open, veiled in swathes of mist, dotted with floating isles linked by stone-and-light bridges.
A strange silence pervaded—not heavy, but as if the world itself held its voice to let his speak instead.
Ahead of him stood the man—steadied despite the movement. His silhouette cast a long shadow over the pale metal deck. He barely moved—only when necessary. Old, yet upright. Serene. Every detail of his posture exuded restrained power, energy honed by age and experience.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice calm, slightly hushed by the wind:
"Usually, we don't begin here."
Lihuen turned to look at him.
"Nyméria is ancient ground—a place of trials, not welcome. The Natives never start here. They come… later. When they're ready. You, you fell right at the heart."
He paused, studying the horizon.
"I've been watching you from the ridges. The way you moved… clumsy, yet aligned. Not like a beast. Not like a native. I realized you weren't born here."
He turned, examining Lihuen without hostility.
"You don't look like the Natives."
A silence followed. Then, in a lower tone—like a confession:
"You're a Baihuan."
Lihuen furrowed his brow. The word meant nothing—just an odd sound. He echoed it:
"Bai… what?"
The man offered a serene smile.
"In ancient tongue, it means 'White Illusion.' It's not a real name. More a statement. People like you arrive with no memories. No roots. You appear somewhere in Qin, as if cast from a dream. Sometimes alone. Sometimes in groups. Always… empty."
Lihuen said nothing. What he had felt since waking in the clearing now had a name.
"You have no past, no history here. Just a spark. A quiet gaze. As if the world recognized you… and tolerated you."
His gaze fell to the sleeping Kal'ra.
"But sometimes… it offers more than tolerance."
He paused.
"What you hold is rare. Very rare. A Kal'ra. An extinct species to many. They say they only hatch at the foot of Tree-Ships, in clearings no one maps. And even then, only when the world wills it. It chose you."
Lihuen lowered his eyes to the creature. It seemed peaceful, attuned to something unseen.
"Why me?" he whispered.
"Because you were ready to welcome it, without understanding. That's often enough for Qin."
A comfortable pause settled. The platform drew near an array of suspended structures. Energy chains linked stone arches, between which floated towers, plazas, domes—a whole city in the sky, sculpted from wind and flux.
"This is Skar'Ael," the man said. "My land. Or at least the one I chose. A flying city, former Colony of the Heights, now a refuge for travelers, scholars, wanderers."
Lihuen froze at the sight. Nothing in his—albeit absent—memories compared.
"The people here live between sky and cloud. They raise storm-sails. Cultivate breaths. Build with the mist. No engines, no steel. Only wind, roots, and knowledge. It's not a dream, boy. It's Qin."
They passed beneath a carved arch into a denser zone, where the air's intensity softened. Figures in long, hooded tunics drifted from platform to platform. Flags with abstract sigils fluttered above.
The platform slowed as they neared a suspended terrace, circular and engraved with ancient motifs. From it, a web of walkways reached out like an aerial tapestry, each path leading to another floating isle, another mystery.
Lihuen felt the air shift—softer, charged with a subtle electricity. The energy of Skar'Ael wasn't visible, but it was there, contained in every stone. A quiet murmur ran through the structures—not mechanical, but alive. As if the bridges breathed.
At last, they arrived at the heart of the city: a junction of massive suspension bridges strung among natural arches. At the center stood a dome of translucent walls, perched atop an inverted spiral base. Around it, dozens of Baihuan gathered—some alone, others in small clusters, all wearing different attire, as if each had landed in Qin their own way.
The platform landed.
The man stepped off with measured grace, glancing one last time at Lihuen.
"I can't tell you more. What follows isn't mine to give."
He offered him a small metal stone, etched with a spiral circle.
"Give this to the Vestibule's Instructor. He'll know what to do."
Lihuen gripped the stone, nodded.
"What's your name?" he asked, almost belatedly.
The man smiled faintly.
"Maelros. But here, they know me more for what I build."
He drifted away in silence, drawn toward another bridge.
Lihuen ventured under the arches of the Vestibule. He was not alone.
Dozens of figures stood already in the central space. All were Baihuan. Different clothes, different stances. But in their eyes the same diffuse glow: that of those who had fallen here without understanding why.
Above them, the dome had no stained glass, no bell. Just bare sky, crossed with slow spirals of energy. The air hummed softly, as though singing wordlessly.
Lihuen watched the others.
To his left, a boy with a clear smile moved incessantly, light as a feather. He hopped from foot to foot, testing the floor's resonance, chatting with strangers as though lifelong friends. His grace was open, fluid, almost dance-like. He seemed born for this place—gravity itself seemed to honor him.
Nothing stops him. Not even fear.
Further on, a young woman stood poised as though carved from glass. She said nothing; her eyes scanned the space with sharp precision. She wasn't searching for threat—she hunted it as if remembering an old wound. Her face was beautiful yet harsh. Beauty of blade, beauty of fire.
Near a pillar, a large man drew glances. He hadn't shouted or moved more than others—but he spoke to three or four Baihuan who gathered naturally around him. His voice was deep. Steady. Like a column. He didn't command. He carried.
At that moment, Lihuen felt small.
A crystalline chime rang out.
A figure emerged from the Vestibule's depths: a man in a dark blue tunic, marked at the shoulder with a spiral circle. His face was calm. His steps, deliberate. He stopped at the center of the floor's engraved spiral.
"Baihuan."
His voice carried without effort.
"You did not choose Qin. Qin saw you. And let you in."
A silence descended.
"This place is the Vestibule of Atlis. There are others—east, south, even mid‑seas. But all are connected. One thought. One intent."
He placed a hand on one of the pillars. A wave pulsed through the structure. Symbols materialized in the air: circles, glyphs, interwoven lines.
"Atlis is not a temple. Not a fortress. It is an interface. A transition. The threshold through which Qin reads you."
Slowly, he turned, scanning each face.
"Each of you will face a Trial. It is personal. No one may accompany you. It springs from who you are now—not from your memories. It will take shape: a world, a task, a challenge. And it will reveal you."
A light descended from the hovering crystals, touching the floor's spiral.
"At your return—if return there is—you will be marked. First by your Path. A resonance. An affinity. Then by a Class: warrior, arcanist, nomad, weaver, or other… depending what you awaken."
He raised a hand. A second circle lit up.
"Then will come your Title. It represents your Trial's imprint. Some receive forgotten words: 'Flame‑Bearer,' 'Voice of the Current,' 'Silent Hand.' These are more than names. They are gateways. They shape your Abilities, your bonds, your link with Qin."
He paused, silence absolute.
"Titles come in rarities. From Common to Mythic. Then beyond… to what the guilds fear as Legendary."
A murmur swept through the Baihuan.
"The blend of your Path, Class, and Title forges your identity in this world. Some become lone healers. Others, blades of war. Some unlock nothing… but that too has meaning. Qin gives never by chance."
He stepped toward the central spiral.
"When your stone is activated, your portal will appear. You will enter it unarmed. Unprotected. Only with what you are. There… everything begins."
The Mentor paused again.
Then, without a word, he descended the steps into the spiral's center. His gaze swept faces. He passed among the Baihuan like a breeze through leaves. Some bowed their heads, others held his gaze—curious, trembling.
He seemed to gauge, perceive, weigh the unseeable.
When he reached Lihuen, he stopped.
His gaze fell on the Kal'ra curled against the boy's leg—and the stone in Lihuen's palm.
A stillness.
"This stone is not from here," he said softly. "Not one you'll receive."
His tone was neither cold nor surprised. Just… attentive.
"It was given to you by one of the old builders, wasn't it? A man who spoke to you before you arrived here?"
Lihuen nodded. He felt many eyes on him—light, yet numerous.
The Mentor held out his hand.
"Show me."
Lihuen obeyed. He placed the stone in his palm, wordlessly. The man took it, turning it between his fingers. It glowed faintly.
"Personal spiral mark. Ancient forge of Caelrad… So, from Maelros."
He looked at Lihuen with a more serious tone.
"It means Atlis has already recognized you. Or rather… one of its watchers has read you ahead of time."
He let the stone return to Lihuen's hand.
"You will not pass by a standard Trial."
A shiver rippled through the air—not in bodies, but in the Vestibule itself.
"This portal will not spring from a seed as the others. It will draw from what you still hide. What even you haven't touched yet."
He briefly placed his hand on Lihuen's shoulder. A simple yet profound contact.
"Do not fight what you do not yet understand. Qin tests not to break—but to reveal."
Then he withdrew, adding nothing more, and resumed his position at the spiral's edge.
He spoke again, loud enough for all:
"You will all receive a stone. A neutral version, bound by the link with Atlis. It will open a portal forged just for you."
His gaze flickered toward Lihuen—for a fraction of a second.
"Yet some… need not force the door. The door waits for them already."
He stepped away from the spiral.
"Those who fail don't always die. But they change. Sometimes for better. Sometimes for worse."
He lowered his voice:
"The guilds are watching. They understand Atlis. They read Paths. Those who emerge bearing a rare Title… may receive an invitation. Or be hunted."
A click sounded. Circles of light appeared beneath certain feet.
"Let the first one enter. The time has come."