The corridor Kaelion walked through was much narrower than the main hall, its walls covered in a dark mineral that seemed to swallow the dim light of the oil lamps. The silence here was different; it wasn't a silence of expectation, but a dense, heavy quiet, charged with a static energy that made Kaelion anxious.
Ahead of him, the priest in the purple robe moved at a steady pace, his footsteps making almost no sound against the stone floor. Just behind the priest, Jeniffer and the plump young noble kept a respectful distance, but Kaelion could feel the waves of disdain emanating from them, as if the mere presence of a commoner in that sacred corridor were a stain on the ritual's sanctity.
Kaelion fixed his gaze on the priest's back, trying to ignore the hostility in front of him. The air grew increasingly heavy, carrying a subtle scent of ozone and incense. He knew that once he crossed the next door, his life would change forever. Every sacrifice his sister had made, every sleepless night his parents had endured—everything led to this moment.
The young adults followed the priest through the corridor as he guided them like a shepherd with a restless flock. Each tried to stay close to their own friends or acquaintances, seeking security in familiarity. Jeniffer, the girl in the blue dress, had already found company, walking alongside a boy she had met along the way and exchanging whispers that Kaelion preferred to ignore.
The plump noble walked with his two friends, carrying himself as if he owned the place. They spoke loudly enough to be heard, casting contemptuous glances at the children of merchants. Even though these merchant heirs thought of themselves as part of the nobility—simply because their parents accumulated wealth and had more gold than the common folk, and even more than some lower-ranked nobles like barons and baronets—at their core, they remained wealthy commoners. They were useful tools that true nobles frequently exploited according to their political or financial needs.
Kaelion walked at the very rear, at the end of the line, observing every interaction with a meticulous eye. A bitter, almost invisible smile touched his lips as he realized the innocence of those merchant children, believing they were equals to the blood nobility. He still didn't know the true reason for the fall of his father's family. Sometimes he thought they might have simply been poor administrators, unable to maintain their fortune. But deep down, he believed in a darker version: that some influential noble had used them as stepping stones and, in the end, discarded them without compassion. In the world of the nobility, such cruelty was not a novelty; it was almost a rule.
This skepticism came from home. His father, Kandria, carried a deep and silent resentment against high society. It wasn't just about the family's fall in status, but something much more physical and painful. Kandria had lost his left hand because of a baronet who, in a desperate attempt to frame him without concrete evidence, decided to apply an "exemplary punishment" to reaffirm his power.
Kaelion cursed the nobles in his most private thoughts, but his mind was fair enough not to harbor a blind hatred against everyone. He understood that, in rare exceptions, there were those who were just. The baron of the land where they lived was an example: when the tragedy occurred, it was he who interceded for his father, ensuring the punishment was limited to the loss of a single hand rather than his life. Furthermore, it was the baron who paid for Kandria's initial magical treatment, preventing the wound from becoming a deadly infection that would have brought even more misery to the family.
Kaelion knew there were powerful mages capable of reconstructing amputated limbs, but such miracles cost obscene fortunes—the equivalent of an entire year of a baron's tributes. Because of this, he never held a grudge against the local noble for not doing more; what he did was already an act of uncommon kindness in such a cynical world.
Bunch of bastards... he muttered to himself, shifting his focus back to the present as the image of his father struggling to work with only one hand burned in his memory. One day that baronet will pay for the harm he caused my family! It was a blood promise he would carry to the limit, and one day, he would fulfill it.
Kaelion continued his walk in complete silence. No one dared speak to him, and he preferred it that way. It wasn't because he exuded a threatening aura, but his simple linen tunic acted as a natural repellent for those seeking influential connections. No one wanted to associate with a poor commoner who looked like he didn't have a copper to his name. For Kaelion, the isolation was a gift; at this crucial moment, he didn't need false friendships or trivial conversation. He only wanted to get through the ritual and awaken his affinity.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts about the past and the future that he almost didn't notice when the priest stopped talking. He nearly collided with a young lady walking ahead of him, managing to stop just in time to avoid an incident that would have surely drawn unwanted attention. He whispered a silent thanks for his own agility.
The priest, now positioned between two large, ornate doors, spoke with a voice that, while calm, carried the unquestionable weight of authority:
"The Young Masters will enter through the door on the right, while the Young Ladies will proceed through the door on the left." He paused deliberately, allowing the instruction to settle in everyone's minds. "Upon entering, you will find the ritualistic garments you are required to wear. Have I made myself clear? Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," they all responded in an almost mechanical chorus, their voices echoing through the narrow corridor.
Only then, as he watched the line divide, did Kaelion notice the numerical disparity. There were significantly more men than women in this specific Mana Gate corridor. In the oval hall, he had made a quick count and imagined the difference wouldn't be so large, but here, reality asserted itself: by his calculations, the ratio was about eight men for every woman. It was a curious detail that made him wonder if the nature of the Mana Gate was somehow more common among men, or if it was just a coincidence of this particular awakening cycle.
Before the youths could cross the threshold, the priest spoke again, his voice echoing with solemnity:
"When you enter to change, in the Young Masters' room, there will be a priest to observe and assist as needed. In the Young Ladies' room, a priestess will do the same. You are all dismissed."
In a way, this new information was an unexpected relief for Kaelion. He knew, by survival instinct, that in a closed environment without supervision, the nobles might end up doing something to harm him physically or tarnish his reputation even before the ritual. This deep mistrust was a scar he would carry for a long time—a burden that, although he hoped to overcome one day, served as his primary armor.
He waited patiently, leaning against the cold wall, allowing all the young nobles to enter first. In some high-born circles, being the last to enter could be seen as a sign of importance, as if the guest of honor were waiting for the right moment to make his grand entrance. But for Kaelion, it was merely a tactic to avoid any unnecessary contact with those arrogant faces.
When the last boy passed through the door, Kaelion followed just behind.
The changing room was much smaller than the main hall where they had been before, but it was still large enough to be bigger than his entire house. Not that this was much of a feat, given the humility of his home, but the luxury of the place impressed him nonetheless.
The room must have been about sixty square meters. The lighting was so intense and white that, for an instant, his vision failed. His pupils were slow to adjust to the dazzling light coming from the magical orbs on the ceiling. In the midst of that visual confusion, he ended up bumping into a black-haired boy standing in front of him.
"Sorry!" Kaelion said quickly, bowing in an instinctive apology. He had taken every precaution to avoid an incident, and there he was, making a mistake right at the start. He only hoped it wouldn't escalate into a fight.
The boy turned slowly. His gaze was serene, lacking the aggression common to the other nobles, and in a calm voice, he murmured:
"It's fine, don't worry."
Kaelion looked up, but the stranger was already beginning to move away in an intriguing manner. It was a small shock; Kaelion realized that, despite the proximity, he couldn't quite remember the boy's features, only the sensation of a profound calm. Letting out the breath he had held without noticing, he walked toward the priest in charge of the room. This priest wore a different outfit than the three Kaelion had met before: a light green tunic with smaller symbols and fewer runes.
"Your Reverence, could you spare a minute of your time?" Kaelion asked, bowing once more in respect.
"Of course," the priest replied. His voice was grave and deep, yet possessed an empathy that, curiously, brought a small sense of discomfort to Kaelion. He was not used to being treated with kindness by strangers in positions of power. "What do you need, Young Master?"
Kaelion raised his head, startled. He found it strange to be addressed as "Young Master" by a cleric of such standing. Fearing that the title might draw the ire of the nobles circulating in the room, he attempted to correct what he assumed was a mistake.
"Sir Priest, I am merely a poor commoner. There is no need to call me 'Young Master,' I—"
Before Kaelion could finish his explanation, the priest interrupted him with a gentle gesture.
"I understand your position out there. However, while you are under the roof of the Holy Trinity, you are all children of the same Creator. You are all equal in my eyes, to my ears, and through my speech."
Kaelion stood speechless, the silence heavy in his throat. He did not know if the priest's words were a heartfelt truth or merely a rehearsed dogma. He wanted to believe in that divine justice, but it was hard to maintain faith when he realized that never, in all his life, had he seen a poor commoner occupy the rank of priest. If they were all equal, why were the altars held only by those with high-born names?
At that moment, poisonous murmurs began to snake through the room, loud enough for him to hear.
"What does that peasant think he wants with the priest?"
"Exactly. I can't understand what he's even doing here—that filthy breed under the same roof as us."
"He should be working the fields with the rest of his miserable family. How did he get the money for those disgusting clothes, and more importantly, how did he pay for the ritual?"
"I bet his mother prostituted herself to some noble or filthy merchant to get the coin and that rag he's wearing."
Every word was like a shard of glass cutting into Kaelion's soul. The rage and disgust he felt for the nobility flared with renewed fury, especially when his mother's honor was stained in such a vile manner. In his mind, he saw himself turning and beating every one of them without a shred of mercy, watching them agonize in pools of their own blue blood. The desire for vengeance was visceral—a tension that coiled up his arms—but reason still held him back. He knew he couldn't act. Not now. But if everything goes right in the ritual... if the power comes...
He waited for the priest to do something, to use that "equality" he had preached moments ago to silence the insults. But the cleric remained silent. The silence of authority was the greatest of betrayals. Kaelion's animosity surged to dangerous levels, but he forced himself to swallow the rage and proceed with his technical question.
"Your Reverence, I would like to know if the ritualistic garments are assigned to each individual, or if I may choose any of the available ones?"
The priest looked at him with narrowed eyes and, after a slight sigh, replied, "You may choose any, Young Master. As I said, there is no class distinction within the Holy Trinity."
"Thank you, Your Reverence," Kaelion said, pulling away as quickly as he could.
Filthy vermin! he thought, his mind screaming amidst the silence. One day you will all pay for every word spoken against me and my family!
Kaelion headed to a more secluded corner of the room, where a grey tunic hung alone on a dark wooden rack. As he touched the ceremonial piece, a wave of sensations washed over him; the difference between the rags he usually wore and this noble fabric was stark. It was cool, smooth, and had a weight that brought comfort. For an instant, he felt transported to a world entirely different from the one he knew—a world of soft textures and comfort that felt just out of reach.
In truth, that was exactly it. He was an intruder in a kingdom of silk.
The noble heirs, sons of knights, and descendants of great merchants were already accustomed to such fabrics. To them, it was just another common garment of their privileged daily life. But for those watching, seeing a commoner like Kaelion "lost" in the sensation of touching quality silk and linen was the ultimate entertainment. Loud, mocking laughter echoed against the stone walls, reaching the youth's ears.
"A dog having access to such high-quality clothing..." remarked the plump noble Kaelion had noticed earlier, his voice dripping with mockery. "I doubt he'll ever see anything like it again in his life. He'd better enjoy the feeling and thank the Church of the Holy Trinity for this momentary generosity."
Kaelion remained firm, ignoring the laughter reverberating through the room. With an impassive expression, he focused on undressing and putting on the ceremonial tunic.
However, as soon as he finished removing his raw linen clothes, something in the atmosphere shifted. Some of the nearby nobles looked at him with slight astonishment, the mockery withering in their throats for a moment. Beneath those poor, loose rags, Kaelion did not have the thin, malnourished body they expected. To many there, commoners were synonymous with fragility and misery, but the youth before them exhibited a body that was surprisingly defined for a peasant.
The secret lay in his education. Kandria, his father, had always been rigorous, encouraging him to exercise from a young age. Kandria still remembered his own childhood—the fencing drills under his father's guidance and with the servants of the influential house they once owned. Even after the tragic fall of his family, he made sure to teach his son the basics of swordsmanship. Kandria had a firm understanding of combat and how to keep a body prepared for a fight.
Though they couldn't afford a high-quality metal sword, Kandria had carved small swords out of resilient wood with his own hands. He trained Kaelion tirelessly under the sun and moon, showing him the fundamental strikes and the correct posture. Through this, Kaelion had developed an enviable physical constitution—lean, functional muscles. The food at home wasn't a king's banquet, but the family always found a way to ensure he was well-fed enough for the effort his father demanded.
After dressing in the grey tunic, which hung heavy and completely covered his feet, Kaelion redid his ponytail, letting a few messy strands fall over his face, framing his crimson eyes.
Twenty minutes after they had entered, the priest in the light-green robe spoke up.
"I see that you have all changed," he said, looking around. "Follow me, please."
He walked toward the exit door, and the youths began to follow him. Kaelion repeated his entry tactic: he waited for everyone else to leave so he would be the last one through the door.
When everyone was in the corridor—and the young ladies had also returned from their room—the purple-robed priest who had guided them earlier was waiting a little further ahead. As soon as they noticed his imposing presence, all murmuring stopped immediately. Silence dominated once more as they waited for the next instructions.
Kaelion looked around discreetly and noticed that the women were now wearing the same grey ceremonial tunic, which brought a strange visual uniformity to the group, momentarily erasing the distances of class.
"Since everyone is dressed, let us proceed," the priest announced.
They walked for another two minutes in a tense silence until they stopped in front of a colossal door. It was adorned with deeply engraved runes that glowed in a vibrant magenta hue. The glow pulsed rhythmically, as if the door were alive, emanating an energy that made the surrounding air vibrate.
Kaelion felt a sudden tremor in his Mana Gate, located just below his sternum. A sharp tingling sensation arose there—a deep, annoying internal itch that wouldn't fade, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He already had a theoretical idea of where his Gate was, but he had never imagined he would have such an intense physical reaction just by being near a source of power.
The priest pushed the double doors, which opened in silence, and everyone began to enter the sacred precinct. The ritual was about to reach its climax.