The sun spilled like molten gold over the Pavilion's vast courtyard, washing the ancient stones in warm light. The air was cool, but the rising heat promised a long day.
Hundreds gathered in a long, winding line. Faces of every age filled the plaza — children gripping their parents' hands, teens chatting quietly, adults standing with steady breathing, and elders watching with eyes full of memory.
No one spoke loudly. Instead, quiet conversations rose and fell like gentle waves, thoughtful and deliberate.
Near the front of the line, a lean man with sharp eyes leaned in to speak with a younger woman beside him.
"The Pavilion's test is the only way to confirm if you have the second talent," he said, voice low. "No one else knows how to detect it. Not clans, not sects. No one."
She nodded, lips pressed tight. "And it's free. That alone makes it worth the risk. If you pass, yes, you pledge loyalty. But that's expected. They're not handing out blessings for nothing."
"True," a stout man from the next group joined in. "A second talent changes everything. If you have it, you become a tool, sure—but a powerful one. The Pavilion gives you strength and status in return."
A teenager laughed quietly, eyes bright with excitement. "I'm ready to swear that loyalty. Who wouldn't be? It's fate, right? If the second talent chooses you, you follow it."
"Fate or not, it's a life-changing choice," said an older woman, folding her arms. "The Pavilion won't let you walk away later. You owe them everything."
A younger man shrugged. "If you have a second talent, you'd be foolish to walk away anyway. Where else could you get the resources, the training? No other sect can match the Pavilion."
A mother smiled softly as she held her child. "Some say the second talent is a blessing—and a curse. But I believe it's a gift. If my child had it, I'd want him to have every chance to use it."
From the crowd, a small voice spoke. A boy no older than ten tugged at his father's sleeve. "Daddy, what if I have the second talent?"
The man bent down, his voice gentle but serious. "Then, my son, you will need to decide if you're ready to give yourself to the Pavilion. It's a big promise."
An elderly cultivator nodded from nearby. "The Pavilion protects those who serve it. Without loyalty, the second talent can leave you vulnerable—hunted by others who want what you have."
"But some say the loyalty means giving up your freedom," a woman whispered, glancing sideways. "You become part of their machine."
A calm voice answered, "Freedom is a choice only if you have power. Without the second talent, you remain a pawn anyway."
A young man laughed, voice rich with hope. "I want to be more than a pawn. If I have the second talent, I want to use it—to change my fate and my family's."
"Better to bind yourself to a force that can help you grow than to wander lost," said a grizzled elder. "The Pavilion offers protection, training, status—but it demands your loyalty. That is the price of power."
A young woman glanced at her hands. "I'm scared, but I can't ignore this chance. If I don't try, I'll regret it forever."
A merchant smiled, surveying the hopeful faces. "This test is a gamble. But one you can't afford not to take if you truly want to rise."
Someone else added, "The Pavilion's reach is wide. Those with second talent quickly find doors opening—better lands, better lives."
"But once pledged," another voice warned, "your path is no longer your own. You serve the Pavilion's goals, not your own dreams."
"That's true for all power," a man said quietly. "When you step into the light, you lose some shadows. But you gain strength to shape what's left."
A teenage boy near the front grinned. "Then I choose strength. I'll swear loyalty gladly if it means becoming something more."
A woman smiled softly at him. "May the path be clear to you, then. And may you find the strength to walk it well."
The line shifted forward.
The murmurs slowed, replaced by the heavy footsteps of fate moving closer.
The Pavilion's gates stood open, waiting.
The line had barely moved when a boy of sixteen tugged at his father's sleeve.
"Father, I want to get tested today."
The man, a small sect leader marked by simple robes, stopped and turned to his son, his face calm but serious.
"You understand what this means?" he asked quietly. "If you pass, you must pledge complete loyalty to the Pavilion. That bond cannot be broken."
The boy nodded eagerly. "I know. But I want to know if I have the second talent. It could change everything for me—and for our sect."
The father sighed, looking toward the Pavilion gates. "You are the heir. Our sect's future rests on you. Swearing loyalty to the Pavilion might conflict with your duty here."
"I've thought about that," the son replied. "But if the second talent is truly a fate changer, maybe it will help us all. I don't want to waste this chance out of fear."
The father's eyes softened. "This is no small decision. The Pavilion demands all—your freedom, your loyalty, your path."
The boy's jaw tightened. "Then I'll give them everything if it means I can become stronger. I can't live wondering 'what if.'"
The man hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Very well. Just promise me you'll be careful. The path you choose won't be easy."
"I promise, Father."
The line crept forward again.
The line crept forward again.
Around them, the crowd's quiet murmurs carried many voices—hopes whispered, fears swallowed, silent prayers for strength.
Some worried about the price they might pay if their loyalty was demanded forever.
Others dreamed of the power and status the second talent might grant.
A mother held her child tightly, wondering if this chance would secure a better future.
An old cultivator stared ahead, haunted by memories of lost talents and broken promises.
A young man's eyes gleamed with determination, ready to embrace whatever came.
Each soul wrapped in their own thoughts, each carrying a weight only they could bear.
The gates ahead waited patiently.
And beyond them, fate quietly waited too.