The return was very gentle. But Judgment was still disturbed.
Moments ago when the Voice of the Trials was explaining the duality of his abilities, something had intentionally stopped it. The Voice of Trials was emotionless in a sense but Judgment was definitely sure that he had sensed deep fear radiating from it.
Anywho - that line of reasoning was cast aside when he suddenly found himself standing on a raised circular dais of white marble, inlaid with silver and gold filigree that depicted celestial bodies and divine script.
Blinking away the slight disorientation, his senses, heightened by the divine energy now coursing through him, he immediately mapped his surroundings.
He was in a grand hall, vast enough to swallow the trial chamber whole. Soaring arches of pale stone met high above, where stained-glass windows depicting heroic sagas and holy parables filtered the sunlight into a kaleidoscope of colors that danced on the polished floor. Rank upon rank of observers filled the tiered benches that lined the hall's perimeter—men and women in distinct, formal robes and uniforms, their faces a mixture of shock, reverence, and intense curiosity. All eyes were fixed on him.
And before the dais, standing in a semicircle that radiated immense authority, were the three Pillars of the Holy Order.
To his right stood a man who could only be the High Commander of the Knights of the Sacred Blade, Elder Kaelen. He was a mountain of a man encased in brilliant silver-steel plate armor, adorned with a deep blue tabard bearing a stylized, flaming sword. His gaze was stern and unyielding, his jaw set tightly as his keen, hawk-like eyes assessed Judgement with a warrior's instantaneous calculation.
To his left was a woman, the Archivist Prime of the Keepers of the Silent Word, Elder Lyra. She was ethereal and stunning, draped in robes of midnight blue embroidered with silver constellations and arcane symbols. Her hands were clasped before her, pale and slender, and her eyes, magnified by a pair of crystalline spectacles, held a depth of knowledge that seemed to look through him, into the very makeup of his soul.
Directly before him was the Voice of Divinity, leader of the Weavers of Fate, Elder Theron. He was a man of elegant composure, dressed in finery of spun gold and white silk that spoke of diplomacy and courtly grace rather than battle. His expression was a perfectly calibrated mask of welcoming benevolence, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing, already weaving the political implications of this moment.
The hall was silent, waiting. Judgement realised that he was the last to arrive. Scattered across the dais around him were the other forty-nine children. They were no longer the ragged initiates who had entered the trials. They stood straight, their eyes clear and burning with latent power. Each bore a new name, a new identity etched into their beings. He could sense them, feel the echoes of their abilities—a whisper of dominion over beasts from a boy now named Noah, a flicker of all-consuming fire from a girl named Abaddon, the unyielding resilience of a boy called Barachiel.
Fifty survivors out of 66. A record never before set.
The High Commander was the first to break the silence, his voice a low rumble like grinding stone. "The last returns. The Trials of Awakening are henceforth concluded." He took a step forward, his armor whispering with the movement. "State the name you were granted, initiate."
Judgement met his gaze, his voice, when it came, was not the voice of the boy No. 1. It was calm, resonant, and carried a finality that stilled the air further.
"I am Judgement."
A unified intake of breath swept through the hall. The name carried weight.
But all attention, from the Pillars to the last of the named children, was fractured by the arrival of a fourth presence.
A soft, golden light began to emanate from the centre of the grand hall, growing from a pinprick to a humanoid form without a sound. The light condensed, coalesced, and faded, revealing a figure so unassuming yet so inherently powerful that the very air stilled in deference.
The Grand Luminary.
He was an old man, his face a road-map of kindness and immense burden, etched with lines of wisdom and sorrow. He wore simple white robes, devoid of ornamentation, and carried no staff. He wore no crown yet he moved with a vitality that defied his apparent age. His authority needed no symbol; it radiated from him like heat from a sun.
Indeed, he was fitting of the title of Grand Luminary. The absolute leader of the Holy Order. His attendance at a Naming Ceremony was unheard of.
The three Pillars immediately dropped to one knee, a movement followed a heartbeat later by every single person in the hall. Every person except Judgement whose very name froze his muscles and stopped him from kneeling. He remained standing, watching the old man approach. The Grand Luminary's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. He gestured with a hand, and the assembly rose, their movements hushed and tentative.
The Grand Luminary stopped before the dais, his silver eyes locking with Judgement's eye.
"There is no need for formality today," he said, his voice soft yet carrying to the farthest corner of the immense hall. "Today, we witness a miracle fifty times over. But one miracle shines with a particular light." He focused solely on Judgement. "The name 'Judgement' has not been borne by any initiate in the thousand-year history of our Order. The trials have bestowed upon you a singular honour and a profound burden. Your arrival marks the end of an age and the beginning of another."