Chương 259: Candidate A

Amira Dawn: A Song of Secrets The blue light engulfed Amira as she stepped through the archway. For a moment, it felt like being suspended in water, weightless, directionless, surrounded by an endless azure glow. Then, with a gentle thud, her feet touched solid ground. She blinked, adjusting to the crystalline chamber that would determine her fate. The circular room pulsed with soft blue light, seemingly alive with the energy of the sun it channeled.

In the center lay a simple meditation cushion, and along the wall, a faintly glowing formation marked the exit. The surrender point.

"Well, this is it," she whispered to herself. Amira walked over to the cushion, arranging her ceremonial robes as she sat. She closed her eyes, took three centering breaths, and began to sing. Singing had always been Amira's connection to the Blue Sun. Where others painted or wrote or sculpted, she channeled its energy through melody. The technique was becoming rare these days, practiced by only a handful of families, with House Dawn being its most prominent proponents.

Her voice started soft, a simple, haunting tune without words. The song was one her grandfather had taught her when she was just five years old, his patient hands guiding hers as they traced the musical notations in the air. As her voice filled the chamber, the walls seemed to respond, resonating with her notes, amplifying them and sending them back in harmonious waves. The blue light intensified, and Amira felt the first rush of energy enter her body.

It was cool and refreshing, like diving into a mountain spring on a hot summer day. Her Cerulean Vein, a delicate, flowing pattern resembling musical notation, activated immediately, glowing through her skin as it channeled the energy. To anyone watching her now, her bright smile during the pre-Selection dinner, her bubbly chatter with the other candidates, Amira Dawn appeared to be simply another ambitious noble, perhaps more cheerful than most. No one would suspect the terrible burden she carried.

Three months ago, she had returned from a training expedition to find her family's estate unnaturally quiet. The usual bustle of servants was absent, and a strange tension hung in the air. She had rushed to her grandfather's pavilion, where the venerable patriarch of House Dawn spent his afternoons composing musical formations. He wasn't there. Instead, she found disarray: scrolls scattered, a teacup shattered on the floor, and most disturbing of all, a small crimson stain on the carpet.

That night, as she sat alone in her chambers, paralyzed with fear and uncertainty, a message had materialized on her desk in a flash of red light. The paper had burned her fingers slightly as she unfolded it, the unmistakable trace of Red Sun energy lingering on its edges.

"Your grandfather remains alive for now," the message read.

"His continued survival depends on your success. Become the next Saintess, and House Dawn may yet have a future. Fail, and your bloodline ends. Speak of this to anyone, and he dies immediately." The signature at the bottom had made her blood run cold: a simple red symbol she recognized from her studies, the mark of a high-ranking Skybound cultivator.

How a Skybound had penetrated so deeply into Blue Sun territory, how they had overcome her grandfather's defenses, how they had neutralized the estate's ancient protective formations, these questions haunted her sleepless nights. But the why remained clear enough. The position of Saint or Saintess conferred tremendous influence and access to the Blue Sun faction's most guarded secrets. She had maintained her façade perfectly in the weeks that followed.

No one, not her instructors, not her friends among the noble houses, not even her closest servants, suspected the truth behind her unusually intense preparation for the Selection. Amira played the part of the excited, chatty candidate while carrying the weight of her grandfather's fate and the terrible choice before her. If she won and became Saintess, she would be placing herself in an impossible position, a potential spy or saboteur at the heart of the Blue Sun hierarchy.

If she failed, her grandfather would die, and House Dawn might end with him. And if she revealed the truth to anyone, the mysterious Skybound had promised immediate retribution.

"I'll find a way," she had whispered to herself each night.

"I'll save you and protect our people somehow." Now, as the blue energy flowed into her at an increasing rate, that determination hardened into resolve. Her song shifted to a more complex melody as she absorbed the surging power. Her Cerulean Vein pulsed brightly, the pattern extending further across her skin.

"I won't fail you, Grandfather," she whispered between verses, the chamber's acoustics carrying her words back to her like a promise.

"Whatever comes after, I'll find a path through it." Hours seemed to pass, though she knew time moved strangely in the chamber. Her throat began to feel raw, but she pushed through the discomfort. The blue energy was flowing into her faster now, filling her spiritual pathways to capacity. A warning sensation, like the tingle before a limb falls asleep, began to spread through her body. Her instructors had been clear: this was the sign to stop, to accept her limits and surrender honorably. But Amira couldn't stop.

Not yet. Not when so much depended on her success. She changed her song again, shifting to a technique her grandfather had forbidden her from using - the Ethereal Resonance. It was a dangerous method that could damage the singer's voice permanently, but it allowed for greater absorption of energy. The blue light responded immediately, surging into her with renewed intensity. Pain blossomed in her chest as her spiritual pathways began to stretch beyond their capacity.

Her Cerulean Vein glowed so brightly now that it illuminated the entire chamber.

"Just a little longer," she gasped between notes.

"Just a little more..." Then came the burning. It started in her fingertips, a sensation like touching hot coals. The pain raced up her arms and spread across her torso. Her song faltered as she gasped, but she forced herself to continue, even as tears streamed down her face. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The blue energy was no longer flowing smoothly through her Cerulean Vein. Instead, it was backing up, like water behind a dam about to burst.

Her spiritual channels were at their limit, unable to process any more of the celestial power pouring into her. Through tear-blurred eyes, Amira saw blue flames beginning to dance across her skin. Not normal fire, these flames burned inward, consuming her from the inside out. The warning her teachers had given about spiritual immolation suddenly seemed terribly inadequate to describe this agony.

"No," she choked out.

"Not yet. I can hold more. I have to..." But her body knew better. As the blue flames intensified, consuming more of her flesh, Amira finally accepted the truth. She had reached her limit, no, she had passed it, pushed too far. With one last broken note hanging in the air, she collapsed from the meditation cushion. The exit formation seemed impossibly far away now. She tried to stand, but her legs no longer answered her commands. Instead, she began to crawl, dragging her burning body across the crystal floor.

Each movement was agony. The blue flames had spread to her legs now, and she could feel her internal organs beginning to crystallize as the unprocessed energy transformed them.

"Grandfather," she gasped, "I'm sorry..." The formation was just inches from her outstretched fingers. With one final, desperate lunge, Amira pressed her palm against the glowing panel. As consciousness faded, her last thought was of her grandfather's gentle hands guiding hers across the strings of a guqin, teaching her the first notes of a song she might never finish.

Aric Leminov: The Mindful Heir The transition through the portal was seamless for Aric, as if stepping from one room to another with only the slightest disorientation. He found himself in a crystal chamber bathed in blue light, simple and elegant in its design, much like the principles he'd been raised to embody.

"How fitting," he murmured, taking in the meditation cushion at the center and the exit formation near what appeared to be a door. The chamber was sparse but beautiful, reflecting the Blue Sun's philosophy of clarity and purpose. Aric approached the cushion with the ease of someone who had spent countless hours in meditation. Unlike many of his peers, Aric felt no nervousness as the Selection began.

This moment had been prepared for throughout his entire life, not with desperate ambition but with steady cultivation and reflection. The blue light intensified around him, and he welcomed it, opening his spiritual channels gradually. His Cerulean Vein, an elegant, symmetrical pattern resembling interlocking circles, activated immediately, glowing through his skin with a steady azure light. As the energy flowed into him, Aric thought about what had brought him to this moment.

House Leminov had produced two Saints in its long history, but unlike many noble families, they didn't measure their worth by such achievements. His father, Lord Caius Leminov, had always emphasized service over status.

"The Saint is not chosen for glory," his father would say, "but for sacrifice. Remember that, Aric, should you ever find yourself in the Selection." These words had shaped Aric's approach to cultivation. Where his peers sought to maximize their power and standing, he had focused on balance and harmony. His instructors often remarked that his energy circulation was among the most efficient they had ever witnessed, not because it was particularly powerful, but because it flowed without resistance or waste.

The blue energy continued to fill his spiritual pathways. He didn't force it or grasp at it but allowed it to move naturally, directing it with gentle nudges rather than forceful commands. Time seemed to stretch and compress around him. Had it been minutes? Hours? He couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. The Selection wasn't about endurance but attunement. Quality over quantity. This was a truth many candidates failed to grasp. As the energy flow intensified, Aric felt a familiar pressure building in his chest.

His spiritual channels were approaching their capacity, not their absolute limit, but the point at which efficiency would begin to decline.

"Interesting," he thought.

"Sooner than I expected." He could push further, of course. His reserves were deep, cultivated through years of diligent practice. But forcing more energy through his channels now would disrupt the harmony he had established. The blue sun's light would begin to meet resistance, creating friction and eventually damage. This was the test many failed: recognizing the difference between one's maximum capacity and one's optimal capacity.

The former might impress observers, but the latter was what truly mattered for effective service as a Saint. Aric maintained his steady absorption for what felt like another hour, carefully monitoring the state of his spiritual channels. When the first signs of strain appeared, a slight unevenness in the flow, a subtle disharmony in his Cerulean Vein's pulse, he knew it was time. With the same calm deliberation that characterized all his actions, Aric opened his eyes and rose from the meditation cushion.

The blue light had filled the chamber completely now, so bright that it would have been painful to any observer. But to Aric, it was simply the natural culmination of the process. He walked to the exit formation without hesitation or regret. Placing his palm against the glowing panel, he felt a sense of completion rather than surrender.

"Whatever the outcome," he said softly, "I have done my best." As the formation activated and the door began to open, Aric felt certain he had made the right choice. The true measure of a Saint wasn't how much energy they could hold, but how well they understood the responsibility that came with it. And perhaps that understanding was what the Blue Sun valued most of all.