The faint chime of silence hung in the lounge after Aurorwen's graceful greeting. The air seemed to hold its breath as Lucien returned her bow with a stiff nod, doing his best to maintain composure despite the flutter in his chest.
The Third Light of the Sixth Branch—one of the highest-ranking individuals in the Church of Elyssira—was standing mere paces from him. More than that, she had personally arrived to oversee his awakening. If that wasn't intimidating enough, she was now his guide to a sacred rite whispered of with awe in noble circles.
Aurorwen broke the quiet, her voice as tranquil as a morning bell.
"If the young master does not mind," she began, "may I explain the procedure of awakening while we walk? I apologize for the abruptness of your summoning. My schedule today is... tightly bound."
Lucien's eyes widened.
"N-No! Not at all!" he replied quickly, panicked that someone of her status was apologizing to him. "Please, there's no need to say sorry. I—I would honestly prefer if we hasten it. Truly."
A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "That is most reassuring."
She turned gracefully and began walking toward the front-facing door—one far older than the rest, made of aged wood reinforced by pale silver bands. Ancient symbols were etched deep into the arch and its hinges, some glowing faintly with enchantments only the Church could maintain.
As she reached it, Aurorwen gestured toward the door.
"This passage leads to one of the many sanctified chambers housing a Root of the World," she explained.
Lucien's brows knit as he silently echoed her words in thought. Root of the World…?
He stood slowly, glancing toward the chairs where Maid Marie and Knight Rex remained seated. A hint of confusion crossed his face.
Marie noticed and gently answered, "From this point on, young master… only the chosen and sanctified may proceed."
Knight Rex added, arms folded across his broad chest, "The awakening process is delicate. Even a slight disturbance can corrupt it—or worse. It's protocol that only the Awakened and an official guardian of the Church are present during the rite."
Lucien blinked, taking in their solemn expressions. "So… it really is that sensitive," he murmured.
He turned and stepped beside Aurorwen, who stood silently, waiting.
"Are you prepared, Young Master Velebrandt?" she asked gently.
Lucien took a breath and nodded. "Yes."
"Then let us begin."
From within her flowing sleeve, she withdrew a key—delicate, silver, humming with runes. With practiced ease, she inserted it into the ancient lock.
There was no grinding click, only a resonant hum, and the doors parted slowly on their own, as though responding to her very presence. A gentle breeze of chilled, dry air wafted out from the opening.
Before stepping through, Aurorwen turned slightly toward the pair seated behind. "Sir Rex. Lady Marie. There is no need for concern. The young master is in the hands of the Church."
Knight Rex gave a small nod, expression unchanging.
Marie's eyes lingered on Lucien, and she offered a quiet smile.
Then the doors closed behind him.
The stone corridor unfolded before them, its solemn stillness punctuated by the soft flicker of enchanted sconces that cast an ethereal glow. Lucien's footsteps harmonized with hers, echoing off the walls as they descended into the mountain's depths. The spiral staircase, carved directly into the living rock, wound tightly downward, its steps worn smooth by the passage of time.
As they descended, the air took on a cooler, more reverent quality, like the hush of an ancient sanctuary. The polished stone gave way to the natural roughness of the cavern, its walls threaded with delicate, pulsing filaments that resembled the veins of a living entity. These glowing tendrils cast a soft, otherworldly light, imbuing the space with an aura of mystique and forgotten knowledge.
Aurorwen spoke again, her voice steady and soft, echoing off the ancient stone.
"The Awakening process is, in truth, a very simple rite. The Church merely provides the guidance and safety for it."
Lucien listened, eyes fixed ahead, absorbing her every word.
"You will enter a chamber where one of the Roots of the World emerges from the deep. These are sacred extensions of the World Tree, believed to connect all living things," she said. "Around the root, a ritual circle is prepared—hand-drawn with twelve of the rarest magical herbs, steeped in blessing, prayer, and purity. It is a rite our Church maintains for all who seek to awaken their Gift."
Lucien furrowed his brow. "And what do I need to do?"
"Simply touch the Root," she replied. "Upon contact, the circle will activate. Then, a surge of energy will enter your body—one of three forms: mana, aura, or holy power."
Her tone held no weight of mystery or drama—just calm assurance.
"Your body," she continued, "will decide what suits you best. Or, more precisely… what power chooses you in return."
Lucien blinked. "That's… all?"
Aurorwen nodded, golden eyes reflecting the dim blue flames. "That is all."
Silence returned, filled only by the soft sound of descending steps and Lucien's quickening heart.
It sounded so simple.
And yet, as they descended deeper into the root-veined stone, Lucien couldn't shake the feeling that something monumental waited just ahead—something that might change the
course of his life forever.
____________________________________
____________________________________
At the end of the long descent, the stone stairs opened into a quiet, vast chamber carved directly into the earth's heart. A serene stillness settled in the space, one that silenced even breath and thought.
There, lying curled in the center of the chamber like the coiled form of a sleeping giant, was the Root of the World.
The ancient root was thick—larger than Lucien expected—with bark smoother than any tree he'd ever seen, gleaming faintly like polished silverwood under starlight. Translucent veins pulsed faintly beneath its surface, glowing with quiet rhythm.
It was alive.
Alive, and breathing.
Lucien's heart thudded in his chest as the realization hit him. This wasn't just a relic of myth. This root was not dead bark or inert magic. It was part of something far greater—something sentient and ancient that reached across time and life itself.
Encircling it was a vast magic circle etched into the stone floor, glowing ever so faintly. The lines of the circle were drawn with painstaking care, and the faint, earthy aroma of herbs lingered in the air—sweet and bitter at once. It grounded him, tethered him to the present, as though nature itself was watching.
Aurorwen stepped behind him and spoke with her usual quiet grace.
"Go," she said softly. "Place your hand upon the root."
Lucien hesitated.
"Do not be afraid," she continued, her voice like a balm. "I am here with you."
He turned to glance at her.
Her white robe—heavy and intricate, with golden threads winding through it like growing branches—shimmered gently under the chamber's low light. Her golden eyes met his, calm and unwavering.
She gave a faint, serene smile.
"Touch it, young master. Let the root know you."
Lucien drew in a shaky breath and turned again to face the ancient root. His feet moved slowly, each step echoing faintly across the stillness of the stone floor. His mind whirled with questions and anticipation.
What if something goes wrong? What will I awaken as? What if… nothing happens?
And yet, beneath the anxiety was a strange peace—like standing before a sleeping god.
He reached forward, hesitant, reluctant, his fingers trembling as they neared the smooth bark. As they hovered just inches from it—
Blink.
The chamber vanished.
He was no longer in the room. The heavy, herbal air was gone. The root, the circle, the stone walls—all gone.
Lucien now stood in the heart of an unknown forest, vast and boundless. Strange trees reached high into the skies, their leaves shimmering like stars. The air was warm, fragrant, and heavy with magic.
He looked around, disoriented, mouth slightly agape. "Where… am I?"
____
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Back in the awakening chamber, Aurorwen stood silently, watching the last of Lucien's footsteps approach the Root.
A nostalgic smile touched her lips.
He walks slowly, just as I once did... Terrified of touching the unknown.
For a brief second, her memory flickered—of herself, younger, trembling before the same Root, trying to steady her breath. She shook the thought away, returning to the present.
Then—he touched it.
The chamber erupted in blinding white light.
"Ah!" Aurorwen gasped, raising her gloved hand to shield her eyes.
The radiance was overwhelming. It roared into existence like a sun born from stone, pulsing out in all directions. She turned away, blinking furiously, her other hand reaching to grasp the hem of her robe.
"What… in the world just happened?" she whispered aloud, breath short, her golden eyes momentarily blind.
The light began to fade, dimming gently like a tide receding from the shore.
When she opened her eyes again, blinking the final flecks of light from her vision—she stopped.
There, in place of where Lucien stood, was now something entirely foreign.
A bud.
Not of wood nor plant, but of light.
White and luminous, softly glowing with a faint golden shimmer that spilled across the entire room, illuminating every stone, every crevice. It hovered just inches above the ground—beautiful, ethereal, and utterly alien.
"A… bud…?" Aurorwen murmured, brows furrowed. Her breath caught. "Is he… inside?"
Panic gripped her chest.
She stepped forward.
If the boy is trapped—if this is some anomaly of the Root—I must act.
This is my duty.
I am one of the Circle of Elyssira.
She approached cautiously, her white boots tapping softly against the stone. The glowing bud pulsed faintly in response to her proximity—like a heartbeat echoing hers.
The magic circle beneath had vanished without a trace, leaving no sign it was ever drawn.
She stood a hand's breadth from the light.
And then—
She reached out.
Her gloved fingers brushed the surface of the bud—
And were gently repelled.
A soft force pushed her back, not violently, but with quiet insistence. Like a guardian politely denying entrance.
She didn't fall.
Instead, she stared at her hand.
"…It… repelled me?"
Her heart, which had begun to race in fear, now calmed slightly. There was something familiar in that repulsion. Not hostility. Not danger.
But something higher.
A presence she hadn't felt in many years.
"…Goddess Elyssira…" she breathed, eyes widening slightly.
The divinity was unmistakable. Soft, comforting, omnipresent. As if the goddess herself had left her breath upon the bud.
Aurorwen took a step back, her mind whirling.
"If it is truly the Goddess…" she murmured to herself, "then… there is meaning in this. There is always meaning beneath the veil of the unseen."
She stood before the bud, silent, watching it pulse slowly like a heart made of starlight.
Something was growing inside.