"Hm." Liora Virell paused, eyes narrowing, pride and excitent flickering despite her effort to hide them.
She had waited a long ti for this mont. Given the comrades who had died along the way, the na she chose would an far more than a simple display of strength.
"What do you think?" Although she already had a title in mind, she looked to the others for their opinions; she knew she had not earned this right by her effort alone. Her gaze settled on Adyr’s calm face, as if impatient to hear his view.
"What about Tremor Princess? I thought you said you wanted sothing like that," Mirela blurted, unable to hold back her excitent.
Titles generally echoed the Rank 4 Spark a person commanded. Sevrak’s "Dragon Rider" ca from his Black Dragon; Zephan’s "Silverlight" from his Behemoth Whale; Brakhtar’s "Soulforge" from his Giant Eye. Considering Collossith’s nature, "Tremor" sounded like a perfect fit.
People care too much about what they’re called in this world. Adyr reflected on that in silence while watching this rushed yet strangely important little coronation take shape.
The frenzy on Earth to choose a proper surna for him was still ongoing as well, the race to decide what na would suit him best showing no signs of slowing.
When Adyr returned ho, Niva’s excitent about that subject was impossible to miss.
After showing the world his Malice—executing all prisoners held across the 12 Shelter Cities—and then using his Grace to heal as many patients as he could in the hospitals, even nding minor injuries of those who were watching him live, Adyr ca ho to find Marielle and Niva greeting him exactly as they always had.
Beneath that ordinary warmth, there was a shift, though—they understood he was no longer rely a son or a brother. He now carried a power beyond their imagination, with the eyes of the world fixed on him. Yet none of that touched the deep-rooted love they felt for him—unchanging, unshaken.
Niva, in particular, treated everything as normal and poured all her attention into the question of Adyr’s future surna—what he would carry, and by extension what they would carry.
In every Shelter City, local news and net forums replayed Adyr’s actions, debated his past, and argued about his future role in humanity. He was already being presented like an idol. He had beco, by a wide margin, the most talked-about na on Earth, and the most followed topic about him was the open, public surna poll.
Millions of people, with a single shared focus, set aside their daily routines to decide what he should be called from now on.
"What about Earthshaker? It’s more direct and easy to say," Adyr suggested with a small shrug, not overthinking it.
"Earthshaker?" Liora lowered her gaze, thinking it through in depth. "Sounds not so bad." To her ear, it felt more solid than "Tremor Princess."
"Earthshaker Liora. It has a powerful ring." Lucen’s expression barely changed, yet he seed to approve.
The title did not only suit Collossith; it also suited Liora’s Titan Ape form. When they thought of those massive fists capable of shaking and breaking the earth, the na fit cleanly.
"Okay, then I will go with that," Liora said at last, smiling after a mont’s consideration. She turned to the other 3 titled Practitioners. Seeing no objection—only a hint of reluctance from Sevrak that still amounted to acknowledgnt—the choice was settled then and there.
"Sis, we should celebrate now, right?" Mirela burst out, thinking such a grand mont shouldn’t pass so quietly. Before she could share her ideas for a celebration, movent within the great tent pulled everyone’s attention away.
Closed until now, the great white doors began to stir. At first they looked like simple canvas flaps, soft and weightless, rippling as if a breeze moved through them. Then the ripples thickened. The weave seed to tighten into threadlike chains, cloth stiffening under an unseen will. Lines of pale sigils glimred along the hems, and the hush of fabric shifted into the deep grind of tal.
What had seed like tent cloth hardened into overlapping iron plates, cold and heavy, parting with solemn weight to reveal what lay within.
When they opened fully, every gaze locked on the threshold. A small, lone figure stepped out with asured grace.
Is that the goatman?
Adyr recognized the figure stepping from the tent’s colossal entrance at once: a goat’s head with a long white beard, hooved feet, and a black suit like a tuxedo. It was the marketplace shopkeeper—the first person Adyr had dealt with there, the one who bought the Aqualith.
Back then, Adyr had suspected he was powerful. Now, as the Goatman revealed himself to the assembly, even the Titled Practitioners watched in silence, a faint respect in their eyes. The suspicion hardened into certainty. This was no ordinary figure. At the very least, he had to be Rank 4.
’’Denizens of the Outer Region—and to its sovereigns and guardians, its lords, kings, and protectors—I offer my apology for the delay and my sincere thanks for your patience. ’’
He swept his gaze over the crowd and offered a slight bow. His voice was low and professional, yet it carried everywhere at once, as if a gentle spell set each word in every ear across the wide field.
"First, allow to introduce myself." Goatman let the quiet settle before he continued, his gaze moving calmly across the assembly. "I am Caprion, spokesperson personally appointed by the Honorable Wanderer rchant. Before anyone is admitted inside, I will convey the ground rules."
He went silent once again, letting the crowd absorb his words. "There is no lengthy list of rules," he said at last. "I assu everyone here is a refined gentleman or lady, so I will not waste your ti. There is, however, one matter we must address." His phrasing was light, almost casual, yet the aning beneath it was clear enough: take this as a warning. If anyone intends to act less than refined, to be rude or disruptive, do it only if you have the courage to face the consequence.
"As you know, a Legacy Domain will open shortly. That part is no surprise. The issue is capacity. I see far too many Rank 1 and Rank 2 candidates gathered here to enter. The quota is limited to 200. At this mont, more than 1,000 are waiting."
He added after another asured pause. "Therefore, we will need to reduce the number before entry proceeds. I ask for your understanding—and your cooperation."
As his last words faded, the field exhaled at once. Murmurs gathered like wind over the field, a low swell that ran from one end of the crowd to the other. Everyone understood what was coming.
There were 1,336 Rank 1 and Rank 2 Practitioners here, handpicked by their kingdoms and brought to compete, yet the Domain would admit only 200. The number settled over them like a weight. With that limit fixed, one path remained in every mind: the crowd would be cut by trial.
"We’ll hold a tournant to choose the best 200," Liora said calmly, eting Adyr’s eyes without a trace of worry.
In her view, if anyone deserved entry to the main tent now, it was Adyr; she had no doubt he already stood at the top of the younger generation.
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