The interior of the cathedral was vast, a cavernous hall of polished black marble that seemed to actively swallow the pale morning light filtering through the high, arched stained-glass windows. The scale of the room was completely overwhelming, the vaulted stone ceiling rising so high into the gloom that it felt less like a building and more like an underground cavern carved out of the planet's bedrock. The air was ice-cold and heavy, carrying a thick, metallic scent of active ozone and ancient, burning incense that left a faint, static prickle across the back of my neck. Thousands of unawakened youths from every corner of the frontier were being quietly, methodically directed by robed system overseers into tight, parallel lines across the floor, our collective footsteps echoing softly like a muffled drumbeat against the pristine stone.
Ahead of us, at the far end of the impossibly long hall, stood the Altar of Unsealing. It was a massive, jagged monolith of raw, unpolished star-stone that seemed to radiate a cold, silent gravity of its own. The monolithic stone was surrounded by a complex series of glowing blue mana circles etched deep into the marble floor, the runic path lines pulsing with a steady, rhythmic luminescence that matched the heartbeat of the planetary engine.
"Stay in your lines," an overseer's voice boomed across the rafters, flat, mechanical, and entirely devoid of any human warmth. "Place your transit tokens into the slots on the pedestal when your name is called. The interface will evaluate your framework."
Lysander was standing directly to my left, his chest heaving under his rough canvas tunic as his breath plumed into thick white clouds in the cool air. His eyes were incredibly wide, fixed entirely on the shifting blue light reflecting off the vaulted ceiling. Every few seconds, a loud, resonant chime would echo through the stone hall as an unawakened candidate stepped up to the monolith, followed instantly by a bright, translucent public broadcast panel that flashed their initialized parameters into the air for the entire room to witness.
[ UNSEALING COMPLETED ]
[ NAME: REINALD ]
[ TALENT RANK: FIRST ECHELON (STONE GRADE-WHITE) ]
[ MAIN AFFINITY: EARTH CONSTITUTION ]
The boy left the altar platform with slumped shoulders, his head hanging low as he was silently escorted toward the civilian labour exit by a pair of armoured guards. The sorting process was brutal, rapid, and entirely unyielding. To the global engine, human potential wasn't an inspiring story of determination; it was nothing more than a baseline equation of raw attributes and structural talent ranks designed to sort the population into its defensive grids.
[ UNSEALING COMPLETED ]
[ NAME: GARRICK ]
[ TALENT RANK: SECOND ECHELON (IRON GRADE-GREEN) ]
[ MAIN AFFINITY: REINFORCED MUSCLE ]
The standard baseline distribution of the outer rim, I noted silently, my dark eyes systematically tracking the rapid flow of the lines. Out of every hundred youths called forward by the robed overseers, ninety-five were being sorted straight into the First Echelon Stone-Grade and Second Echelon Iron-Grade brackets—the auxiliary labour force and frontline meat-shields that would keep the central cities running while bleeding in the lower-tier rifts. The system didn't care about their dreams, their personal ambitions, or the families they left behind on the frontier. It was an automated, clinical sorting grid executing a planetary triage.
"Lysander of the Ashen Frontier!" the overseer called out, the mechanical echo bouncing ruthlessly across the stone walls.
Lysander stiffened, his entire broad frame locking up for a fraction of a second as if he had been hit by a localized paralysis spell. He turned his head, casting a frantic, desperate look in my direction, his fingers trembling where they gripped his bronze transit pass. I didn't let my civilian mask slip. I gave him a single, firm nod, keeping my posture completely relaxed and steady to anchor him.
"Go," I said softly, my voice cutting through his panic. "The foundation is already there."
He swallowed hard, stepping out of the line with a sudden surge of determination and marching down the long black marble aisle. His leather boots sounded incredibly loud against the silent stone floor. He approached the unpolished pedestal, his trembling hand dropping his Second Echelon Bronze-Grade transit token into the slotted rock. The moment his palms pressed flat against the ancient star-stone monolith, the blue mana circles beneath his boots violently flared, the light rapidly turning into a deep, solid iron-grey that carried the distinctive, heavy density of a high-tier vanguard.
A sharp, crystalline chime rang through the vaulted rafters.
[ UNSEALING COMPLETED ]
[ NAME: LYSANDER ]
[ TALENT RANK: FOURTH ECHELON (SILVER-GRADE-SILVER) ]
[ MAIN AFFINITY: PHYSICAL DURABILITY ]
[ BASE ATTRIBUTE HIGH POINT: ENDURANCE ]
A collective, low murmur rippled through the front rows of the waiting crowd. A Fourth Echelon Silver-Rank talent emerging from a nameless, outlying frontier village was an absolute rarity—a natural warrior candidate whose innate physical durability would make him a coveted prize for the elite academies. Lysander let out a massive, visible gasp of relief, his massive shoulders dropping as an overseer stepped forward with a rare touch of professionalism to guide him toward the high-tier recruitment hall. Before he crossed the threshold, he looked back over his shoulder at me, his young face split into a wide, disbelieving grin.
I didn't smile back. My facial features remained locked behind an unreadable, cold military wall, but internally, a sudden, familiar spike of cold gravity tightened right behind my sternum as the overseer's eyes slid down to the next name on the registry scroll. My mind was fully focused on the mechanical parameters ahead. I knew my old timeline data perfectly. The system was about to unseal my old, public Fifth Echelon Gold-Rank heavy blade resonance channels. I was entirely prepared to accept that baseline, fully intending to drop the greatsword style the exact second I cleared the room to build my lightning-fast shortsword path.
"Astraeus of the Ashen Frontier!"
The voice echoed authoritatively across the ceiling. I stepped cleanly out of the line, my boots gripping the cold black marble as I walked toward the monolith with steady, measured strides. The blue light radiating from the floor cast long, sharp shadows across the lines of my young face. I reached the pedestal, my fingers closing around the freezing metal of my bronze token, and dropped it into the slotted pedestal.
I took a slow, deliberate breath, extended both of my unscarred hands forward, and pressed my palms completely flat against the ancient star-stone.