Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast
Chapter 64: The Coming Of Age Ceremony Begins

Chapter 64: The Coming Of Age Ceremony Begins

Outside, the road widened as the arena came into view.

It was immense.

A great stone coliseum built into the hillside, ringed with banners and lined with waiting carriages. Its domed towers cast shadows over the grounds, and above its central gate, the seal of Eldoria shimmered in enchanted gold.

Magical sigils pulsed along the archways, flickering with dormant power waiting to be awakened.

As the carriage pulled to a stop, a line of armored guards stepped forward. The doors opened with a creak of gilded hinges, and the Valen family was met with the dignified salutes of waiting escorts.

One of the officials stepped forward, bowing respectfully, "Lord and Lady Valen, this way to the noble observation chamber. And as per your arrangement, Young Lord Lucas and his summon are to be escorted to the participant grounds immediately."

Bennett exchanged a brief glance with Seraphina before nodding.

He stepped forward, placing a hand briefly on Lucas’s shoulder, "Remember what I told you. And remember who you are."

Seraphina leaned down slightly, brushing Lucas’s cheek with her fingers, her smile soft but firm, "We’ll be watching. Just be yourself. No matter what happens, you are enough."

Lucas swallowed and nodded.

Ash gave a quick tilt of his head toward the parents before falling into step beside Lucas.

While Bennett and Seraphina were led to the arched stone steps leading to the high balconies of the noble seating, Lucas and Ash were directed toward a side passage—one carved from pale marble and lined with arcane inscriptions.

As they passed through the corridor, the hum of the crowd dimmed, replaced with the cool silence of preparation halls and the distant echo of names being called.

It was here—beneath the arena itself—that the tension solidified. No longer a distant, abstract weight, but a tangible force that filled every breath.

They emerged into the staging area behind the central noble stage, where other five-year-olds stood in small clusters, some murmuring encouragement to each other, others pacing in silence.

The orb could be seen shimmering faintly on its pedestal, and just above, the massive observation platform loomed like a throne of judgment.

Ash remained silent as he observed the surroundings... ’So this is what it looks like...’

Lucas exhaled deeply, forcing the nerves down as best he could.

And within, the Arena of Inheritance waited.

The arena itself was divided into three grand stages.

The central platform, elevated slightly higher than the others and gleaming with royal enchantments, was reserved for the children of noble blood—each one born under a banner, bearing titles and weighty legacies.

To the left, a slightly smaller but equally formal stage housed the middle class—merchants, rising mages, and officers whose children carried ambition and training if not noble names.

To the right, the lowest stage had rougher stonework, but was no less essential; this was where the lower class stood—commoners, servants, and orphans whose only inheritance was the fire they forged on their own.

Hovering above the center stage on a high platform stood the ceremony’s overseer—a Grand Mage of C+ rank, robed in layered aether-threaded fabric that shimmered faintly with every breath of magic.

His voice, magnified through subtle enchantments, carried across the entire arena like wind through cathedral halls.

Lucas inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose.

Ash said nothing.

Because now, the proving ground had been reached.

And there was no turning back.

By now, the stands surrounding the arena were packed. Thousands of spectators filled the viewing galleries—noble families seated under shaded balconies, merchants and middle-class citizens gathered in tight rows, and clusters of commoners pressing toward the edge of the viewing tiers for a glimpse of the legendary ceremony.

Murmurs of anticipation buzzed through the air, parents craning their necks to catch sight of their children, pride and anxiety etched in equal measure across their faces.

The sheer number of participants was staggering. Over five hundred five-year-old children stood waiting across the three stages, each group robed in different colors based on their status.

This year’s ceremony had drawn unprecedented attention, with more participants than any year in the last decade.

Military officers, many clad in light armor bearing regional insignias, lined the upper terraces, notebooks and magical tablets in hand. Recruiters from Eldoria’s army and several of its knightly orders watched intently, their eyes sharp, scanning the participants for potential prodigies.

For them, this wasn’t just a ceremony—it was a talent hunt.

With a flare of aetherlight, the Grand Mage lifted his staff, and the orb embedded within it pulsed. His voice, clear and sonorous, rang through the coliseum.

"Let the Ceremony of Inheritance commence."

A hush fell over the crowd as a scroll was unfurled beside the Grand Mage by a hovering attendant. Names began to be called.

From the lower stage, a tiny girl with tattered robes and determined eyes stepped forward. She placed her small hand on the orb. A single glowing strand of amber light rose within—Aether affinity. One string.

There was no cheer. But there was no shame either. She stepped down, head held high.

From the middle stage, a thin boy in a modest miniature military uniform stepped up next. His fingers trembled as they touched the orb. The light flared—three strings of wind-colored silver danced above it.

Murmurs rose from the stands. Solid. Respectable.

Then came the nobles.

A little girl with dark, curling hair approached the central platform. Her name was called, "Elyra Caelum of House Caelum."

She stood proudly, placing her hand atop the orb with confidence. It responded immediately—five threads, gleaming a radiant crimson.

"Fire affinity," the Grand Mage declared, "Five-string talent."

Applause erupted from the noble wing. House Caelum’s banners waved in celebration.

Lucas watched from the crowd of children, his breath shallow, his palms beginning to sweat at the emergence of the first eye-catching talent.

Ash, beside him, simply watched in silence.

More names echoed across the arena as the ceremony continued.

From the lower stage, a scrawny boy with soot-stained cheeks and oversized sleeves approached nervously. His name was barely audible over the murmurs. He placed his hand on the orb. A flicker—then two glowing strands of green light twisted into the air.

"Earth affinity. Two-string talent," the Grand Mage intoned.

From the middle class, a girl in an embroidered academy robe strode confidently to the orb. The moment her palm touched its surface, it flared brightly—four strands, blue and violet.

"Water and Psychic dual affinity. Four strings."

Gasps followed, especially from the military officers who leaned in to take note.

On the noble stage, another five-year-old stepped forward: Dren Armathor, of House Armathor. He walked with a proud, calculated air. When his fingers touched the orb, six strands burst forth in blinding gold and white.

"Light affinity. Six-string talent."

The audience roared.

Nobles leaned in, murmuring among themselves with renewed interest, and some exchanged tense glances, clearly unsettled by House Armathor’s dominance.

Even the recruiters took a step forward, their eyes gleaming—not just with excitement, but with calculation. Their quills scratched hastily across scrolls and parchments, marking Dren’s name with urgency.

A few heads from lesser houses turned toward Lucas, whispering beneath their breath. The pressure around him thickened, coiling like a noose as comparisons and expectations began to solidify in the minds of those watching.

Back in the middle of the arena where the children were gathered, the impact of the words was like a thunderclap in Lucas’s mind.

His breath hitched. His vision narrowed.

Six strings—the same as his father’s talent. The very benchmark he had privately sworn to surpass ever since he was old enough to understand what the name Valen truly meant. And now, someone else had matched it.

Publicly. Effortlessly.

He felt a sharp twist in his gut, a sensation that was equal parts awe and dread. Not just because of what it meant—but because he knew what it would do.

The bar had just been set. And it wasn’t just hovering where he’d hoped to land—it had towered over him before he even stepped forward.

Pressure surged in his chest, rising like a tide. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let his expression crack.

But deep inside, a familiar voice whispered, what if you can’t even reach that? What if you’re not even equal to your father?

Lucas forced his eyes forward, locking on the orb.

He couldn’t let it shake him. Not here. Not now.

Still, the Grand Mage called name after name, each voice echoing across the hushed arena.

The summoning orb pulsed and flickered, its glow shifting with every touch, displaying destinies in strands of color. Each result cast another ripple through the sea of watchers—some filled with awe, others with unease. The ceremony marched on, steady and relentless, the lights rising like silent fireworks in the midday sun.

But then, from the far right of the arena—the lower stage—a name rang out that turned heads.

"Karim of South Hollow."

A boy, no older than five, barefoot and clad in a plain tunic, approached the orb with hesitant steps. He placed his hand on it, and at first, nothing happened. Then, the orb ignited with a sudden surge of violet light.

Six threads erupted from within, swirling violently in hues of shadow and aether. Karim’s eyes widened in disbelief, his hands trembling slightly as the light encircled him. For a moment, he looked more frightened than proud, like someone who had stumbled into something far greater than he understood. The orb hummed with residual energy as he slowly pulled his hand away, uncertain whether to bow or step back.

"Shadow affinity. Six-string talent."