Neria looked at the weapon in her hands. The [Keeper of Voices] had said her induction would be expedited, but she had not expected to undergo the first ritual only a few days later. While she hadn't been idle in those days — managing to raise her level to one hundred fifty-three with the help of one of the Guardsmen — she was still far from what she should be to undergo the ritual.

She swallowed slightly as she very carefully laid the weapon back down, picking up her new clothes instead. The material was soft to the touch, but somehow resistant to being cut — even with her new weapon.

"I don't think you can change your clothes by staring at them," a voice called from behind her, causing Neria to drop her uniform and spin around. Her eyes landed on her instructor and future partner, Kemeria. "You should get ready, they are expecting you."

Neria nodded after a brief moment of hesitation, turning back to pick up her clothes after Kemeria had left. She was right, of course; Neria had spent Kensar-knowing how long just staring at the equipment, trying to mentally prepare herself for what was to come.

She let her old clothes fall to the floor, her hand lingering over the scar just below her heart. The furless patch a reminder of her failure. Of her inadequacy. Pushing the thoughts away, Neria slipped into the first layer of her new clothes. My new life.

The rest of her attire — shift, pants, belt, pauldrons, greaves, and bracers — was quickly put on, the time in which she had to prepare quickly running out. Only when she went to affix her falchion did Neria slow down again. The weapon was heavy in her hands as she fastened the blade and its sheath to her left side. Far from usable, despite the unnatural sharpness of its edge; she could barely carry it. It would take some time to get used to wearing a sword that, when swung, would be about as effective as using a too-heavy club, but it was the way of the ancestors to have it by one's side at every time of day. She would not complain.

A last look in the mirror showed the thin, short reflection of herself. Her mottled brown fur somehow clashed with the white and gold colouration of her new uniform. You can do this, Neria thought to herself, straightening the top of her armour one more time before turning and leaving her chambers.

"Took you long enough, new blood," Kemeria said, pushing herself off the wall she had rested against. "Come on now, it's time for the induction."

Neria just gave a slight nod in reply before falling in behind the older Guardsman, still not quite accustomed to the familiarity and lack of professionalism Kemeria displayed.

While she could no longer tell which tribe Kemeria originally came from by just her looks, Neria still had a good guess. The carefree attitude reminded her of what she had seen when visiting the Cattaú tribe.

They were the only one of the big five that still stuck to the nomadic roots all the tribes shared. The Kin that hailed from that tribe often also cared little for most things the other tribes would consider essential. Like formality. Kemeria certainly fit the bill when it came to behaviour, it was just that she lacked the thin tail and shorter, pointy ears the Cattaú usually had. Adopted, perhaps? But the Vulpíere and Cattaú hate each other...

Neria could vividly remember the Elders of both tribes yelling at each other as her mother tried to mediate the dispute. Would it have been any other clan, they would not have cared that the Cattaú passed through their territory, most even welcoming the merchants and storytellers.

But the Vulpíere did care. They had made it a whole ordeal that had cost the young Neria a summer with her friends. It wasn't the explicit duty of the Lycan tribe to be mediators, but most of their ranks saw it as a necessity as the [Ancestral Guardsmen] only did so outside of Foderys as a last resort.

That the Lycans also let almost anyone join their tribe only cemented them as the Beastkin diplomats and mediators. And why most of the [Ancestral Guardsmen] come from our tribe. That duty and honour were still among the more favoured virtues among most Lycans also helped.

The voice of Kemeria interrupted her train of thought. "What's on your mind, Neria? The ritual is not dangerous. You do know that, right?"

"The Keeper told me that, yes," Neria replied, her hands suddenly in dire need of something to do. "But, I am not even close to the level I should be. What if it fails? ...I don't even know what is supposed to happen."

The other Beastkin waved her off. "You'll be fine."

"But what do I have to do?"

"Not much," Kemeria laughed. "Just go inside and do as you are told. You don't even have to recite your duties like you did before gaining access to the inner sanctum."

Neria winced slightly at the reminder of her first step as a Guardsman. It wasn't like she had forgotten what she had to say or what movements she had to make, but she had been nervous enough that her entire recital was more like a broken record. You can't just repair first impressions, though.

Repairing the recording on a cracked crystal disc, while hard, was possible. All you needed to know was the right spell. Magic to calm the mind did exist, but it was usually reserved for priests, something about it not being their magic but that of their chosen deity.

"You are doing it again," Kemeria said and lightly flicked Neria's forehead. "Relax. And don't forget to breathe."

Neria rubbed her head but did not reply, instead taking a deep breath as she laid her eyes on the heavily decorated stone doors that barred their way to the ritual chambers. Despite how much they had to weigh, Kemeria pushed them open without much apparent effort. Level four hundred…

Behind the massive doors lay a hall that dwarfed most everything Neria had seen in her life. Almost the entire floor of the hall was made up of rune-bearing black marble tiles, the magic strong enough to even be felt by someone as inept at the arcane arts as herself.

"I bring before you, as ordered, Neria Kellborn." The sudden proclamation startled Neria as she could not spot anyone inside the chambers. Nevertheless, Kemeria continued. "In accordance to the scripture of our ancestors, she will now face the past and be judged."

Neria swallowed slightly at the words. She did not like the idea of facing her past, or being judged. Who will judge me, anyway? Kemeria was the only one present after all, and Neria doubted the warrior would officiate any ritual.

After a subtle wave of her caretaker, Neria stepped into the ritual hall. The runes lit up beneath her feet, pulsing for a moment before a path illuminated itself in front of her.

"Follow the trail and face the trial." With those words Kemeria lightly pushed the confused Beastkin, closing the heavy stone doors behind her and effectively locking Neria inside.

"Hello?" she called into the darkness, expecting some sort of reply. She was met with only silence.

After a couple of shaky breaths that did little to calm her nerves, Neria took her first step of the trail before her. Nothing happened. Another step onto the glowing runes without adverse reaction allowed a bit of confidence to return to the woman, and soon she was walking along the snaking path.

It wasn't long before Neria noticed a slight change in her surroundings. It started as a soft whisper, an almost silent hum at the outskirts of her mind. She turned her head in an effort to find the source but came up empty no matter where she looked. The noise was everywhere and nowhere, steadily growing in volume and intensity as her feet carried her further along the path of dimly glowing runes.

A shudder ran down her spine as she stepped forwards and found herself in a circle befreed of runes. Instead, the language of magic itself encircled it — and her. Neria glanced behind her but was only greeted by an all-consuming darkness her eyes could not pierce. Once she had turned around again, she was standing in a desert bathed in the scorching rays of the sun.

"What?" The word came from her lips unbidden, the heat, wind, and coarse sand she could feel so far removed from the cold, polished marble she had tread on before that she almost believed she had been teleported. But I wasn't, right?

Before more questions could form in her mind, a particularly strong breeze kicked up a cloud of loose sand that obscured her vision for a moment. She blinked rapidly, hands raising to further protect her eyes, and as soon as her sight had cleared Neria was looking at a small procession of Beastkin walking through the desert, clothed in nothing more than the fur they were born with.

"Your ancestors, child." Neria whipped around at the words, her hand immediately resting on the weapon at her side. What she saw was the vague, sandy outline of a person, tall and broad-shouldered, his build fitting the deep rumble of his voice. "You have nothing to fear from me, child. I am here to teach you. And to test you."

"Who are you?"

In response the sandy figure lifted his arm to point out a Beastkin in the middle of the pack. "That is me with my pack. The first of our kind to brave the deserts to answer the call of our maker; the ones that would eventually found this tribe."

His words were marked with a shift of their surroundings that brought them closer to the pack, allowing Neria to see the unmistakable golden fur. She did not know what the Guardsmen called their tribe — the knowledge not shared with outsiders — but it was clear who the people in front of her were.

One thing, however, did not make sense to her. "Our maker?"

"Yes," the figure replied, changing the scene with a wave of his hand. "It is largely forgotten now, but our rise to civilisation was long and troublesome. It did not happen by mere chance. Follow me."

Neria did so, quickly falling in behind her sandy ancestor as he walked without trace over the dunes in front of them. Each step she took seemed to advance time by leaps and bounds, the desert soon giving way to more and more greenery.

Along the way Neria saw some of the Beastkin leave the procession, choosing to stay behind to start a new pack of their own. But the core of the original pack remained, always continuing on their journey no matter what happened. They braved the heat of the deserts, the floods of the forests and later still the cold of the mountains that froze the snow to their fur.

Somewhere along the way, they had acquired simple hides to better protect them from the growing amount of monsters that attacked them. Their enemies were relentless in their assault, willingly throwing their life away but only managing to slow the pack of Beastkin down a little.

"Not everyone wanted us to reach our maker," her ancestor said as he noticed Neria's confused look. "The rulers of this world are often uncaring for mortal matters, some even abhorring the mere idea of making contact with their creations."

"And they would try to kill them? Why?"

"I could not tell you the thoughts of a divine. But yes, some had deemed it necessary to stop us. Others decided a worse punishment was in order."

This time they stood in what was, despite its simplicity and unadorned state, a temple; the centerpiece of which was a statue of what Neria could only describe as a more beastly — Primal? — Beastkin. His hands ended in long, sharp claws, and his teeth looked like they would easily bite through anything that got between them.

"Chellien, our maker," her ancestor said as he motioned towards the statue. "He uplifted us from our primitive selves so that we may live a more prosperous life. He made the five tribes you know today; gave us the foundations for our civilisation."

Neria wanted to ask so many questions but found herself unable to speak, the solemn feeling that had befallen the area constricting her throat. Rushing through the door was the recognizable living form of her sandy-outlined ancestor, as well as a group of other men; the ones that had stuck with her ancestor for the entirety of their journey. Together they carried what she easily recognized as Chellien. What? How?

One of his arms was missing, black blood that melted the stone it touched dripping from the wound. His chest was equally scarred, countless cuts stretching over it like a deadly web.

"Some divines had deemed his transgression too high, that he needed to die for his violation of their rules." She could see the group carefully arrange the body below the statue before they started praying, uncaring for the black blood that burned through their fur. "It was too late. The ones that wanted him dead outnumbered him — locked him in the mortal realm to die a final death."

A shudder seemed to run through the world. The light that had once glowed behind Chellien's pained, tired eyes faded away, and in response the statue at the feet of which he lay began to crack. Fissures spread from the chest of rock, snaking and coiling their way over the entire form, until it could withstand no more and crumbled into a pile of rubble.

As the last breath escaped the dead God, a person appeared in front of the group. Neria knew who it was, the black and blue wings and long silver-blue hair unmistakable in her mind. Aperio?

The woman made a grabbing motion, a black marble appearing in her hand as she did so. She said a few words that Neria did not understand before gently brushing her other hand over the sphere. A moment later the body of Chellien began to fall apart and a black mist started to stream from the marble, quickly enveloping the Beastkin that had prayed for their God.

"Our God was dead and we thought we were lost, but a final gift from Chellien saw us graced by the Creator. Our kind given another chance by the dying wish of a God."

As quickly as Aperio had appeared she had vanished, leaving behind an empty temple and a group of passed-out Beastkin. Only her ancestor was still conscious, his eyes locked at the small black sphere that floated where the Creator had stood.

"Now it is your time to brave the blessing of Chellien, the Tortured Soul." His words were accompanied by a black mist quickly spreading through the entire chamber, the illusion of the temple she had seen before crumbling when the fog touched it. As soon as it reached Neria she started to scream, falling to the ground as she writhed in agony. Before darkness could claim her, the shadow of her ancestor spoke once more.

"Survive, child. Greatness awaits.”

GamingWolf

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