Aaron met the Watcher’s gaze. Reality twisted. The air curdled, thickening like oil, pressing against his skin. His vision wavered, melting at the edges. Wrong. This is wrong. The black hole at its center drank thought, light, meaning itself. A voice, smooth as glass, slid into his mind.

  TIME TO START PAYING YOU BACK.

  Aaron’s spine locked. His pulse pounded. His instincts screamed, but there was nowhere to run. He glanced around. No one flinched. No whispers, no widened eyes. Just him.

  LET US KEEP OUR SECRETS FOR NOW.

  Still, no reaction from the others. Above, the Watcher’s filaments pulsed in a silent, intricate rhythm. Blue light bled from all the remaining black rifts.

  The Sage of Light bowed deeply. Her rival hesitated, then followed. The President prostrated himself. The Knowing Sage only inclined his head—but Aaron caught it. A fractional movement. A barely audible breath. Even Sages fear Watchers.

  The Watcher’s voice rang through his mind, vast and final.

  I JUDGE THIS SUMMONING WORTHY OF PROVIDENCE.

  YOUR LIFE IS NOT FORFEIT.

  The being froze. As if in anticipation. The Knowing Sage hesitated for but a heartbeat. But he hesitated. “Aspirants.” He nodded to the kneeling quartet. “Swear your vows.”

  The four hesitated. Shuffling feet. Clenched fists. Then— The girl exhaled, her voice cutting the silence like a blade. “Under the gaze of the Eternal Eye, I swear to wield my might, will, and strength—granted…”

  The words hung in the air. A beat. Then the others followed, latching onto her courage like drowning men clutching driftwood. Slaves approached, carrying engraved boxes. Their movements were precise, ritualistic. Each authority figure retrieved an amulet—a dull metal medallion, a small crystal at its heart.

  As the aspirants finished their vows, the two armored Sages’ suits parted at the neck, revealing their own medallions, pulsing with purple light. The Knowing Sage and the Senior President produced theirs as well. The President’s glowed cobalt, its three rings filled. The Knowing Sage’s shone brightest—eight full rings. Five rings lit up on the Sage of Light’s medallion. Two on the Sage of Fire’s.

  One by one, they pressed the unlit amulets to the glowing ones. The Sage of Light vanished from where she stood. A flicker—then steel gleamed midair, her blade-tipped gauntlets hovering, poised to strike. Aaron gasped. The crowd took in a collective breath. His throat tightened.Was this a test? A lesson? A warning?

  A claw flashed toward her kneeling aspirant’s throat. No blood splattered. The Knowing Sage smiled as he cut the dark-haired girl’s finger with a delicate knife. The remaining two Sages just touched their aspirants, and a drop of blood welled forth from forehead and hand, respectively.

  Whispered words were exchanged as the new amulets were touched to the blood. All of them lit up. Nine circles glowed with the rich burgundy of wine, the central gem pulsed in the red of fresh blood.

  As the four stepped back from the kneeling aspirants, the Knowing Sage signaled the Senior President to proceed. He spoke with almost as much confidence as at the beginning of his speech. “Rejoice, for all of you are worthy of the rank of Epoptai. Press the amulets to your forehead, and proceed with the level-up.”

  Aaron’s grin faltered. The words caught up. Level up? No warning. No choices. No escape. Theon leaned forward, knuckles bloodless against his robes. His breath was shallow, sharp. A weight settled in Aaron’s chest.

  They pressed the medallions to their foreheads. A pause— Then the screams began. The air ripped open. Black motes poured into existence—dust twisting, shifting, growing. The swarm descended. Screams ripped through the amphitheater. Aaron flinched—then froze. Blood splattered, hot and wet. Flesh burst like overripe fruit.

  A boy’s eye ruptured. A girl clawed at her throat, choking on the swarm burrowing into her skin. Aaron’s breath hitched. Theon watched without blinking. Aaron swallowed hard. What kind of sick shit is this?

  He breathed heavily. A steadying hand met his back. Rhea. He calmed slowly, breath by breath. Aaron felt as if the odd looks of everyone but the Sages skewered him.

  The Watcher’s starry eye pulsed in a bright spiral pattern. It felt… amused. Bastards. They knew.

  Aaron’s eyes returned to the bloody, twitching ruins of the aspirants’ bodies on the floor. They lay in pools of blood. After a while—far too long—their seizures ended. The brother was the first one to push himself onto his knees. His triumphant, bloody smile was illuminated by a single, bright crimson gem in the middle of the red-stained amulet. He hung the chain around his neck. All four got up and left toward the back entrance of the stage. Into a dark corridor.

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  Theon nudged Aaron forward.His feet moved on their own, step by step, toward the stage. Rhea and Erai flanked him—one burning with silent tension, the other with barely concealed fury. He walked forward in a daze. Felt his heart beating. I hate injections. He exhaled and suppressed a snicker. Not the best moment to mention that.

  He barely noticed what happened before him. When Theon’s shoulder collided with his, he noticed the awkward shuffling going on around him. The peasants stood to the side with wide eyes.

  At the point Aaron walked towards, all three Sages had a venomously polite shoulder-rubbing match. Fractal waves pulsed over the Watcher’s eye. Oh fuck. They all want to give me the amulet. Silence stretched. A war of patience. A battlefield without swords.

  Aaron’s mind raced. Two enemies. Three, if I pick wrong. Four, if the Watcher counts. Five, if I've misread the Knowing Sage’s interest. His hands itched. His fingers twitched toward Theon’s shoulder. A breath. A choice. “Honored Sage of Light.”

  The silence hardened. Push through. “My companion Theon deeply admires your mastery of Artifice. He would be honored to receive his medallion from your hand.” She stopped moving and tilted her head. Like a cat evaluating prey. A mantis ready to slice. Then she nodded and stepped to the side. One down. Two to go.

  The Knowing Sage is the most powerful of them. He is probably the only fitting choice. But if he is so dangerous, why did the others try to supersede him? I am missing something. Aaron wracked his brain. Maybe it is a matter of technical equality? Or am I such a prize that upsetting the others is worth it? That would be epically bad news. Nothing I can do about that.

  Rhea and Erai were pushing against each other. Yeah, forget it, Erai. I remember the slaves you murdered.

  “Honored Sage of Fire.” He gestured to Rhea and saw Erai’s face fall into a mask of fury.

  “You are the kind of formidable fighter Rhea aspires to be. Would you honor her with your attention?” The helm turned to Aaron like an artillery gun sighting in on a target.

  “It would be my pleasure,” she ground out in a tone making it clear the opposite was true. What would happen if I went to the President now? Maybe I should do it, just to signal my commitment to democratic principles.

  No, I need to be serious about this. He walked toward the Knowing Sage who met him with a smile. A whisper—not sound, not thought—brushed against his mind. A presence curling at the edges of his consciousness, pressing, testing, looking for fractures. Not an attack. A probe, seeking a way in.

  The Knowing Sage’s smile faltered. Aaron stiffened.

  Mindmage. He ran into my shield. Fuck. Do I let him in? How?

  The Sage’s smile returned. A distant, pleasant voice sounded in his mind. ‘An impressive shield for one as young as you. Be careful about the friends you make. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.’

  He smiled more broadly. With a cold shudder traveling up his spine, Aaron kneeled. The president spoke up. “Aspirants, swear your vows.”

  Aaron exhaled, the ominous smile of the Knowing Sage and the blue light shining at him like malicious binary suns. Theron started speaking, and Aaron followed. "Under the gaze of the Eternal Eye, I swear to wield my might, will, and strength—granted by Her of the Psyche—for the survival, glory, and power of Pella, …” Grandiose. Militaristic. No surprise. I need to learn more about these gods. Aaron tensed. I’m pretty sure I have seen Her of the Psyche already.

  “…the City of Soldiers, her league of Warriors, and Bastion of Civilization…” Why do slave societies always keep talking about civilization? Probably an 'othering' form for the humans they subjugate.

  “…may the Worm’s Archive record this vow, and may an Edict strike me down should I fail the Polis or myself.” I sure hope that doesn’t actually happen. The Edict part. And the failing myself part.

  Memories welled up from deep in his mind. All the things I have done wrong before. The friends I had failed. The family I had forgotten. The groups I had disappointed. A tear welled up in his eye. Could this be a new beginning?

  A fall of cloth beside him told him that Theron’s blood had been spilled. The Knowing Sage brought forth an intricate silver knife and cut Aaron’s forehead. Why the different location? The amulet met his blood.

  The world shattered. Flesh. Flies. Darkness swirling, pulsing, collapsing inward. An LSD trip in a slaughterhouse. A nightmare pressing against his skin, forcing its way inside. It hit him like a supernova imploding on its star's core. The pressure tried to crush him. Something is forcing its way into all of my orifices.

  He wanted to scream. There was no sound. Seems like my vocal cords are gone—a distant part of him observed. Tooth-headed maggots drilled into his bones with a head like the tools of a dentist. His body shook and vibrated. Only now did he notice that the world had gone black. His sight was gone. A void had swallowed everything. Then a voice came up from the pain and darkness. It called. It lulled.

  Suddenly, he stood in a web of colors. Around him, a circle of himselves. Mirrored obelisks. Showing different versions of himself. His mouth grew dry. They were copies, subtly different from him. The sky above him was the familiar mass of tentacles, fractals, and bubbling eyes.

  The echoes of pain faded, replaced by a static hum.

  The sky churned above him—fractal limbs unfurling in patient anticipation.

  The Weaver’s Watcher had come to talk.

  Ancient Being - Predecessor of the Primordial Era

  by Zer0n1gh7s

  Being mistaken for an Ancient Predecessor usually resulted in heavenly benefits. Not for James Anderson.

  Standing at the precipice of the Isolated Realm. He closed his eyes and jumped.

  Well, let's just say James had something to do with it.

  Yin Hu, as he navigates the world with the belief he isn't that strong.

  Upload schedule: Mon/Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri 4:47 PM EST / 10:47 PM CET → Each chapter is 1500 +/- 500 words long.

  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

  Comment below, Like, Favorite or Recommend. It really helps. Thank you :)