The fifth dawn at the Cradle arrived under an unusual pressure—literal, not metaphorical. Ares awoke feeling like his blanket had tripled in weight overnight. He blinked up at the carved ceiling, noticing even the air moved slower, as if it respected the gravity of what the day would bring.
"Day five. Earth."
He took a breath and steadied his mind. His core was strong now—more than strong. Fire had given him will, ice had honed his control, water had taught him flow, and air had shown him rhythm. But earth was none of those things.
It didn't teach. It waited.
"Eisenklinge Codex in Chapter 12," he recalled. 'The Earth element does not offer. It permits. It does not answer. It endures. Those unworthy are not punished—they are ignored.'
"Rude," Ares muttered inwardly.
When Junia came in that morning, she paused at the door. She carried out her daily task and left almost immediately she had completed her duty.
---
In her private study, Veltrissa leaned against a pane of reinforced glass, arms folded, her obsidian hair spilling across her shoulder like a cascade of night.
Zephyr's report had been conclusive. Four elements, harmonized. Stable. Sustained. Verified by one of the most meticulous elemental wardens in the family.
Her first instinct had been to summon Alaric.
But then she paused.
"He'll see a legacy," she thought. "He always does. A blade to sharpen. A future to shape. No."
Her obsidian eyes narrowed.
"This time, I'll decide when to share."
She tapped a small rune on the wall, activating the scrying conduit embedded in the mountain stone. Her presence wouldn't be felt, but she would see. Every tremor. Every breath.
"Let the stone decide."
---
Tellus, the Earth Warden, moved like a mountain wrapped in skin. When he stepped into Ares' chamber, it felt like the floor braced itself.
"Today, we walk with stone," he said simply, his voice layered with the deep timbre of landslides and silence.
Ares looked up at him and almost laughed.
"Eisenklinge Field Manual, page 87," he recalled.
'The Earth Warden will not carry you through the trial. If you're breathing, you're climbing.'
That, apparently, didn't apply to infants.
Tellus scooped him up with gentleness surprising for a man who looked like he could bench press the castle.
As they passed into the deeper corridors of the Cradle, Ares could feel it—the stone watching him. Not malevolently. Just present. Like the weight of a kingdom watching to see if he'd blink.
---
The Geo Sanctum rose into view.
Unlike the other elemental shrines—fluid, cold, blazing, ethereal—this one simply was. Built of massive, interlocking stone blocks, etched with glowing amber runes, it looked less like a building and more like a fact of nature.
Inside, gravity was... wrong.
Ares didn't feel heavier. He was heavier. His body sagged with each breath, his bones creaked in protest. His mana moved slowly, like syrup through sand.
Tellus brought him to the Ironroot Pedestal, a slab of solid mountain heartstone laced with runes that pulled at him like a magnet.
"You begin here," Tellus said, and gently placed him onto the pedestal's surface.
Ares barely stopped himself from letting out a baby grunt.
The moment he touched it, he felt as if a silent question had been asked of him:
"How much can you hold?"
A thought immediately came to him about the earth shrine.
"In the book it was once stated that, 'Gravity Pressure Response is tiered by resonance. Do not attempt to resist. Earth tests integration, not opposition'."
So he didn't fight it.
Instead, Ares closed his eyes and let the pressure in.
And regretted it instantly.
"Okay... okay, maybe some resistance is fine," he thought, as his spine compressed half an inch and his brain tried to leak through his ears.
Sweat formed instantly on his forehead. His breath shortened. He focused, pulled his core inward, and started shaping his mana—not to push, but to distribute.
Little by little, he stopped feeling like he was being crushed and started feeling like he was settling. Like he belonged.
The stone accepted this.
But it didn't stop testing.
The pedestal shifted. Gravity patterns changed. From beneath him, pulses moved upward like tremors. Each pulse forced him to recenter, re-anchor. His body trembled.
At one point, his arms gave out and he slumped.
"Stone shows no mercy. But it also shows no malice."
"Yeah, but stone also doesn't care if I'm still growing eyebrows," Ares thought, grimacing.
Still, he endured.
The more he adjusted, the more he understood. Every change in pressure taught him something new—not about force, but about structure. Flow had to be directed. Flame had to be anchored. Air needed a frame. Ice needed shape.
And all of them—all—needed ground beneath them.
Earth wasn't an element. It was the terms and conditions for everything else.
---
From her private chamber, Veltrissa watched in silence, the scrying crystal glowing faintly in the dim room.
She could see it. The shaking arms, the gritted breath, the shifting aura.
"He's not channeling Earth mana," she whispered. "He's working with it. Like he's read the trials before they were written..."
She paused.
"...No, not awakening. He's still early. Talents don't manifest until mid-intermediate. He's not mastering anything. He's compatible. In sync."
She leaned back slowly, her voice low and certain.
"This one isn't blooming early. He's blooming right."
---
Back in the Sanctum, Tellus remained motionless for a long time as Ares continued his trial.
At the apex, he carried the boy toward the Terra Crucible—a ring of shifting stone plates floating above a deep chasm.
This was no place for an infant.
And yet, as he set Ares down, the plates shifted gently, almost curiously, beneath the child's weight.
Ares swayed, arms flailing comically for balance, then planted one hand down and hissed, "Okay. Book said 'Find the rhythm beneath the motion.' ...You could've mentioned motion sickness."
He adjusted, breathing with the stone, not against it. The plates began to glow faintly amber in time with his pulsing core.
And then, for a few seconds, it was quiet.
Still.
Balanced.
A five-element resonance pulsed softly beneath him: fire, ice, water, air... and now earth. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady.
Present.
---
When Junia arrived that evening, she paused in the doorway again.
She carried him gently as he had fallen asleep while he was channeling, she felt pity but at the same time happy. He looked better than the first time he visited a shrine.
Then again another thought hit her, he'll be subjected to this for eight more years, she instantly become sad as she moved out like someone calculating.
She carried him out gently, as the Geo Sanctum behind them pulsed once—just once—with a soft amber light, as if to say:
"He passed."