The morning was calm — painfully calm.

  Tavari stood before the Watcher’s chamber doors as Arie had instructed.

  He tried to steady his breathing, but his chest tightened the moment the doors opened.

  The Watcher stepped out.

  He did not acknowledge him.

  He simply walked.

  Tavari followed.

  Not toward the training grounds.

  Up.

  Higher.

  Each stair felt heavier than the last, like the tower itself knew he did not belong at the top.

  They reached a vast chamber — endless… silent…

  Gold.

  Walls, ceiling, floor — all gold. No windows. No air. No warmth.

  The room felt less like a place… and more like judgment.

  The Watcher stood at the center.

  “Come closer.”

  Tavari obeyed.

  The Watcher took his hand.

  “Your body cages you,” he said quietly.

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  “Break it… or remain weak.”

  His second hand pressed onto Tavari’s chest.

  “Are you ready?”

  “…Yes.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Agony.

  Threads exploded out of Tavari’s body — violently — tearing through the air like screaming light.

  Heat surged through his veins.

  His bones burned.

  Tears streamed down his face.

  “STOP— please—!”

  The Watcher did not move.

  The threads filled the entire chamber, colliding, twisting, devouring each other.

  “STOP—!”

  His legs collapsed.

  His voice broke.

  Darkness swallowed him.

  He woke on the golden floor.

  Alone.

  The door was sealed.

  Food rested beside it.

  No one came.

  Morning.

  Night.

  Morning.

  Food. Silence. Cold.

  No voice.

  No footsteps.

  No Watcher.

  By the second night his thoughts changed.

  Not anger.

  Not confusion.

  Worthlessness.

  “I failed…”

  His body shook uncontrollably. He hugged himself, but warmth never came.

  Tears fell quietly onto the metal floor.

  For the first time since awakening—

  Tavari hated himself.

  Sleep took him.

  The third morning came.

  No food.

  Only weakness.

  He remained sitting — until—

  The Watcher stood beside him.

  Tavari immediately collapsed to his knees.

  “Forgive me… please… I’ll endure it again…”

  Silence.

  Then—

  “You are the strongest thread mage to ever exist.”

  Tavari froze.

  “Stand.”

  He obeyed, barely.

  “Take the pain,” said the Watcher,

  “and keep it. Do not escape it. Own it.”

  Tavari closed his eyes.

  The hunger.

  The cold.

  The abandonment.

  This time — he did not resist.

  The air trembled.

  Threads erupted from him again — but slower… deeper… alive.

  They did not scream.

  They listened.

  “Yes,” the Watcher whispered.

  “Now choose only one.”

  Tavari breathed in.

  One thought.

  One will.

  Light.

  Every thread vanished except a single radiant strand floating before him.

  No pain.

  His eyes widened.

  “Again.”

  The strand split — transformed — multiplied.

  Fire.

  Water.

  Air.

  Earth.

  Lightning.

  Ice.

  Nature.

  Shadow.

  Light.

  They circled him peacefully.

  No agony.

  No burning.

  “The pain existed,” said the Watcher,

  “because your body tried to command power meant for the mind.”

  He stepped back.

  “You are no longer fighting yourself.”

  And he vanished.

  Silence returned.

  Tavari stared at the door.

  Slowly, he raised his hand.

  A single thread extended.

  The golden gate shattered instantly.

  He did not look back.

  For the first time—

  He walked not as someone being trained…

  But as someone becoming feared.