The rest we do not choose

Kael didn’t tell anyone about the silver disc.

He tucked it beneath the floorboard of his dorm room, behind the loose panel he'd once used to hide stale protein bars during his year-long disciplinary lockdown. No alarms went off when he passed through the Academy’s scanners. No mentors called him in for questioning. It was as if the disc didn’t exist outside of his perception.

But something had shifted. He felt it everywhere.

His senses had sharpened—not with the clean precision of someone advancing a cultivation stage, but with the hyper-awareness of someone who knew they were being watched.

Because he was.

The next day, the Headmaster summoned the student body.

It wasn’t a routine assembly. The message came through direct pulse—a mental push into the students’ consciousness—something only used for emergency directives.

*All candidates are to report to the Grand Court.*

Kael dressed without thinking. The silver disc stayed buried.

When he arrived, the Court was already filling. Rows of students from every rank: elemental aspirants in their sleek reinforced uniforms, spiritual theory scholars in long layered robes, and even a few mech-bound cultivators—their core interfaces glowing faintly beneath their skin.

Zera Valen stood at the front, flanked by two members of the Galactic Federation's Overseer Corps.

That made Kael pause.

Overseers didn’t show up for sparring tournaments or graduation ceremonies. Their presence meant one thing: external interest. And that usually meant war or recruitment. Or both.

Zera’s voice carried clearly through the domed chamber.

“There has been a... deviation.”

She paused. Let it settle.

“Three nights ago, a non-registered ship entered Earth’s orbit. It did not transmit codes. It did not respond to contact. But it left behind... traces.”

Kael swallowed hard.

Zera continued.

“A universal scan was run across the Core Array. The results returned anomalies. There are energies within our planetary field that do not originate from any known cultivation system. That is why the Overseers are here.”

The shorter of the two Overseers stepped forward.

His eyes swept across the students like a laser grid, noting, cataloging, measuring.

“We will be conducting a Resonance Test. This is not optional. Those who refuse will be dismissed from the Academy and flagged for containment.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Even the upper-rank students looked shaken.

Kael’s fingers curled instinctively. The seed inside his chest flared, once—like a heartbeat out of time—and went still.

“What kind of test?” someone shouted.

The Overseer didn’t smile.

“We will find what entered this world. And we will know who carries its trace.”

The test began that afternoon.

One by one, students were called into a sealed chamber beneath the Grand Court. The Resonance Chamber was an ancient relic—older than Earth’s Federation membership. It was built from cosmic jade and star-forged steel, materials that hummed when exposed to truth. No one could cheat it. Not even the system-bound cultivators.

Kael’s turn came last.

He walked in slowly.

The chamber was colder than it should’ve been. In the center stood a tall obsidian monolith with faint star-etched grooves, pulsing with a rhythm he could feel in his bones.

*Touch it,* the Overseer said.

Kael hesitated.

*Now.*

He stepped forward. The second his fingers met the stone, pain lanced through his body.

Not physical pain. Not spiritual, either.

It was memory pain.

He saw visions—flashes of stars dying, of seeds drifting through space, of civilizations rising and collapsing like waves. He saw Elyria, not in her cloak, but in a crystal chamber floating in deep space, asleep. Waiting.

He saw himself. Not as he was, but as something older. Something that had *failed* before.

Then the pain stopped.

Kael stumbled back, breath ragged.

The Overseers stared at him, eyes sharp. But they said nothing.

The monolith didn’t crack. Didn’t hum. Didn’t explode.

But it glowed.

Just once.

A pulse, like the blink of a distant star.

Then it went still.

Zera’s voice was the first to break the silence.

“What do you see?”

The taller Overseer answered.