The golden lightning did not pause after it shattered the Arcanist; like a massive serpent, it turned towards me. At this moment, the last of the massive chains that had bound me from the Arnean Formation was melting away, and the soul cries of the three dead Arcanists were fading away... even if I wanted, I could not run from the judgement I called upon myself.
Remembering the final moments of my tribulation when I decided to embrace the weight of this golden lightning, I opened my arms wide, "Bring it!"
The golden lightning slammed into my chest, tearing through it and invading my Anima Depth. I could feel its presence, it was the weight of the heavens themselves, pressing down on me, asking the question that had been asked since the first time I had opened the Third Gate,
"Who are you to carry this power? Are you worthy?"
Before I called down this tribunal lightning, I had not forgotten the warning that was attached to it by the system: Repeated use risks drawing the attention of the heavens.
I had been through this tribulation before, and I was shattered by the heavens many times, and despite dying so many times to it, the experience did not get easier. Perhaps it was because my soul was bigger, my Anima Depth was deeper, and at the moment, my soul was crystallizing, and so there was so much of me left to judge.
I could not move. The chains were gone, but the weight of the tribulation held me in place, the same way the formation had held me, but deeper, more fundamental, and the entire golden lightning poured into my Anima Depth, and it spread through all of it, my Creation Anima, not feeding it, but it was a potent medium.
My Anima Depth was different from other mages; it was spherical with tiny little bumps connecting to all 10,008 channels in my body. The golden lightning found these channels and poured itself through them, and in the blink of an eye, Tribulation Lightning spread throughout my body, and the entirety of my channels became gold.
I felt my feet leave the ground, and then something ticklish on my shoulder, and I could barely send a strand of my senses to note that the Moon Fox, was licking my skin, and it was getting zapped by small tendrils of golden lightning, but instead of burning this little munchkin to ash, it seemed the fox had just seen a potent elixir, and although all of its silver hair was standing straight, it did not stop it from eating the tribulation lightning.
"Oh." This was the last thought in my head, as the will of the heavens slammed into my consciousness.
"Who are you?"
The question was a demand, and I could not refuse to answer it. This power that I wielded was meant for the heavens, and if I had decided to become the heavens itself to judge those it turned its eyes away from, then I could not run from it.
I had to show the heavens what I was, what I had become... what I was willing to become.
The Hollow Avatar had told me that my state of mind was changing as my soul increased, and while that was the truth, I also knew that there was a core part of myself that I had kept behind, because I knew that if that side of me was touched, then that was the true turning point; I would never go back to who I was.
My core was crystallizing, and while that meant I would have access to great powers as I slowly became an Arcanist, it also meant solidifying who I was. My soul would no longer be as porous as an Acolyte, or as malleable as an Adept... the moment my core was crystallized, the foundation of who I was would be set, and I suspected that this was very important, because this would be what would channel my fate from this moment until I perished.
This should be one of the most important decisions in a magus’ life, and I suspected that any other mage that was on the threshold of becoming an Arcanist would spend years deliberating on what they wanted their core to be.
Becoming an Arcanist meant a thousand years of life, maybe even more with the right kind of magic. I was sixteen this year, and I was already on the threshold of walking past this chasm.
I could look through the history books that I have read, and I would not find a sixteen-year-old Arcanist; such a thought was ridiculous, but my entire situation was equally as ridiculous.
There was no time for me to patrol the world and see all of its mysteries before I took this step. I had died so many times that my mind had been cleansed of many distractions, and tribulation lightning itself was in my veins, asking me the question that I had to decide once and for all... Who am I?
How do you answer such a question? How do you tell the heavens that you are worthy of wielding its powers... and the answer was simple, I could not answer with words. Words were not enough. I answered with memory.
The unique thing I had that separated me from everyone in this world.
I showed it the first time I had died, the Khaaz’s claws tearing through my chest, the shock of it, the disbelief that this was how it ended. This memory contained my shock and my fear, not because I was dying, I was still very young and had not accumulated the scars and the weight that a long life brought... I was just pained that my mother would have sleepless nights as she cried for me, that Mel would become silent and her sharp wit would be placed inside her heart, and my father would work himself to the bone so he would not come home and see the empty room I left behind.
This memory hurt, but these revelations were not just for the heavens, but for me as well, so I pushed further, and I showed it the first time I had killed a demon, and how the kills blurred together until I had the Narghul Sorcerer’s soul dissolving in my hands, the weight of it, the way I had told myself it was necessary.
I showed it the hundreds of deaths, the hundreds of resets, the endless mornings of waking to Mel’s voice and walking toward the red sky to my death.
I showed it Vrakth, the three-horned demon, the eleven loops of dying, the moment I had finally killed him, the fox emerging from his blood, and the bond forming between us.
I showed it the Jade Oracle, headless and dying, kneeling in her chamber, her feathers scattered across the floor.
I showed it everything. Every death. Every kill. Every moment of doubt and despair and stubborn, furious hope.
"You ask me... what makes me worthy?"