The blue glow of the System screen faded, leaving Raziel alone with his thoughts and the sound of his roommate's snoring in the dark.
That night, sleep did not come, but time still kept moving forward, without mercy.
The next afternoon, when Raziel entered the dormitory, he found his roommate, Elijah, busy reading a book.
Elijah was a quiet, studious novice, a thin boy with messy brown hair who always seemed to be in his own world, much happier among books and old knowledge than sweating out in the yard.
"Elijah," Raziel said to get his attention as he closed the door.
The boy looked up, frowning a little at the interruption, but he relaxed when he saw who it was.
"Raziel, I did not think you would return so soon. How was practice?"
Raziel sighed and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, feeling the tiredness in his bones.
"Hard, as always. But I am managing." He flexed his sore arm, testing how much the muscle complained.
Elijah nodded, thoughtful, and closed his book carefully.
"It is good to hear that, you have been pushing yourself and it shows."
He paused, shifting his eyes toward the worn practice sword Raziel had just leaned against his bed.
"Although I must say, I still do not understand why you like those crude weapons so much."
Raziel shrugged, making it sound like nothing.
"You have to be ready for anything, do you not?"
That was the way of thinking that kept him alive, and especially now that the Novice Trials were getting close.
For most initiates, they were a simple ceremony, a chance to show what they could do and earn their place in Zhalyr's Church.
A series of tests made to see if they were suited for the path they had chosen, and to purge those who did not deserve to use divine power.
But for Raziel, they were something else entirely, they were a way to measure himself against a past he could not escape.
A constant reminder of everything he still lacked.
***
The first trial took place in the main cathedral, a huge, impressive hall that made anyone feel small.
The goal was to test their ability for the role of Priest.
More than anything, it was a test of faith; of their ability to channel Zhalyr's grace and connect with the believers.
They had to recite a passage from the Book of Hymns, and their voices had to reach even the farthest corner of the place.
They were not judged only for speaking the words correctly, but more for their ability to inspire, to comfort, and to light a spark of faith in the hearts of those listening.
It should have been easy.
Raziel had given countless sermons in his previous life, his voice was something familiar between the cathedral walls and he knew the scriptures by heart; their meaning was part of who he was.
But this time, standing in front of the gathered priests, he felt a sudden dizziness.
All eyes were on him.
The weight of expectations crushed him, a suffocating pressure, and then, his memory betrayed him.
The memory of that same cathedral, desecrated and stained with blood, exploded in his mind.
He could hear the children panting as they ran, the echo of their screams in the sudden silence, and the terrifying feeling of Zion's cold presence, with her sword dripping crimson...
He hesitated, his voice stuck in his throat.
The words of the hymn, that used to come on their own, now tasted like ash in his mouth.
'Not this time, not again.'
He breathed, trembling, pushing the memories back, refusing to let them freeze him.
He was not going to be a victim again.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the judging stares, the weight of expectations and the ghosts of his past failures.
And he remembered what truly mattered.
Not dogma, not memorized words, but the heart of his faith.
The unbreakable belief in Zhalyr's light, and the compassion that had made him become a priest in the first place, the burning need to be a light in a world full of darkness.
He began to speak, his voice low and steady.
He did not speak of blind obedience or the fires of hell like he was supposed to, instead he spoke of the simple, lasting power of faith.
The power to heal old wounds, and to give comfort in the face of despair, and to light hope in the darkest moments.
He spoke of the orphans he had known.
Of their laughter echoing in empty halls.
Of their stubborn strength against trouble.
Of their faith in a world that had taken so much from them, he spoke of the small victories, and the brief moments of grace that whispered of Zhalyr's presence, even in the face of crushing darkness.
His voice filled the massive space.
He was not sharing only words from a sacred book, he shared the raw, undeniable truth of what he had lived.
When he finished, silence filled the cathedral, then, a slow clap broke the calm, followed by another, until the hall shook with applause.
Raziel kept his face blank, eyes fixed forward. He gave the examiners a stiff nod.
He saw approval in their eyes. He even caught something strange in Lucian's look.
Respect? Well. That was a point to him.
[Initiation Mission: Success]
But the moment he stepped down from the platform...
He felt a glitch in reality. The hairs on the back of his neck rose like needles.
Someone had their eyes on his back.
His eyes swept the dark corners of the cathedral, hunting for the threat. His heart hammered against his ribs.
There.
Between the treacherous flicker of the candles, he saw a silhouette, tall, unmoving, wrapped in shadows that seemed to swallow the light.
'It is only a shadow. Do not panic,' But that bad feeling did not leave, not even with prayers.