It was a normal day. The sun rose from the east and the sky was a bright blue with gentle clouds floating by. The Lesser Ones were tilling the soil to prepare for the upcoming planting season. However, for Fiora and many other children in her village, today was the most important day of their lives.

Fiora woke up, yawning before remembering what day it was. She got up from her bed, excitement and worry bubbling in her chest.

Today was the day of the Ceremony for her and many other children born in the same year as her. The Ceremony would determine their futures, happening only once every year. After all, strength equaled respect in her village.

She exited her bedroom and slowly walked down the stairs, smelling the breakfast her mother was making. It was her favorite—stewed boar stomach.

"You're awake?" her mother, Glora, asked. "Breakfast is almost finished, have a seat."

Her father, Liruk, was cleaning his weapon at the table, a two-handed war axe.

"Today's the day," he said in a raspy voice.

"Mmm," Fiora replied as she sat down.

The two sat in silence for a while before Liruk suddenly spoke up.

"I want you to know," he began, the fangs that protruded from his mouth shining. "Whatever result you get during the Ceremony, it does not matter to me."

He looked at her with his deep, dark eyes.

"You will always be my daughter."

With that, the table returned to silence.

Fiora did not reply, blinking away the tears in her eyes. Even her father did not believe that she was going to achieve anything during the Ceremony.

In the village where strength was respected the most, Fiora had almost none of that strength. She had always been the scrawny kid growing up, incomparable to her peers who towered over her. If not for her father being the chief of the village, she would have long been bullied by the others. Her skills with a weapon were mediocre at best, and an absolute disaster at worst.

She fumbled around with the two-handed swords, accidentally stabbed her instructor with the spear, and could not hit a single target with the bow and arrow. Taking after her father with his war axe was out of the question. Fiora barely could lift it, swinging it around was impossible.

She could see the disappointment in her father's eyes every time he looked at her. He had wanted a strong child who could mirror his power and perhaps even take up his weapon after him. Fiora had none of that.

Fiora did not wish to grow up weak. The entire village had bright expectations for the chief's child, anticipating another great warrior who could lead them into battle without fear. Instead, they were met with a baby who almost died at birth.

Although the village treated her respectfully in front of her, she could hear their mocking laughs and see their scornful gazes. She longed to be powerful like her idol, her father. She would desperately train, only to be met with defeat whenever she sparred against her peers. Sometimes she wondered if she truly was her father's legitimate daughter and not a fake.

Her mother soon brought out breakfast. the smell awakening Fiora's appetite.

"Put away your axe, Liruk," her mother reprimanded. "We're having breakfast here."

Liruk silently put his weapon away, fearing the anger of his wife. While her father commanded control over the entire village, in her home her mother had the final say.

"Fiora," her mother asked as they began eating. "How does it taste?"

"Good," Fiora responded absentmindedly, still worrying about the upcoming Ceremony.

Her mother, noticing the worry on her face, gently placed a warm hand over hers.

"Don't worry, dear," she comforted. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

Glora then looked over to Liruk, who was busy eating, and kicked him under the table.

"Right, Liruk?"

Her father quickly nodded in agreement, still chewing.

Fiora put on a smile to ease her mother's concern and then began swiftly eating. She soon finished, hugged her mother, and then ran out the door.

Glora looked at her disappearing back before saying worriedly, "That child, I hope she doesn't get too disappointed."

Liruk said nothing.

 

---

 

Fiora arrived at the square, where the Ceremony was usually held. There were quite a few people there already, glancing at her and then resuming their conversations. Fiora walked to a nearby tree and sat down, waiting for the moment to arrive. She watched the Lesser Ones grunting in the fields, occasionally getting into fights just to be separated by one of the field hands watching over them. More and more people soon arrived, the square filled with the sounds of chattering.

Fiora had no friends to speak of, so she sat in silence and observed the others. When a horn was blown, all the noise came to a stop.

An old man, his back bent, walked up to the stage set in the middle of the square. He was the shaman of the village. The wise man, Toruk.

"All of you here," he spoke with a tone that commanded respect. "Are here for one reason."

His voice boomed over the crowd, nobody daring to speak. Toruk's eyes shone with a glint that didn't match his age.

"The Ceremony."

"This Ceremony will determine the course of your lives, your futures, and the position you will hold in this village."

He waved his hands, causing two others to walk onto the stage carrying a vast cauldron. They set it down on the stage, a murky liquid within bubbling.

"Within this cauldron is going to be the source of your Awakening; the Shumtah."

Toruk then pulled out a long list that rolled to the floor.

"When I call your name, please step onto the stage."

He glanced at the first name before speaking.

"Pituk, of the Winds."

A young boy stepped forward nervously, walking onto the stage. Toruk filled a ladle full of the liquid from the cauldron before handing it to the boy.

"Drink."

Pituk cautiously took the ladle, careful to not spill any of the Shumtah, and drank the concoction. He grimaced, likely from the taste of the Shumtah. Pituk breathed out and closed his eyes, Toruk closely observing him.

As Pituk's skin began to glow a faint blue, he winced in pain. He began to stumble, Toruk having to steady him.

"Focus, do not let that energy pass by."

Pituk strained his body, muscles bulging. He then slowly opened his eyes, which shined a faint blue before fading away.

"Use that energy," Toruk ordered. "Show me what you can do."

Pituk concentrated, a faint blue covering his body. He then suddenly opened his mouth, face tilting into the air. A blast of strong wind emerged from his mouth, flying out with great speed. The wind flew into the air for several meters before slowly dissipating.

"Good," Toruk said. "Go to the Ariuh and choose your weapon."

Pituk walked off the stage with a big smile, happy that he passed. He could now become a warrior, something many children in the village dreamed of becoming.

"Stirok, of the Snow," Toruk called out next. "Come forth."

An extremely muscular and tall young man strode toward the stage with confidence.

Toruk handed him the ladle.

"Drink."

Stirok gulped down the liquid, showing no expression. However, that was it. Nothing happened.

Toruk observed him for a second before shaking his head.

"You fail. Go home."

"No!" Stirok protested. "This cannot be! Please, give me another! I will awaken this time!"

Toruk sighed.

"Go home."

Stirok, refusing to accept the outcome, lunged for the cauldron. Toruk simply waved his hand, causing a rope of dark fire to appear and bind Stirok, causing him to collapse onto the floor.

"PLEASE!" Stirok cried out. "One more chance!"

Toruk shook his head, beckoning for his two helpers to remove the emotional young man from the stage. The entire square was dead silent. Stirok was one of the ones with the greatest potential within the village. If he couldn't awaken, what were their chances?

"Liona, of the Sand."

Toruk continued calling out names, paying no mind to the previous outbreak. He had done this countless times and seen countless young men with potential, fail. Today was no different.

Every name that Toruk called out was like a hammer to Fiora's already fragile confidence. Many failed, some didn't. As the names continued, Fiora eventually heard her own.

"Fiora, of the Blood."

Fiora felt everyone's eyes focusing on her. She walked toward the stage, every step feeling like she was walking to her doom. This was it. Her future was to be decided within these next few moments.

She soon arrived in front of Toruk, his deep eyes staring into her own. He handed her the ladle.

"Drink."

Fiora took the ladle with shaking hands, ever so careful to not spill a single drop. She placed the ladle to her lips, the cold metal feeling particularly numbing. The Shumtah had an ill taste, like that of rotting fish. She closed her eyes, trying not to gag.

Then, she felt it.

It was faint at first, then blossomed into a roaring fire in her chest. She groaned, sweat beading on her forehead. It was as if her entire body was being burnt by a great and powerful flame. Her skin then began to glow a pale white.

Toruk studied her, face impassive. The pain soon subsided, Fiora's eyes glowing white.

"Use the energy."

Fiora nodded, before trying to channel the energy that she had encountered earlier. The burning feeling that conveyed pain and power. Her skin began to glow a pale white again before...

Nothing. Not a breath of wind or a punch of fire. The white light soon faded, only leaving Fiora with a tingling sensation on her skin.

"Try again," Toruk commanded.

Fiora again concentrated, but the same result happened. Nothing.

Toruk glanced at her again before looking away.

"Go to the Ariuh and choose your weapon."

Fiora walked off the stage dejectedly. It was the biggest moment of her life and she had failed.

"She could be used as a source of light," she heard someone in the crowd snicker.

Fiora quickened her steps, wanting to do nothing but curl up on her bed. As she walked toward the Ariuh, she felt the gazes of others on her back. Perhaps it was of the ones who had failed. After all, she had Awakened and could still become a warrior while they could not. Awakeneds could grow past their limits and possess strength that Unawakened could only ever dream about.

She soon arrived at the Ariuh, the tallest building in the village. It was created entirely out of stone and had a total of five floors. The guard standing at the entrance noticed her walking up.

"Stop," he ordered. "Unawakeneds cannot enter."

"I have Awakened," Fiora said in a quiet voice.

"I said, Unawak-huh?"

The guard rubbed his eyes before looking at Fiora again.

"You? YOU Awakened?"

Fiora nodded, before saying, "Can I enter now?"

"Of course. My apologies."

The guard opened the door and let her in. There were others within the Ariuh, wandering around, looking at the rows of weapons on display. They all looked surprised to see Fiora, not expecting her to have passed.

Fiora paid them no mind and looked around. The legendary Ariuh was full of weapons, ranging from all types. There were bows, swords, shields, spears, axes, halberds, and many more. Each one had belonged to warriors that came before them and will belong to warriors that come after. Fiora walked around, feeling each weapon.

None of them felt right, so she ascended to the next floor. And the next. And the next.

Fiora couldn't find a weapon that felt right. She didn't know what was supposed to feel right, but she knew that randomly picking a weapon would never work. After all, she had almost no talent with weapons.

As she finally climbed to the fifth floor, Fiora was getting desperate. There was nothing that could catch her eye and she was running out of options. She looked around, walking between the rows of sharp weapons. Then she saw it.

In an obscure corner was a sharp and curved one-handed blade. It was covered with dust showing that nobody had cared for it in a long time. She walked over and picked it up,

The hilt felt perfect in her hands as she wiped the dust off the scimitar. It felt just right.

She walked back down to the first floor, the others having long left. Fiora waved the sword around, joyfully feeling the smooth feeling of the blade slicing through the air. She then left the Ariuh, a small sense of confidence blooming.

Fiora walked back to the square, ready for the next part of the Ceremony. It was to test their combat prowess in a battle. There was no failing in this portion, but it would instead show off the skills that they have learned and if they knew how to use their newly awakened powers in a real fight.

Their names would be randomized and matched with each other to provide a fair fight. Toruk, seeing Fiora approach, placed a cup down. The cups were filled with their names and who they would spar against.

"Step to the sides," Toruk announced. "Clear out of the square."

Everyone shifted, leaving a makeshift arena on the square. Toruk then reached his hand into the cup and drew out the first name.

"Borgk, of the Iron."

Borgk was also one of the young men with the most potential in their village. His chosen weapon was a greatsword that he swung around with ease due to his strong body and sculpted muscles. Whoever fought against him would be in for a beatdown.

"Fiora, of the Blood."

Time seemed to pause, as everyone looked over to Fiora. Some of them had a look of schadenfreude on their faces, while others had a look of pity. Fiora herself was shocked, never having expected that she would go first, and against possibly the strongest of her peers. Her small sense of confidence that she had gained slowly died back down as she walked with heavy steps toward the arena.

"You will fight until one of you cannot," Toruk said. "Bloodshed is fine, but no killing. Understand?"

The two nodded.

"Then you may begin."

Fiora looked at Borgk, who also looked back at her. There was no disdain in his eyes for a weaker opponent. He always fought everyone fairly and as equals. Borgk truly was a man destined to become a great warrior.

Fiora swallowed nervously as Borgk stepped closer to her, careful of any potential attacks. He suddenly swung his greatsword, the massive blade crashing down at her. Fiora quickly dodged to the side, almost losing her balance.

A burst of stifled laughter came from the crowd.

Borgk quickly picked up his weapon again and swung at Fiora from the side. Fiora, preparing to dodge again, didn't see the kick that was coming at her chest. The kick knocked all the wind out of her lungs as she knelt on the ground. Borgk took this chance to rush at Fiora again, swinging his greatsword.

Fiora struggled to avoid the attack, scrambling to the side. She took a deep breath and recovered, readying her scimitar in front of her. It was as if the blade was screaming to be used, instead of flailing around alongside her.

As Borgk rushed at her again, when he swung his greatsword, she saw the attack. The seconds seemed to slow as her repeated training over the years kicked in. In the past, she didn't have the scimitar. But she did now.

Fiora used the angle of the curved blade to lightly deflect Borgk's blow into the air and used the opportunity while he was still swinging to slash at his chest. A gash appeared, red blood spilling. Borgk quickly retreated, looking at Fiora warily. He then breathed out before the skin on his arm began to turn a heavy gray.

Borgk then again pounced forward, greatsword in hand. Fiora tried to deflect and counterattack again, but this time Borgk instead used his arm to block Fiora's slash, sparks flying. He then punched out, shattering Fioras arm and causing her sword arm to go limp, albeit she was still tightly grasping her scimitar.

The burning sensation came again. It started as a small fire, then spread to a tremendous blaze. As the feeling extended from her chest to her arm, a tingling feeling came. The bones in her arm started repairing itself while the torn muscles began to stitch together.

Borgk, thinking that this would be the end of the fight, swung the greatsword at her one last time. However, he didn't expect that Fiora would duck the blow before pushing closer to him. Borgk tried to back up, but it was too late. Fiora had used her once useless arm to hold the scimitar to Borgk's neck, a single drop of blood running down.

Now, everyone was silent. The laughter had long since disappeared, replaced by faces of shock. In the village where strength was respected the most, everyone on the side started applauding.

"Fiora has won," Toruk announced from the side. "Now step off the arena."

Borgk offered a handshake which Fiora accepted. He then turned and walked off the stage, with no traces of displeasure on his face from the result. Fiora stood and basked in the glory of the applause for a moment, smiling.

Looks like she would become a warrior, after all.