Chapter 2: The Founder’s Ultimatum

I answered calmly and firmly, "I’d rather die than change my mind." My words felt like slamming a door. There was no going back now. I almost felt lighter.

Coach shook her head and laughed bitterly. "Fine. After a hundred years as coach and student, I really misjudged you." Her laugh was hollow, the kind that comes when there’s nothing left to say. She turned away, shoulders slumped.

Junior Member Riley stepped forward. "Coach, I’m willing to lead my fellow members to ascend. My talent isn’t as great as hers, but I’ve worked hard every day. Please give me this chance." Her hands shook, but her voice was steady. I saw determination and humility warring in her eyes.

Coach nodded. "Good, Riley. I didn’t misjudge you. Lead the others to ascend. May you bring more honor to Silver Hollow Lodge in the future." She managed a smile, pride flickering through the sadness. For a second, the room didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Besides Riley, Coach picked three other members. She called their names carefully. Each one looked stunned, then proud, standing a little taller. The rest watched with a mix of envy and hope—maybe their turn would come someday.

With the candidates set, the founder began the ascension ritual. She raised her hands, chanting in a language older than memory. The air shimmered, a circle of light forming around the chosen. It was like watching a scene from a movie—unreal, mesmerizing.

Though I had lost all my power, I still wanted to ask one thing. I stepped forward, ignoring the pain in my chest. My voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through everything. There was something I needed to know—something that wouldn’t let me rest.

"Riley, do you really want to be an attendant?" The words hung in the air, awkward and heavy. I saw Riley flinch, eyes darting to the founder, then back to me. Dangerous question. I couldn’t help myself.

We’d never been close, but I knew her well. Late-night study sessions, silent competitions, the kind of mutual respect you get from surviving a hundred years under the same roof. We’d seen each other at our best and worst.

Riley was the proudest person in the whole lodge. She’d once been the ninth daughter of a business tycoon—wealth, status, all of it. But she gave it up for this. I remembered the stories—her family’s mansion, the parties, the endless admirers. She could’ve had it all, but she walked away. It was a choice I’d always admired, even if I never really got it.

"Money and fame are just things. Love and hate don’t last." She’d said it once, late at night when we were both too tired to pretend. It stuck with me—the kind of wisdom you only get after losing everything you thought you wanted.

Compared to me, she was just as stubborn. She was weaker, but she never quit. Every competition, she gave it everything—like her life depended on it. She had grit, the kind you can’t fake.

I pressed on, "Others might not get it, but you used to have hundreds of people waiting on you. You’ve fought so hard—was it just to be an attendant today?" My words were gentle, but they hit hard. I saw her flinch. The ritual light flickered. Maybe I’d pushed too far.

Riley’s resolve wavered at my words, and she nearly failed the ritual. Her knees buckled. For a second, I thought she’d collapse. The founder’s eyes flashed with anger. The air grew tense, crackling with the threat of violence.

The founder, furious, struck me with a blast of silver light from across the air. I barely had time to react before it hit, knocking the wind out of me and sending me flying across the room. The impact was brutal.

Like a broken kite, I crashed into a marble pillar, blood streaming from my mouth. The world spun. I tasted blood and marble dust. The pain was sharp and unyielding. But even as I lay there, I refused to look away from Riley.

Coach, unable to watch me die, quickly gave me a healing pill. She rushed to my side, pressing the bitter pill to my lips. I swallowed reflexively, the taste burning all the way down. Warmth spread through me, dulling the pain just enough to keep me conscious.

The founder shouted, "Where did this insolent brat come from? You lost your own mind and now you want to ruin everyone else’s?" Her voice was thunder, shaking the walls. But I was too stubborn to care. I just stared her down.

I wiped the blood from my mouth and sneered, "Is your so-called path just about being a workhorse, a servant? Maybe that’s your path, but it’s not Riley’s, not mine, and not what Silver Hollow Lodge stands for!" My words were defiant, ringing out in the silence. I saw heads turn—shock, admiration, maybe both.

Riley opened her eyes, her face conflicted as she struggled to steady herself. But she couldn’t help but ask, "Founder, after we become attendants, is that all there is?" Her voice was small, uncertain. I saw the first crack in her armor. She wanted to believe, but my words had gotten to her.

The founder laughed and said, "Don’t worry, little one. Above attendants are immortals, above immortals are high immortals, and above them are gods—then god-lords and heavenly lords. There’s always another step." She listed the hierarchy like a corporate ladder, each rung just out of reach. It sounded endless. Exhausting.

With that, the founder finished the ritual. The air shimmered, the light growing brighter. I watched as Riley and the others were lifted up, faces a mix of hope and fear. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

When it was done, the golden light glowed bright, silver rays lighting up Riley and the others. They looked almost angelic, wrapped in light and possibility. For a second, I wondered if I’d made the wrong choice. But then I remembered what I stood for, and the doubt faded.

"Let’s go. Time to head back and report." The founder’s voice was brisk, businesslike. She gathered the chosen ones, ready to lead them into the unknown. The rest of us were left behind, watching as our futures disappeared into the clouds.

Riley turned to look at me. "I’ll become a god. When that day comes, I’ll prove I was right." Her words were soft but fierce, a promise and a challenge all at once. I nodded, wishing her luck—even as I wondered if she’d ever find what she was really looking for.

As the immortal clouds drifted away and the sky quieted, Coach helped me up. She slipped an arm around my shoulders, her grip surprisingly gentle. The world felt emptier, but her presence was a small comfort. We stood together, watching the last traces of magic fade from the sky.

"Kid, what are you doing? You got chance after chance, and you just let them slip away." Her voice was tired, more sad than angry now. I could hear the worry underneath, the fear that I’d wasted everything she’d given me. It hurt, but I knew she meant well.

But I was still staring at the sky, and said softly, "Coach, do you think this is right?" The question was quiet, almost lost in the wind. I wasn’t sure if I wanted an answer, or if I just needed to say it out loud. The sky looked different now—emptier, but somehow more honest.

Coach was stunned. "What do you mean, right or not?" She blinked, caught off guard. It was the first time I’d ever seen her at a loss for words. For once, she didn’t have an answer.

I felt a little lost and laughed bitterly. "I spent a hundred years training. I’m talented, but I never slacked off. Only then did I get the trial and wait for ascension. But Coach, even though you weren’t the best, you trained for a thousand years, guiding all of us. Now, the founder just does a ritual and they skip all the hard work—don’t even have to face the trial. Is that right?" My laughter echoed in the empty clearing. I looked at Coach, searching for something—validation, maybe, or just understanding. The world felt unfair, and I needed someone else to see it, too.

Coach was silent. She looked away, jaw clenched. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. I could tell she was wrestling with something deep inside. Something she didn’t want to admit.

She muttered, "You’re shaking my faith, kid." Her voice was barely audible, more to herself than to me. For the first time, I realized how much she’d sacrificed for all of us—how much she’d believed in a system that maybe wasn’t worth believing in.

Coach waved over two junior members. "Take her to the old woods out back. When she’s come to her senses, bring her to me." She straightened up, slipping back into her role as leader. Her voice was firm, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. She was doing what she thought was best, even if it hurt.

The two junior members nodded. "Sorry, but we gotta do this." They looked at me apologetically, their grips gentle but unyielding. I didn’t blame them—they were just following orders, caught in a system bigger than any of us.

As they dragged me away, I still smiled and called out, "Coach, why don’t you let the founder help you? A thousand years without a trial—were you not talented enough, or did you never have your heart set?" My voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it. I wanted her to think, to question, to see the cracks in the foundation she’d built her life on. Maybe it was cruel, but I couldn’t help myself.

Coach’s face went pale at my words, and she turned away fast. Her shoulders stiffened, and she refused to meet my eyes. For the first time, I saw fear in her—fear of what my words might mean for her own story.

"Hurry up and take her away!" Her voice was sharp, almost desperate. The two juniors led me away, and the woods swallowed us up, leaving the lodge—and everything I’d ever known—behind.