Ashtoria, sensing Riven’s unease, glanced sideways at him and tightened her grip slightly. Her tone was calm when she spoke.

“Relax. Normally, talent levels within a family aren’t too far apart. Judging from the phenomenon when she awakened her affinity, she’s clearly gifted. That means yours won’t be far off either.”

Riven looked at her and smiled faintly, gratitude flickering in his eyes without words. Still, curiosity lingered in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “Then… can I ask something I’ve always wondered? What’s your talent rank, Ashtoria?”

Ashtoria paused, turning her head slightly toward him. Her expression remained composed, eyes glinting faintly with mischief.

“Can you guess?”

Riven tilted his head, studying the crimson in her gaze. “Is it… A-Rank?”

But Ashtoria didn’t answer directly. She looked forward again, resuming her steps.

“After Resonant comes A-Rank, known as Chosen. Those people are called geniuses—beloved by the world itself. They’re destined to leave their mark on history. Their potential is vast. Not only can they surpass Saint, but some even reach the realm of Lawborne Sovereign.”

Melly, who had been restraining her excitement, finally couldn’t hold back. Tugging Riven’s sleeve, she looked up at Ashtoria with wide eyes.

“Then what about me?” she asked eagerly. “What rank do you think I am?”

Riven just smiled softly, patting her head, urging her to listen. He knew she’d been curious from the start—especially after hearing about her own strange affinities.

Ashtoria’s eyes softened as she regarded the little girl. Her gaze wasn’t judging, but searching, as if seeing something deep within.

“My guess… is that you’re Resonant.”

Melly’s eyes widened, her face lighting up like dawn. She raised both hands in disbelief. “Really?! Truly Resonant?!”

Ashtoria nodded. “Yes. That’s my assumption. We’ll confirm it soon.”

Melly nearly bounced on her feet, glowing with unrestrained excitement, as if she’d just been told she could become a hero one day.

Riven smiled, feeling a weight lift from his chest—one he hadn’t realized was there. Then he turned back to Ashtoria.

“So… Chosen is the highest rank, then?”

Ashtoria looked at him again. This time, her eyes carried a gravity that stretched across time itself. Her voice was quiet, but every word felt heavy.

“No. Chosen isn’t the highest.”

The air seemed to grow thicker around them.

“There’s one more rank,” she said slowly. “A rank that exists only in legend—something most call the reincarnation of gods.”

She drew a measured breath.

“S-Rank. Also known as Fated.”

Riven froze. Even Melly’s bright energy vanished, replaced by stunned silence. The word seemed to shake something deep within them.

“Those born Fated,” Ashtoria continued, “carry destiny itself. Power beyond reason. The ability to bend the world’s Laws from the moment they draw breath.”

Her tone darkened.

“People like that appear rarely. But every time one is born… the world changes. Kingdoms fall. Continents shift. Wars ignite. Lost races return.”

She paused—then added quietly, almost like a warning:

“And if that power isn’t controlled… it becomes catastrophe. That’s why those born Fated are often…”

Her eyes turned forward again.

“…hunted. Feared. Or worshipped.”

“Hunted?” Riven muttered.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “By those who fear them. By kingdoms desperate to prevent collapse. By factions threatened by their existence. But at the same time, others will worship them—turn them into symbols, weapons… or gods.”

Riven lowered his gaze, mind spinning.

S-Rank. Fated.

Before he could speak again, Lyanna—who had been leading them—suddenly stopped. They stood before a massive wooden door, engraved with silver veins and the swirling crest of the Rathsture family.

With composed elegance, Lyanna turned to face them, then slowly pushed the doors open.

The heavy hinges groaned softly.

“Please, enter,” she said evenly.

Lyanna stepped through first, and the soft blue glow of enchanted crystals bathed the grand chamber beyond.

“This is the Rathsture Family Treasury,” she announced, tone formal and restrained. “Every relic of our lineage is preserved here. This place is not merely storage, it’s a sanctum.”

Riven followed, eyes widening as the vast room unfolded before him.

Glass cases lined the walls, displaying ancient weapons with intricate engravings, faded cloaks still humming with faint magic, scrolls bound with runic seals, and even skulls of creatures long extinct, encased in shimmering crystal domes.

Melly clung closer to him, whispering, “This place feels like… a secret chamber from the stories.”

Their footsteps echoed softly until they reached the end of the hall, where no more relics stood. Only a single obsidian table occupied the center of a small circular space.

Floating above it was a dodecahedral crystal prism, pulsing faintly with light.

Lyanna stopped beside it.

“This,” she said, “is the Talent Prism.”

Turning toward them, she continued, “It has been used by the Rathsture family for over a century. It’s calibrated to detect the deepest resonance of Law within one’s body, something that cannot be hidden or faked.”

Riven stepped closer, brow furrowed. “How does it work?”

Lyanna replied crisply, “You make a shallow cut on your palm, let your blood flow, then place your hand atop the prism. Let it read your essence. Do not resist, just breathe.”

Silence fell.

Riven and Melly exchanged looks. Neither moved. Neither spoke. Only a silent question lingered in their eyes.

Then both raised their hands.

“Rock, paper, scissors…”

Paper.

Scissors.

Riven won.

Melly pouted, torn between annoyance and acceptance, then marched forward with tiny, determined steps.

Ashtoria’s brow rose faintly, while Lyanna blinked once, clearly baffled by whatever strange ritual they’d just performed.

But there was no time to ask.

Reaching the obsidian table, Lyanna drew a small, engraved dagger from her robe. Its blade gleamed sharply.

“Open your hand,” she instructed.

Melly obeyed, palm trembling slightly.

With practiced precision, Lyanna cut a clean line, deep enough for a drop of fresh red blood to form.

“Now, touch the surface.”

Melly nodded softly, lifted her bleeding hand… and placed it upon the glowing prism.

The crystal felt cold to the touch.

A heartbeat later, light erupted.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep