An hour slipped by.
After wandering through corridor after corridor, Oren concluded the cathedral house was anything but ordinary. From the outside, it appeared a modest religious residence, plain in structure.
Though the people of Unison and the outskirts knew it was the academy, none questioned it. Oren did, for it expanded beyond what its exterior suggested.
Hallways branched at sharp corners and dim intersections, leading to hundreds of rooms. The scale was disproportionate.
He had not been walking long, yet the building stretched on as though space had been altered within its walls.
For a structure in the outskirts, it felt modern. The lines were clean, the layout meticulous. It seemed one of the few buildings in the area that did not belong to its surroundings.
In all honesty, though, on the way to the assembly hall he had gotten lost due to the unfamiliarity, but it also meant that he would draw more attention.
More than he wanted, at least, and the elders of the academy would not take it well.
With the so called trial nearly among the people, they must be worried, concerned, maybe even hopeful of success.
And then there was the light festival.
Through the academy windows, Oren saw mortals moving through the outskirts streets.
He had thought it a pleasant place, yet despite the brilliant light, the world felt heavy and dark.
At the centre of the market street lay a wide circular clearing, abandoned buildings bordered it, their walls cracked and worn.
Vendors set up banners and tables along the edges and at the heart of the clearing, metal poles marked out a grand tent.
Men and women drove stakes into the ground with practised precision. Though the manual labour, they wore their best attire.
Nearby, performers practised acrobatics at the tent's entrance, entertaining onlookers.
Oren had dismissed, assuming what it was... the Light Festival preparations.
And Oren was only adding to the burdens of academy.
C04 had said that the academy would take care of him upon becoming a candidate, as it did other students.
Those who survived its assessments, at least.
Eventually, Oren made it to the academy hall. With an indifferent smile, he stared at what lay before him.
Two giant doors sat quietly, unmoved, as though guarding the room.
They were painted dark brown, their frames embedded with runes he could not decipher.
Oren looked at the dark oak windowsill beside him. It stretched high along the hallway wall.
Sun rays poured through the clear glass.
Without a second thought, Oren stepped forward indifferently.
I am quite late i hope they do not mind.
Oren extended his arm and gripped the doorknob.
He twisted it, then pulled.
The sturdy oak frame trembled as he opened the ancient wood.
As he entered the large hall, he recalled C04's words. In the short moments before he left, C04 had asked him a favour, but to Oren it seemed to be a wish.
"Do not fail, for I hope to see you in the future, Oren Xianrath."
Those were C04's words.
What a bizarre man, Oren thought.
He glanced behind him as he entered the hall.
...
Upon entering the room, the crimson sun rays were gone and a faint rustle of robes swept through the hall.
The marked, unevenly planned floor trembled under the open window breeze.
The darkness of the room did not help either. Only a few chandeliers hung lit.
The rest had seemingly been blown out, whether by miscreant students or the teachers themselves.
The room was filled with two hundred or so students. Everyone was seated in rigid lines of chairs, perfectly still beneath the towering wall of paintings.
Across the room, at the very front, was the largest painting. It towered over the others like a great border.
He dismissed it briefly.
His careful gaze swept across the vast room at once.
At the room's centre stood a man who preached proudly, undeterred by the murmurs of the candidates.
His features were aged yet strangely youthful. An unwrinkled face. A freshly cut grey beard.
His jet black hair was streaked with grey, and rugged blue eyes held a past.
Oren traced every scar across Elder Idris's unnaturally immaculate face. Each mark told a story.
Oren had thought that he would first be met with questions. Instead, Oren was met with the oppressive stares of young men and women.
Me being late is not that bad, is it?
It felt as though entering the assembly late was not only looked down on, but taboo.
Walking down the central aisle, he cut through the narrow rows of students, ignoring the whispers.
"Who is that?"
"What? Late? How could someone dishonour the entrance assembly? The humble elders have granted us a chance and you dare ruin it."
From across the room, he heard another shout. It was a man, seemingly older than the other people.
"Is this candidate even from one of our families or clans? What is his name? I have never seen him before."
"Maybe he is from your lowly Xen clan, old man Renu Xen."
The young woman's shout was the final one heard by all, making every candidate glance at Oren's shifting silhouette.
"A cathedral in a school?" Oren chuckled, then instantly went quiet beneath the gazes.
Orens cold expression did not waver.
He knew exactly what to do... and that was to stay quiet and not draw any more attention.
Despite that, warmth gathered beneath his collar as the doors shut behind him.
After a while, the whispers gradually grew as Oren remained standing.
How hard is it to find a seat? Oren winced, accidentally treading on the seat of a young girl.
He moved through the rows of students, accidentally stepping on candidates' feet and sometimes kicking their chairs.
Oren eventually found a seat at the back of a row, closer to the entrance than the elder at the front of the room.
His seat was numbered. Candidate Fourteen. It seemed the people here were identified by number, not name, in an assembly like this.
Despite the small ruckus he had created, despite the attention he drew, Oren remained composed. It could be much worse, could it not?
As Oren sat down, the man the students called Elder Idris straightened his posture, his gaze fixing on Oren.
Elder Idris spoke shortly after, his stern voice dominating the whispers of the candidates.
"Silence."
His voice cut cleanly through the hall, and the murmurs died at once.
He offered Oren a brief, knowing smile before continuing.
"I will resume the lecture. We are short on time, so find someone who can update you on what we covered earlier."
Around Oren, the candidates straightened in their seats, eyes frozen forward as if carved from stone.
Oren heard another voice. Not the elder's, but a strangely shy one, yet proud enough not to be weak.
"Hello, are you the candidate who is late? I am Sable, Candidate Fifteen. It is a pleasure to meet you."
The young man beside him said politely. Sable had dirty blonde hair. Though slightly overgrown, it looked neat and carefully kept.
Oren looked into his bright blue eyes.
They were blurry, yet filled with honesty, shimmering as light passed through a pane of glass across the room.
Oren let out a deep breath.
"My name is Oren. It is a pleasure to meet you too."
The whispers and gazes Oren attracted did not seem to bother Sable.
Instead, Sable repeated Oren's name tentatively.
"Oren, what a pleasant name. So unique. Your mother and father must be very creative people."
"Yes, they were quite creative people."
The lie escaped Oren's mouth, slightly confused.
I have a nice name?
Sable paused, letting out an exhausted sigh.
"Are you sure that you are a new candidate?"
"What do you mean?" Oren asked, rubbing his eye. Sable coughed awkwardly.
"Well, it is that to me you give off an otherworldly presence, just like the elders."
A flicker of bewilderment appeared on Oren's expressionless face.
A mortal finding his presence strange was especially peculiar.
I am a mortal now, so why do I feel otherworldly?
Becoming a mortal was unexpected, especially having a mundane body. But it was not too bad. He would only get used to it with time.
Oren sighed, then whispered.
"I am sure of it. Actually, I do not know what these candidates are, or what this assembly is about. Truthfully, I was brought here without knowing. And the gentleman who awoke me was just as clueless as I am."
Sable chuckled despite Oren's serious expression, then froze abruptly beneath the professor's tongue click.
Acknowledging Sir Idris's wariness of speaking aloud, Sable whispered quieter than usual.
"Ah, it is alright. I am a little clueless myself, but I did catch a bit of what the professor explained."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Right now, we are in the assembly to be assessed. The actual examination is scheduled for a week from now. They call it the entrance trial."
"Do you have any knowledge of what the trial itself is, or how to prepare for it?"
Sable hesitated, searching for the right words.
"I do not understand all of it, but the ritual is meant to determine whether we are accepted into the academy, and whether we are worthy of enlightenment, or so they say."
"Enlightenment?" Oren mumbled.
"Yes, that is what the professor said, at least. But something about it seems strange. He made it sound almost simple."
Sable's brows knit slightly.
How many more academies are there in these outskirts? Oren questioned himself.
If there were hundreds, thousands of academies, and each differed in trial, would that not mean there were countless ways for beings to become enlightened?
He shook his head, the only thing that truly mattered was success.
His success, and he knew no other way around becoming enlightened.
"Do you know what being enlightened does... is?"
Oren asked sincerely, sable spoke again, glancing at the surrounding candidates, then Elder Idris.
"I think that is what the revered professor is telling us now."
But what the elder spoke of was not the trial itself. It was something far more relevant, and far more intriguing to Oren.
"Enlightenment. Does anyone know what enlightenment truly is? What it means to become enlightened?"