The Grand Luminary then waved his hand and a ring, small, silver and unadorned appeared in his hand. It was perfectly smooth, with no gemstone, no inscription.
"A gift," the Grand Luminary said to Judgement. "Your gift and a tool. You will explore its truth as you balance the scales. The ring disappeared from his hand and appeared on Judgement's finger. Judgement bowed his head in appreciation.
"Now then, Commander, I believe it is no problem to let this old man enjoy the lime light once in a hundred years?" "None at all, your Highness," the commander responded.
"Good then," he stretched a wide happy grin. "Where were we?"
He looked directly at the 50 survivors from the Awakening Trials.
"For an age, you have been the foundation in the shadows," the Grand Luminary began, his gaze sweeping over the silent initiates. "You were the Nameless, instruments of a will greater than your own, your identities forged and hardened in purpose alone. But a tool without a master is merely metal and wood. You have transcended that state. You have displayed not just obedience, but choice. Not just strength, but valor. Not just duty, but sacrifice."
He paused, and the silence deepened. "The wars intensify. We do not need faceless instruments; we need champions. We need beacons. We need Knights."
The word hung in the air, potent and terrifying.
"To be a Knight of the Holy Order is to carry a light into the darkness, and a light must have a name to be called upon. It is to bear a responsibility that is yours, and yours alone. Your number was given but your name, you fought for. It is the core of your oath, the symbol of your vow. Let it be true."
He gestured, and a sphere of pure white flame descended.
"Approach the flame and say your name. Let it be known that on this day, Knights you were."
One by one, they stepped forward. As each hand touched the flame, they spoke a single word—their name, the name they had been bestowed by the Divine. Others were monikers of virtue: Valorus, Fidelis. Others were concepts of strength: Ironwill, Stoneheart. The flame flared with each utterance.
Then it was the turn of Judgement's companions.
No. 2 stepped forward. His posture was ramrod straight, his eyes burning with an intensity that had always been his hallmark. He placed his hand into the flame without flinching.
"Caden," he declared, his voice like granite. The flame roared, and for a moment, Judgement saw not a man, but an unbreakable bulwark, a living fortress. He understood then. Caden. It meant 'spirit of battle,' but its underlying truth was Endurance. His ability was not merely physical toughness, but an absolute, unyielding resilience of mind, body, and soul against both physical and psychic assault. He was the shield that would never break.
Next was No. 3. A faint, knowing smile played on her lips as she approached the flame, her movements economical and precise. Her touch was gentle.
"Sibyl," she whispered. The flame did not roar but shimmered, weaving complex patterns of light. Judgement felt a sudden, crystalline clarity in his own mind. Sibyl. The seer. Her sharp wit and intuition were merely the surface of her gift—Precognition. Not of fixed futures, but of probabilistic outcomes, a constant stream of potentialities that she could read and navigate, making her an unparalleled strategist and guide. She saw the paths before they were taken.
Finally, No. 5 stepped up. His calm demeanor was a placid lake, but as his fingers neared the flame, Judgement felt the power radiating from him, a contained inferno.
"Gideon," he said, his voice low and steady, yet it carried to every corner of the hall. The flame did not flare or shimmer; it intensified, burning with a fierce, concentrated heat. Gideon. 'The mighty warrior.' His calm hid the power of Resolve—an ability that converted sheer force of will into tangible kinetic energy. The greater his determination, the greater his physical power became, making him unstoppable once his spirit was fully engaged. He was the unbreakable will given form.
Then, all eyes turned to Judgement. He was the last. The weight of expectation was a physical pressure. He thought of his journey, of the choices that had led him here. He had always sought truth, balance, the essential rightness of an action. His number had never been a random designation. It was his nature.
He stepped forward and plunged his hand into the flame. It was not hot, but profoundly aware. It felt like it was scouring his soul.
"Judgement," he said, and the name was not a choice, but an acceptance. It was who he was.
The white flame exploded into a silent supernova, filling the grand hall with a light that revealed everything without casting a single shadow. In that moment, his underlying ability, which had always been a vague sense of truth, crystallized into perfect understanding: Discernment. The ability to perceive the absolute truth of a person, action, or situation—to see the moral and metaphysical weight of any choice laid bare. He was the living scales, and his judgement would always be true.
Everyone's face including the Grand Luminary and the Three Pillars beamed with amazement. On some faces, underneath the momentary amazement, lay greed, envy, hope, joy – and myriad of emotions.
The Grand Luminary raised a hand, and the air hummed. From the shadowed alcoves at the edges of the grand hall, attendants emerged bearing velvet cushions. Upon them lay sheathed swords of polished silversteel, each pommel set with a gem that seemed to pulse with a light matching its bearer's newfound nature.
"Step forward as you are called," the Grand Luminary intoned, his voice resonant with ceremonial gravity.
One by one, the Named ascended the dais. The High Commander himself handed each their sword, his stern face offering a fraction of a approving nod to some—like Valor, whose blade seemed to sing as he grasped it, or Mercy, whose weapon glowed with a soft, restorative light.
When the last knight had been given her blade, the Grand Luminary spoke again, his voice swelling to fill the hall.
"You stand now as the newest members of the Holy Order. You are no longer children. You are Knights. Swear your oath."
As one, fifty voices rose, strong and clear, echoing off the ancient stones:
"I swear upon the light that forged me,
To uphold the balance of the sacred order.
To serve with courage, act with wisdom,
And devote my blade, my will, and my life
To the protection of this world and the principles of the Divine.
Let my name be my vow,
And my vow be eternal."
As the final words faded, a soft, golden light emanated from each of them—a visible sign of the oath binding their souls to their duty. The gemstones in their sword pommels flared in response, and for a moment, the entire hall was bathed in a constellation of complementary lights.
The Grand Luminary looked upon them, his expression one of profound hope and solemnity. "Rise, Knights of the Holy Order. Your training is complete. Your service begins now."
The formal ceremony was over. The assembled dignitaries began to murmur, already moving to discuss the implications, the new rankings, the unprecedented events.
Judgement remained where he was. Caden, Sibyl, and Gideon—no longer Nos. 2, 3, and 5—approached him. There was a new gravity to them, a sense of fully realised purpose.
Caden spoke first, his voice deeper, more assured. "Judgement." He said the name not as a title, but as a recognition. "It seems your path is even more solitary than we imagined."
Sibyl's keen eyes studied him. "I sense no regret in you. Only certainty. The Luminary was right—you understood your name better than anyone could have guessed."
Gideon placed a hand on Judgement's armoured shoulder. "Solitary does not mean alone. Where you need a wall broken, I will be there. Where you need a way, Sibyl will find it. Where you need a shield, Gideon will break stand as the fortress."
Judgement looked at each of them—his companions, now his fellow knights, each with a name and a power that suited them perfectly. He felt the truth of Gideon's words. He was apart from the structure, but he was not without allies. He was Judgement, and they were his hands, his eyes, his strength when balance needed to be enforced.
"The Order has changed today," Judgement said, his voice quiet but clear. "We have changed it. Now we must ensure it stays true to what it vows to be."
The four of them stood together—a new kind of power within the ancient Order. The ceremony was over, but their true work had just begun.