The moment I saw how he looked at me, how he spoke to me, I felt it fully—the shift I already knew was coming.
They won't see me the same.
Not anymore.
Knowing it in theory is one thing. Experiencing it is worse.
The instructor didn't have to say it. His expression, his tone, the way his gaze passed right through me—it was all there.
He treated me like I was already irrelevant.
And in that moment, I learned something:
I hated being underestimated.
I sat still in my seat, staring straight ahead as the others closed their eyes and tried to feel the spiritual energy.
Something that answered only to the chosen. Something I was never meant to touch.
But I didn't need it. Not yet.
My fingers curled slowly into fists. I remembered what my mother said.
"Then grow sharper. Grow faster."
"Make them regret not choosing you."
I stood. Quietly. Without waiting for permission.
The instructor didn't stop me. He barely looked.
I left the chamber and stepped into the courtyard. The morning sun had risen fully now, casting long shadows across the stone. At the edge of the training field, weapons stood in racks.
I walked to them. Selected a sword—a weapon I'd practiced with many times before.
Steel, not spirit.
Let them sit and breathe.
I trained.
Slashes. Blocks. Forms. Repeat.
An hour passed. Then another.
I wasn't far from the chamber, so I could hear everything. Every word came through clearly.
"Excellent work"
I knew who he meant. Of course I did.
Kisaya.
My stance didn't falter. The sword stayed in motion. Feet steady. Wrists loose.
He continued, loud enough for all of them—and for me.
"Bright violet" the instructor announced. "That's rare. Difficult to control. A sign of volatile but promising potential."
She answered modestly, "Thank you. Am I finished with this part?"
"You are" he said. "But those who complete it move on to the next step."
A brief silence, then her voice again: "Where's Ereshgal?"
The pause in his answer was shorter than I expected. But colder.
"He's outside" he said. "Training"
She said nothing more.
I imagined her nod. I didn't need to see it.
"Now" he said, "focus your spiritual energy to the tip of your finger. Make it small. Precise. The smaller the point, the better your control. Once you achieve that, you will learn to move it through your body with intent. Control is everything."
A week passed.
Every day, I trained my body with precision. I pushed my breath until it burned, extended my reach until my muscles screamed. I repeated sword forms over and over until they became reflex. I tested my limits—not just to endure, but to control every movement, every reaction, every weakness.
While they meditated, I moved. While they reached inward, I carved discipline into bone. My weapon wasn't divine. But it was mine.
While they closed their eyes and felt the invisible.
One by one, they succeeded. Some fast. Some slow.
When the last finally completed it, we were all summoned again.
The training chamber felt different now. Warmer. Heavier.
The instructor stood in the center.
"Before you can use your energy, you must understand your pact" he said. "And your Divine Edict."
The room quieted.
"Every god gives differently" he continued. "Some offer strength. Others clarity. Some gifts are obvious. Others... subtle."
He paused.
"But all give an Edict. A rule. A law. It is sacred. You do not break it."
The students leaned forward.
"Disobey it once, and you feel pain. Disobey it twice, and you lose something. Disobey it often... and the god turns away. Forever."
I didn't flinch.
I already knew this.
That's why my father is the way he is.
I looked down at my hand. At the scars beneath the calluses.
His Edict was: 'You shall not place your blood above your duty.'
That's why he's always been so cold. Even with us. Mother says he loves us... but I'm not so sure.
The instructor continued.
"Every Edict depends on the god who grants it, and it will always be tied to that god's nature or domain. But even so, two chosen by the same god will almost never receive the same one."
He raised his hand.
"Mine is: You must teach only what is true."
"My god is Nabu" he said. "God of wisdom, writing, and destiny."
"My Edict is simple to say, but compared to others, it is easy to live with" he said. "To teach only what is true means I must never pass on a lesson I don't believe in, or knowledge I haven't tested. I can't soften the truth to make it easier, or bend it to protect pride. I am bound to clarity. Even silence, when used to mislead, is a violation."
He looked around the room slowly.
"The gods don't reward blind obedience. They reward discipline. And truth, once accepted, leaves no room for self-deception."
"Some of you may have already felt your Edict" he added. "A moment of impulse. A decision you didn't understand."
I thought of Kisaya. Of what she said to me that day.
"I love you, you know."
I still don't know her Edict.
But it must involve honesty. Or heart.
The instructor moved on.
"Tomorrow" he said, "you will visit your god's temple. Or if that's not possible, an altar. You will pray to the god who chose you and learn about your blessing and the truth of your Edict."
He walked slowly as he spoke.
"When you learn about your blessing, your first rune will appear. Don't worry about it now—we'll explain its use later."
He stopped.
"One final warning. Do not share your Edict lightly. Unless it is trivial—like mine—keep it to those you trust. Some of them can shape your choices. And enemies remember what they can use."
"We meet again the day after tomorrow" he said. "Be ready."
Then he dismissed us.
***
AN: Hi. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, this is my first serious attempt at writing a novel. I'd really appreciate any reviews or feedback you can offer, as they help me grow. And if you enjoy the book, please consider adding it to your library. Thank you for reading!