The sun rose, but it brought no warmth. Its pale light struggled to pierce the grey mist that hung over the Withered Scar, casting a colorless glow over the desolate landscape. It was a sun that had given up trying to bring life to this place.

A heavy silence had fallen over the checkpoint. The assembled soldiers, both the Academy's elite guard and the Church's Temple Knights, stood in a wide semi-circle.

It felt less like a scientific demonstration and more like the prelude to an execution. Cardinal Evangeline stood at the very center of the formation, her hands clasped before her, her expression calm and unreadable.

Next to her, Inquisitor Theron watched Jonah with eyes burning like hot coals, his hand resting on the golden hilt of his sword, ready to deliver swift and final judgment.

Vanessa and Seraph stood just behind Jonah. Their faces showed a clear mix of deep worry and strong loyalty. They were his only friends in this sea of doubt.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Vanessa whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "This is insane. We can just... run. I have enough runic catalysts to create a smokescreen that would blind an entire army. A really, really good one."

Jonah shook his head, a sad smile touching his lips. He appreciated her fierce protectiveness, but running was no longer an option. It would be an admission of guilt.

"It's okay, Vanessa."

He looked back at Seraph. She met his eyes, showing no doubt, and gave a single, sharp nod.

He turned to face the Scar. The line between living and dead land was clear and wrong, like a dying god had drawn it. On one side was dusty but living ground, with tough grey-green plants. On the other, the land was jet-black and deeply cracked, a dead place that seemed to give off a cold despair.

He took a deep breath, the foul air scratching at the back of his throat. Then, with the eyes of the two most powerful institutions in the nation on him, he took one step forward, crossing the line.

The moment his boot touched the dead earth, a life-draining cold seeped into him. It felt like stepping into an icy river, a cold that didn't just chill his skin but tried to leech the very warmth from his soul. He ignored it. He focused his will, reached into the quiet space of his inner Workshop, and called forth his creation.

A shimmer of soft, green light appeared beside him. Sylva appeared out of thin air.

The effect was instant and dramatic.

The Scar's deathly feeling felt like a weight pushing down on everyone. But it pulled back, as if hit hard. The grey mist swirled and split around Sylva. It made a small clear area in the dark air. It was like one candle being lit in an empty dark room.

A low murmur of disbelief went through the crowd of soldiers, a ripple of sound in the silence.

Sylva didn't care about the dead land. It looked at the bad ground under its clear hooves. It stepped forward gently.

Where its hoof touched the cracked soil, a miracle happened.

A single blade of vibrant green grass instantly sprouted from the dead earth. It was impossibly bright. It was a tiny spark of life in a world consumed by decay and it was the most powerful thing anyone there had seen in decades.

Sylva took another step.

This time, a small, white flower bloomed. It was a simple, star-shaped blossom, but its appearance was so impossible, so contrary to the laws of nature in this place.

Even Cardinal Evangeline's perfect political composure cracked for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widened, her mask of pious calm replaced by a flicker of genuine, unhidden awe.

For fifty years, since the day the Scar was created, nothing had grown on this soil. Not a single seed, no matter how blessed by the highest priests. Not a single drop of holy water, no matter how potent or sacred. The Church's most powerful magic, rituals that could level mountains and boil seas, had failed to produce so much as a single, stubborn weed from this corrupted ground.

And this boy, this unproven child from the undercroft of Cinderfall, had just made a flower bloom with a single step.

Inquisitor Theron, who had been ready to condemn, ready to declare this a demonic trick, stared at the impossible sight, his hand frozen on the hilt of his sword. He had witnessed miracles before—divine shields that turned back dragon fire, holy blades that cleaved demons in two. But those were miracles of power, of destruction and righteous fury. This was a miracle of creation. A gentle, quiet miracle that defied his entire understanding of how holy magic was supposed to work.

He was witnessing something his faith had no words for, and the uncertainty was a foreign, unwelcome feeling.

Back in the circle, Vanessa's jaw was on the floor. "He... it... wow." She looked at Seraph, whose face remained a mask of stone, but whose eyes shone with a powerful, unmoving pride for the boy she had mentored.

Jonah gave Sylva a gentle mental nudge, a silent word of encouragement.

It's okay. You can do this. Let them see.

Sylva responded to his unspoken command, and its `Land's Purification` aura began to activate in earnest.

A soft, golden-green light began to emanate from its body, spreading outwards like a gentle ripple in a still pond. The light was warm and kind, filled with the promise of life and renewal. As this wave of light washed over the ground, the soil itself began to change. The jet-black, cracked earth softened, its color visibly lightening to a charcoal grey, then to a rich, dark brown - the color of healthy, fertile soil.

The circle of life expanded. First a few feet. Then ten. Then twenty. A lush oasis of vibrant green grass and simple white flowers was growing in the dead heart of the Withered Scar.

The sight was so strange, so beautiful, and so completely contrary to the last fifty years of history, that the soldiers, both Knight and Academy Guard, instinctively lowered their weapons, their training forgotten as they stared in stunned, reverent silence.

The Cardinal watched, her mind racing, processing the political and religious implications of what she was seeing. This was no parlor trick. This was not an illusion. This was real. This power was beyond anything she had imagined. The boy had passed the first, unspoken test, not with a roar of power, but with a whisper of life.

Jonah stood in the center of the growing oasis, a figure in a world of his own miracles. He had won the first round. But he knew, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that the Cardinal's test was far from over.

This was just the opening move. And as the circle of green expanded outward, he couldn't help but wonder what other, more dangerous horrors the Withered Scar held in its dead heart.