Aaron had no time to catch his breath. The trials were over, but the next ordeal was already waiting.

  "Move it! And fall into line, aspirant!" The grizzled, bug-armored man took a swig of golden liquor and spat to the side. The scent of honey and fermented fruit mixed with sweat and smoke, clinging to the air. Two halberds leaned against the table, just within reach.

  Eight naked men and women stood in two rigid rows before them, their skin flickering in the firelight. Nearby, slaves piled wine and fruit onto a low table.

  "Undress," barked the other man, his voice cracking like a whip.

  Aaron yanked his blood-crusted tunic over his head. The dried mix of sweat and sand clung to his skin, tearing away in gritty patches. I smell like an animal.

  He tossed the tunic and spears into the fire. The fabric was worthless. But the spears—his fingers twitched at the loss. Without them, I’m exposed in more ways than one. Naked in a strange world. Fucking poetic.

  He walked toward the formation. Faces still, rigid. No flicker of recognition. A cold weight settled in his gut—then he rolled his eyes. Oh, please. Are we really doing this bootcamp nonsense?

  Aaron exhaled sharply. Do I really have to go through this again?

  "And what do you think you are doing?!" The voice slammed into him. Aaron stiffened on instinct. Theon’s eye twitched. Yeah, buddy. We both regret you never covered this.

  "Sir… Anax, I am falling into formation!" The formation tensed. Eyes widened. Final exam, and I don’t even know the basics. How do I sell this? I refuse to play the champion card. Just five minutes with Theon. That’s all I need.

  "Anax!" The drill sergeant choked on his drink. "Who do you think you are, brat? Twenty lashes." He grabbed a bridle, red with old blood. Disinfection? Ever heard of it?

  Then, the realization struck like a gut punch. Twenty lashes.

  His stomach twisted, breath catching in his throat. Not again.

  His hands curled into fists. No armor, no weapons—just skin and bone against a bloodstained bridle. He forced himself to exhale. I can’t afford to flinch.

  His head was still reeling from the trial—magic, gods, intervention. I don’t have the bandwidth for this.

  "Cower down!" The sergeant advanced, bridle in hand, leather creaking under his grip. Aaron stiffened. The formation held its breath, tension stretched taut as a noose. Across the way, the other sergeant leaned back, watching like a vulture.

  "Discipline is everything," the mustachioed sergeant murmured. "A soldier without discipline is a corpse in waiting."

  Aaron inhaled slowly. "My sincerest apologies, but I do not know the correct title. My memory is fuzzy since I was hit over the head. I even forgot my name. May I know how to address you properly?" The words shot out rapid-fire.

  The sergeant hesitated, frowning. Amnesia round two? Let’s see if it sticks.

  "You were not revived after such an injury?" he mused. A few of the others stole glances at Aaron. A sharp bark from the seated sergeant—now recovered—snapped them back to attention. "Theon, swear to me on the Mother that he speaks the truth."

  Theon’s voice rang sharp. "Arex, we thought him dead when he joined our battle. He has forgotten much but retains vicious fighting skills."

  "Thank you, Anax." The mustachioed sergeant stroked his lip. "Maybe the lashes will help his memory," he mused. No. Aaron’s heart pounded. His skin prickled cold. Not ever again.

  I have no armor. No weapon. Just my hands. Maybe my divine unarmed skill will save me—but I’ve never tested it.

  His mind spun. Reveal myself? Run into the fire? Reach the halberd first and take them out?

  Can I summon my god again? No. I forgot to ask for its phone number last time. Another mistake.

  Aaron tensed. Rush them. Get past them. Get the weapon.

  The mustachioed sergeant studied him, then turned to his companion. "You believe this?"

  The other sergeant sipped his drink. "Might be lying. Might just be a fool."

  "Both are punishable offenses," the mustachioed sergeant grunted, spinning the bridle. "But if he’s telling the truth and I beat the sense out of him, I’d be doing the opposite of my job."

  His companion shrugged. "Give him the juice. If he’s faking, we’ll know soon enough."

  The mustachioed sergeant turned. "Boy? Do you wait for a real healer, risk the Magister Tutor, or drink the float juice like a true warrior?" His gaze narrowed at Aaron’s stance.

  "Let’s see if you belong here, boy," the other sergeant added, sipping his drink. "You drink, you stay. Refuse, and we’ll have our answer."

  The sergeant weighed the bridle in his hands, leather creaking under his grip. He frowned. Then, just as suddenly, he waved a slave over. “Bring the boy some float juice. Let’s see if he has the stomach for it.”

  A slave set a bowl down. It held more than two liters. Oh fuck. The sergeants mixed in herbs and potions. Aaron’s mind jumped between dread, anticipation, and a long list of potential humiliations.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He glanced at the others. Rhea looked entertained. Theon rolled his eyes. The buffet asshole shot him daggers. His pretty sister and Erai tilted their heads—one in curiosity, the other in confusion. The rest hovered somewhere in between.

  "Do not worry." The mustachioed sergeant took a sip, his mustache twitching. "Think poisoning a noble would end well for us? It’ll keep you going, keep your mind in a soft place until a proper healer can fix it." He smacked his lips. "See?"

  It smelled like grass, fruit, and honey—in a good way. He hesitated. They wouldn’t poison a noble. Probably. But they might make it humiliating.

  Aaron eyed the sergeant’s mustache, twitching with amusement. For all I know, it is laced with laxatives. Or psychedelics.

  The bowl was heavy in his hands, filled to the brim. The scent of honey and wild herbs curled up—pleasant, but beneath it, something sharp.

  Theon gave him a quick nod.

  Did this guy just go from wanting to beat me to handing me a drink? His gaze flicked to the bowl—deep, brimming, smelling of honey and something sharper beneath. A test. A trick. A trap?

  His fingers twitched, shoulders tight. Theon gave him a slight nod. Aaron exhaled. No way out but forward. He lifted the bowl and drank.

  "Thanks," Aaron slurred. Feels like at the dentist’s. Funny.

  Someone steered him toward the fire. "Lie down. Try to meditate if you can. Let’s see if we can shake some memories loose," the sergeant said, oddly gentle.

  A wide, tingling grin spread across Aaron’s face. A distant part of his mind screamed ‘terrible idea’—but it was a whisper now, fading.

  The warmth crept through his veins, slow and insidious. His fingers tingled. The fire blurred at the edges, flickering like something alive. A whisper of laughter—his own?—bubbled up. The ground softened beneath him. He blinked. The world shuddered, stretched. The air turned thick, pressing against his skin. He exhaled—and reality fractured.

  Aaron clenched his fists. No. No, no, no. Not again. He tried to move, to push away, but his limbs felt distant—heavy.

  The fire twisted, ruby droplets spilling upward. Blood-red rubies. Blood.

  A voice drifted through the haze. "Focus on your breath. Follow the oblivion road."

  His vision swam. Closing my eyes is nice. He giggled. Waves embraced him, cold and fresh. Something stirred beneath the surface. The water flowed through him, weightless, pulling him deeper. But I want to stay here…

  Flashes flickered beneath. Aaron swayed with the waves, rising and falling in the cadence of a rapid march. The water had been calm. Now the waves were annoying.

  The flickering lights below pulsed brighter. Sound struck them, radiating outward like a beam of warm water. It felt solid. He grabbed onto it and was pulled upstream. His head broke the surface.

  He was upside down. A translucent pillar loomed in an infinite void. He drifted downward, reaching out. The surface looked like glass but felt soft—almost welcoming.

  The lights beneath pulsed. Voices. Calling me. He stared into the abyss. Something glowed in its depths—flickering, distant, like a television screen in another room.

  Aaron crawled toward the edge. The plushy ground beneath him had turned into actual plush—soft, yet still translucent.

  He giggled.

  Shoving his head over the edge, he peered straight down the pillar. It did not stretch into infinity. The void had a bottom. His breath caught.

  The abyss stared back.

  The pillar’s base stood at the center of a massive pupil. A god’s eye. No—a thing beyond gods.

  The iris burned, swirling like a blue sun, too vast, too alive. A whisper of movement—his own breath? No. The thing saw him. Knew him.

  A tide of invisible force yanked him downward. His limbs locked. Fight. Run. Anything—but he couldn’t move. The abyss wanted him.

  It saw through him. It was everything and nothing. Infinity and the void. Creation and destruction.

  Aaron wrenched his head to the side. His vision snapped from the eye, the sensation like tearing something loose. What is happening?

  Then—he saw the forest around the eye. Impossibly vast. The eye lay within it, a circular pond stretching across the ground, fading into endless darkness. Clusters of color darted through tree-like structures, flickering like fireflies.

  Some small, others massive.

  One was growing—brighter, larger, relentless. It blazed blue, a miniature reflection of the titanic eye below.

  Aaron froze. His drugged mind worked like a rusty machine, grinding toward an inevitable conclusion.

  The light wasn’t growing. It was approaching. He curled up, cringing. No. I don’t want this anymore. What is happening?

  His fists clenched. I thought this was just a brain-healing potion. But this is real. Is this another watcher? Swaying, he forced himself upright. The entity didn’t feel hostile. But I didn’t build mental defenses for nothing.

  After all, wouldn’t a good attack feel like nothing at all? He reached for the rotating sphere, spinning it downward. The magnetic field shifted, aligning with the entity’s path.

  It was close now. He touched the mindshield sphere, nudging it sideways, making it wobble. His focus stretched outward. Bile rose in his throat. I have to hold my defense. I can’t give in to this drunken weakness.

  The Synthamancy construct had been crisp, geometric—simple shapes. This thing was organic. Fuzzy. No sudden movements. It floated smoothly, filaments spiraling toward a dense core, forming an iris. An obsidian torus framed its shape.

  At first, he only felt his pillar. I don’t have the power to reach that far. But… I don’t need to extend the whole sphere.

  He rotated the construct, aligning the torus' long side before him. Then, his thoughts hammered the sphere into a disk. The field stretched outward. The entity was a hundred steps away, floating serenely.

  His range extended—twenty-five steps. Not enough. He thinned the disk’s flat surfaces, forcing the metal to the edge. The range jumped—fifty steps.

  He spun the disk faster. Its black surface blurred. All of this is beautiful. Yet so terrible. Why does wonder always come with terror?

  He adjusted his stance—mentally, spiritually. The entity slowed. Studied him. A mind battle, then? Aaron’s lips curled. Fine. First real test. Let’s dance.

  His drifting mind snapped back as the swirling magnetic vortex struck the creature. It fell into orbit, circling the sphere at sixty steps.

  Welcome to infinity, asshole. Aaron allowed himself a tired smile. My first unsupervised magic battle. Or mind battle. If this doesn’t count, I’ll be furious.

  The floating eye stopped. Then—spun to face him. Aaron’s blood ran cold. Time slowed. He blinked—locked eyes with infinity.

  The entity’s pupil locked onto his. Darkness. It held him. Light cracked through the slit, slow and deliberate—like a sunrise.

  A sun. A sun floated before him.

  Aaron stared, breath catching as the creature loomed just two steps away. It watched him with an intensity only a star could muster.

  As always, this chapter was edited using the mighty Infomancy Analyst Spell called ChatGPT.

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

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