CHAPTER 382: BEGINNING OF THE TRIAL

Orion took a deep breath, steadying himself. His heart pounded softly in his chest, each beat resonating with a sense of anticipation mixed with hesitation.

He glanced towards Tinkerer, meeting the wise yet unreadable expression on the man’s face.

"What if I choose a Mythical Element?" Orion asked quietly, his voice steady, yet carrying a subtle tremor of excitement and uncertainty.

Tinkerer’s smile deepened slowly, spreading into a gentle chuckle. The Librarian’s eyes sparkled, revealing a mixture of admiration and subtle amusement. "Ask yourself this, young Primus, are you truly powerful enough to withstand that knowledge? Or the test that inevitably follows such a choice?"

Orion’s brows knitted slightly, his thoughts whirling briefly in deep contemplation. He understood the gravity hidden within Tinkerer’s casual tone.

He was no fool; Mythical Elements represented forces that even the most powerful beings struggled to grasp, let alone master.

After a moment of careful consideration, Orion nodded solemnly, turning his gaze back toward the shelves.

He took slow steps forward, heart resolute despite the complexity of his decision.

Observing Orion carefully, Tinkerer’s eyes followed his movements, slightly relieved that Orion was perhaps reconsidering his impulsive thoughts of selecting a Mythical Element.

The Librarian calmly cleared his throat, preparing to guide Orion further.

"Well," Tinkerer began casually, a gentle tone of guidance entering his voice, "at your current level, apart from the Mythical Elements, the most difficult, and perhaps the worst choice, would undoubtedly be Dar—"

His words halted abruptly, eyes widening slightly as Orion’s fingers closed around the thick, dark tome etched with sinister yet strangely alluring runes: the Book of Darkness Element.

Orion turned his head slightly, making direct eye contact with Tinkerer, lips curling into a faintly helpless, mildly exasperated smile. "Couldn’t you have said this faster?"

Before Tinkerer could utter another word, a sudden force wrapped itself swiftly around Orion. Darkness surged outward from the tome, enveloping him completely in an instant.

The air around him warped, swirling into a dense, inky maelstrom. And in that very moment, Orion vanished from the room, swallowed whole by the darkness that had emerged from his chosen tome.

Tinkerer stared blankly at the empty space Orion had just occupied, slowly shaking his head with a gentle sigh of resignation.

A faint, rueful smile touched his lips, and he muttered softly to himself with a blend of amusement and mild exasperation, "Sigh... youth these days. Always so rash and eager, never willing to listen."

Turning slowly away from the bookshelf, he moved leisurely towards the room’s exit, shoulders relaxed despite the dramatic events moments ago.

He casually brushed some imaginary dust from his sleeves, his thoughts already shifting toward a more immediate concern.

"Oh well," he murmured lightly, seemingly unbothered. "Might as well have lunch first. He should be done by then, if he passes, that is."

With calm steps, he exited the modest library, leaving only silence and faint echoes of Orion’s presence behind.

***

Elsewhere, Orion’s vision adjusted rapidly as he found himself plunged into absolute darkness, a darkness more profound than anything he’d ever experienced.

It surrounded him completely, infinite and suffocating, stretching beyond his senses in every possible direction.

There was no solid ground beneath his feet, no sky overhead; instead, he seemed to float within an endless abyss, devoid of even the faintest trace of illumination.

Orion’s vision slowly began to adjust as the suffocating darkness around him thinned, gradually losing its oppressive weight.

Beneath his feet, a chill spread through his boots as they touched a surface of cold, polished black marble, smooth and mirror-like, so perfect that he could see his reflection clearly.

He lifted his head slowly, feeling a heavy sense of wonder at the sheer immensity of the hall that now stretched endlessly around him.

Its grandeur was overwhelming, immeasurable, infinite rows of towering thrones lined the vast hall, each throne unique, magnificent, and imposing in its own right.

Some gleamed brilliantly, forged from pure starfire ore and studded with flawless gems, each gemstone catching nonexistent light in a mesmerizing scene.

Others were somber and forbidding, carved from obsidian and bone, stark yet majestic in their intimidation. Still others were crafted of living elements, woven from twisting vines, glowing crystal, or shifting elemental energies.

Each throne was occupied by a shadowed figure whose features were hidden within impenetrable darkness, yet Orion could feel their powerful gazes locked firmly upon him.

Their presence was undeniable, radiating an aura of supreme authority, kings, emperors, gods, dragons, and entities whose existence spanned countless worlds, each emanating power that stirred Orion’s soul.

Without warning, these shadowed rulers rose in perfect unison. The movement was eerie and precise, synchronized to such perfection that it felt unnatural, almost ceremonial in its reverence.

Then, with the same unsettling harmony, they bowed deeply toward Orion, foreheads descending slowly until they nearly touched the polished marble floor.

A deep, resonant, genderless voice filled the expansive hall, its tone echoing powerfully, vibrating in Orion’s very bones. "We kneel before our Emperor. Rule us."

As if summoned by these words, an immense throne materialized at the far end of the endless hall. It was colossal, imposing, carved entirely of obsidian and enveloped by a shroud of shifting shadows.

Ancient runes etched into its surface glowed faintly, shimmering silver in the surrounding darkness. Above this throne, a crown of flickering silver-black flames floated forward with grace, slowly approaching Orion.

The voice spoke again, pressing into him with undeniable insistence. "Sit. Rule."

Orion’s eyes narrowed slightly as his heart quickened. His instincts flared immediately, warning him that this was no simple gift, it was a test.

The symbolism was clear: temptation in the form of power, a chance to measure the strength and clarity of his inner self.

He stood still, neither immediately stepping forward nor turning away, his mind sharp, calm, and balanced between caution and resolve.

After a thoughtful silence, he finally moved forward, each step deliberate and measured. Reaching out, he took the crown into his hands, feeling the cool, gentle flicker of the shadow flames.

With purposeful control and calm authority, he placed it upon his head, not as a token accepted in blind desire, but as a choice made decisively, with a clear understanding of the responsibility it represented.

In response, the shadowed figures lifted their heads slowly, not in celebration or approval, but in silent acknowledgment.

They simply faded, and with them, the throne, the vast hall, and the vision itself dissolved back into darkness.

The darkness shifted once more, replaced by something entirely different. Orion’s senses sharpened as the faint crackle of embers and the acrid smell of smoke surrounded him.

He stood upon an ancient battlefield, silent now, long after the final screams of war had faded into the distant echoes of memory.

The earth was cracked, scorched, and blackened by fires long extinguished. Broken banners lay torn and tattered upon the ground, scattered among rusted armor, shattered weapons, and fragments of fallen warriors’ bones.

Ash drifted slowly from a heavy, gray sky, falling like mournful snow upon a landscape defined solely by loss and regret.

Ghostly echoes of desperate screams, the clash of steel upon steel, and the agonized roars of ancient battles rippled faintly in the heavy air.

From within the oppressive haze, shadowy figures began to coalesce, stepping forth to surround him.

Their forms were vague and indistinct, shifting and blending like smoke caught in a gentle breeze. Their voices, however, were sharp and unmistakable, cutting deeply, laden with accusation and scorn.