Chapter 1: Shattering the Core of Destiny

I woke up in a world of supernatural power—the kind of place I used to fantasize about, only way weirder. Seriously, it was like my wildest dreams had crashed into reality, but with a twist: here, everything was about secret orders and the chase for immortality.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and ozone, like the woods behind the summer camp I went to as a kid. It was the kind of morning that buzzed with the same anticipation you get before the big game, when anything feels possible. This was the kind of world I’d only glimpsed in comic books and late-night sci-fi marathons. Here? Secret societies ran the show. Urban legend? Try daily grind. Everyone was out for that one shot at something bigger—something that might last forever.

After busting my ass for years, I finally had my shot at the big one: the Trial by Storm.

It was the kind of challenge you heard whispered about in the halls—tougher than any final, more nerve-wracking than the SATs. Even the old-timers were buzzing. You could feel it. The whole lodge was alive with nervous energy. And me? I felt like I was carrying the championship hopes of a whole town on my back, every second of the last hundred years coming down to this.

Coach’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked hard, fighting to keep her voice steady. "It’s been a hundred years since someone from our Silver Hollow Lodge made it to the next realm. Kid, don’t be scared—the founder’s up there, waiting to greet you." She hesitated, like she wanted to say more but couldn’t get the words out.

Her voice cracked, just a little, and she squeezed my shoulder with a grip that reminded me of my grandma on graduation day. There was something proud and desperate in her eyes, like she was packing me off to college across the country. I could practically feel her hope pressing in on me, thick as summer humidity.

My heart was pounding. I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, ready to push through the last barrier—when Coach’s next words hit me like a brick. I froze.

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My hands went numb, breath caught halfway in my throat. All those pep talks, every midnight practice session—they just hung there, suspended, waiting to see what would happen next.

"The founder’s now head attendant for the Archangel in the upper realm. I’m sure she can pull some strings—maybe get you a spot up there."

Her words echoed, weirdly formal, like someone reading off a college acceptance letter that came with a catch. I pictured the founder in some gleaming marble palace, holding a clipboard and waving me in with a forced smile. Yeah, that didn’t sit right at all.

"Attendant? I’ve spent a hundred years training just to go up there and be an attendant?" No way.

I couldn’t believe it. Was this a joke? It sounded like one of those bad family reunion gags—"So, what are you doing with your life these days?" I’d dreamed of glory, not fetching coffee for someone else—no matter how holy.

Coach didn’t have time to explain. She just jabbed a finger at the storm clouds rolling in overhead. "What are you waiting for? The trial’s here, and the founder’s waiting on the clouds."

Thunder rumbled—the kind that shakes your bones and makes you want to run for cover. No time for second thoughts. I could see the founder up there, barely more than a shadow, but her presence was a challenge thrown right at my feet.

I looked up at the founder, dressed like a housemaid among the storm clouds, and without another thought, I struck my own core. (Yeah, in this world, that means I reached deep inside—where all my power was stored—and shattered it myself. It’s the ultimate reset. Or maybe self-destruction.)

The sky seemed to hold its breath. My hands shook as I reached inward, searching for that spark I’d built over a hundred years. Here goes nothing. With one decisive motion, I shattered it. The pain was sharp and sudden, like breaking a bone you’d forgotten was there. My vision blurred, but I didn’t look away from the clouds.

In an instant, my core shattered. All my power vanished. Just like that, it was gone.

It felt like losing everything in a single heartbeat. The warmth, the strength—gone. Just a hollow ache left behind. I stood there, stripped bare, shivering in the wind as the storm rolled past.

"Coach... I can’t. I can’t ascend."

I barely recognized my own voice. The words came out flat, almost too quiet to hear. This was supposed to be my moment of triumph, but now I sounded like a kid who’d flunked out right before graduation.

Way to go, me. Ruin the big moment.

There was a stunned silence, the kind that falls after a fire alarm goes off and everyone realizes it’s not a drill. Faces I’d known for decades stared at me—some in shock, others with a kind of sad understanding. The pride that should’ve filled the room was gone. All that was left was disappointment, heavy as wet blankets.

Coach cried out, grief raw in her voice. "You fool! A hundred years of sweat and sacrifice, gone in a heartbeat. You were right there!"

Her voice broke, raw and painful. I saw her clutch at her chest, tears streaming down her face like a parent at an empty nest. The sound echoed off the lodge walls, making the loss feel even sharper. I felt her heartbreak, and for a moment, I almost regretted it.

Below, the junior members whispered to each other. The senior mentors shook their heads, sighing. The air prickled with judgment.

The whispers were sharp, cutting through the silence like knives. "What was she thinking?" drifted past, and I saw the mentors—old, stoic—bow their heads, like mourners at a funeral. The disappointment felt like a thick fog, pressing in from all sides.

I coughed up blood. Full circle. In that moment, I was no different from a regular person—just like when I first walked into the lodge a hundred years ago.

The taste of iron filled my mouth. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, remembering the first time I’d stepped through those doors—nervous, hopeful, totally unremarkable. Now, after a century, I’d come full circle. Funny how that works. Tragic, but funny.

The storm clouds faded. The golden light disappeared. Just like that.

It felt like the world was closing in, all that magic and possibility draining away. The sky cleared, but it left everything feeling emptier than before. The silence that followed was heavy, like a high school gym after the big game, when everyone’s gone and the echoes linger.

The founder was about to leave, but Coach sent up a signal—a secret rite of Silver Hollow Lodge that could reach the higher realm. She wasn’t giving up yet.

Coach fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a weathered silver whistle, blowing it with a trembling hand. The sound was thin but piercing, a secret code only the founder would recognize. It shimmered in the air—a last-ditch, desperate plea for help. One last shot.

Coach was the first to kneel, followed by the mentors and members, while I stayed standing. I could feel all eyes on me.

The others dropped to their knees in a wave, heads bowed low. I stayed on my feet, stubborn as ever, feeling the weight of a hundred stares on my back. Guess I’m the odd one out.

But Coach ignored me now, pleading with the founder.

"Coach of the 130th generation, Martha Ray, begs the founder to help this unworthy student. She destroyed her own core at the moment of ascension, but our lodge has long lacked talent. Only she reached this level in a hundred years, showing extraordinary promise. Martha Ray, with the whole lodge, kneels and begs the founder to help her!"

Her voice rang out, clear and desperate, echoing off the clouds above. It was the kind of plea you only hear when someone’s got nothing left to lose. All her pride was gone—just a coach, begging for a do-over.

The mentors bowed their heads, leading the members to cry out together, “Please help her, Founder!”

Their voices rose together, a chorus of hope and fear. It sounded almost like a hymn, one last shot at redemption. I caught myself holding my breath.

The founder on the horizon sighed—a sound that seemed to ripple through the air. For a second, I wondered if she felt sorry for us, or just tired.

She floated down with a kind of effortless grace, her dress billowing like a flag in the wind. The air shimmered around her, and for a moment, I could almost believe she was something holy. Wow.

She wore a flowing white dress, still looking like an eighteen-year-old, but her voice was pure authority: "Your power’s gone. If you want to ascend, your core’s gotta be reforged. Even if you make it to the higher realm, you can’t serve as an attendant to the Archangel. With your level, you’d only be a low-ranked helper to the Lord of the Western Sea."

Her words were sharp, no sugarcoating. She looked at me like a principal lecturing a wayward student—disappointed, not surprised. It stung.

Coach tugged at my sleeve. "Why aren’t you kneeling to thank the founder?" Her voice was a harsh whisper, her grip tight. Play along, her eyes begged. Don’t make this worse.

But I asked, "Are you really happy up there, being just an attendant?"

It slipped out before I could stop it. I didn’t mean to be rude—I just needed to know. Was this what we were all fighting for?

The founder frowned. "Watch your mouth!" Her eyes narrowed, and the temperature seemed to drop. Yikes.

Coach immediately bowed her head, trembling—practically pressing her forehead to the ground. I saw her knuckles go white. She was terrified I’d ruined everything for all of us.

But I wasn’t scared. I repeated, "Are you happy?" My voice was steady, almost gentle. I needed an answer—not just for me, but for everyone who’d ever given up their dreams for a shot at something higher.

The founder’s voice turned icy. "Of course. I’m now head of all attendants, responsible for serving the Crown Prince—the future Archangel." She sounded proud, but there was a crack in it. Did she even believe herself? Or did she just need us to?

I nodded, thinking out loud. "So, it’s kind of like being the chief butler in a mansion back on earth." I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it landed a little too close to home. The image wouldn’t leave my head—her in a crisp uniform, running the show while someone else got the glory.

The founder couldn’t help but shout, "How dare you! The higher realm is nothing like the mortal world!" Her anger was sudden, explosive. Lightning crackled overhead, and for a second, I thought she might fry me on the spot. Still, I didn’t flinch.

Coach, terrified by my boldness, hissed, "If you anger the founder, our lodge will lose her blessing. The fact that she’s willing to come down is already a miracle." Her eyes pleaded with me. This was bigger than just me. I could feel it.

I shrugged. "Blessing, just so I can go serve someone else?" I tried to sound casual, but the bitterness crept in. Was I asking for me, or for everyone who’d ever been told to settle?

The founder looked at me like I was nuts. "They aren’t just people—they’re immortals. Don’t compare mortals to immortals." Her world and mine—never quite meeting in the middle. I felt the gap widen.

With that, the founder turned to leave for the higher realm. The air felt colder, emptier. For a second, I wondered if I’d just thrown away my only shot at something bigger.

Coach sighed again and again, grumbling at me nonstop. "Look at you, throwing away two shots at ascension for nothing. If I’d known it’d end like this, I never would’ve taken you on!" Every word was a tiny dagger, but I knew it was hurt talking, not hate.

But just as the founder was about to leave, a silver light shot down from the clouds. It streaked through the sky like a shooting star. Everyone gasped—hope flaring in their eyes. For a split second, anything felt possible.

The founder caught it with a flick of her wrist, her face going from stormy to bright. The mood shifted instantly. Everyone leaned in, breathless. Something was about to change.

"Hmph, you got lucky." Her tone was almost teasing. It was the first time I’d seen her drop the act, even for a moment. The silver light glimmered, making her look almost human.

Coach, seeing hope, quickly asked, "Founder, are you still willing to help us?" She stepped forward, voice trembling. I saw hope flicker back to life in her eyes, like a candle relit after a long night.

The founder smiled and held up the silver light—heavenly robes woven from clouds, seamless and shining. They looked like something out of a dream. Even the most cynical members stared, jaws dropped.

"A huge event’s about to happen in the higher realm. The Crown Prince is marrying the Phoenix Princess of Avalon, and they’re short two immortal attendants and two maidens to serve the future Crown Princess. This is big. The Crown Prince himself asked me to bring a few more maidens up. So—who wants to go?"

She made it sound like golden tickets to the biggest event in the universe. The energy in the room spiked—everyone wanted a shot at legendary, even if it meant starting at the bottom. I could feel it.

Everyone glanced at each other, desire flickering in their eyes. The hunger in the air was almost tangible—the kind that makes people do crazy things. I wondered if I’d ever felt that kind of burn.

But in the end, only Coach could decide. All eyes turned to her. She looked like the weight of the world was pressing down, and for the first time, she seemed old. Really old.

Coach turned to me, disappointment written all over her face. "Let me ask you one last time: do you really not want to ascend?" Her voice was soft, almost pleading. That last thread of hope, stretched thin.