Chapter 19: Trials of Faith

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*

Aris was returning to the inn after a whole day studying. The whole week he had studied anything he could get his hands on at the library. But he didn't get any new title or progress from the scholar route. There was no manual or tutorial to choose a path.

There were no videos like "Here's what I would do if I started at Realmforge year 33,480." Aris laughed at the idea because if he had access to the internet, there should be videos like that existing.

"What are you laughing at? You didn't progress one bit," Fox said.

"Nothing. I just thought something funny. You wouldn't get it." He opened the inn door and entered. He had learned the returning hour so as not to miss the inn food. He ordered two bowls and they started to eat.

Lyra entered the inn pissed. She took a bowl and sat beside them.

"Motherfucker, he ignored me all week and now is asking me fifteen gold."

"Fifteen gold? Didn't we have twelve? What do we do now?" Aris asked.

"He says all the villagers now want to enter their kids in the academy and prices went up. I sold my silver dagger to cover the inn and the remaining three gold. Don't worry. But you'll pay me when you graduate, kid."

"He will work for you two years and you're still asking him three gold," Fox commented with disgust toward Lyra.

Lyra smiled. "Money is life's soulmate. One cannot bear another without it."

They laughed at the stupid words. When the atmosphere of uncertainty went away:

"Lyra, I noticed studying almost all the books there they're either stupidly simple or incredibly complex with no meaning. Why is that?"

"Same thing they restrict people's entry. They don't want their stupid made-up religion questioned, and they don't want citizens to ask questions."

"I mean, why is there religion in the first place? Don't locals know who made them?"

"They do now, but most people are ignorant, and officials and kings have all the power. People follow power. But think about it what happens a hundred years later, a thousand years later, when anyone who remembers the founders is dead?" she asked.

"Whoever wrote their gods in those books will be worshipped as gods," Fox said.

"Correct again, my furry friend."

"I ain't your friend," Fox growled.

Lyra made a funny face. "Whatever, dog. They are taking control of the narrative and will soon rewrite history as they please, while people of Chalice or maybe people of Aethyros remember founders as myths."

"What do we do then?"

"You? You do nothing. You are level one. You study - you have five days. You'll start academy right after."

---

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*

The Ivory Gate Academy loomed like a carved cathedral, its white stone columns wrapped with ivy, its gates humming with faint glyphs. Hundreds of young hopefuls crowded before the entrance. They came with the breeze of initiation. Some kids had shining weapons, others wore robes glittering with minor enchantments. A few even had familiars perched proudly on their shoulders.

Aris tugged the collar of his plain shirt, feeling every eye weigh him as an outsider. Lyra walked beside him, her mouth a thin line.

"Relax, take this stat potion. I spent two extra gold for this. It's an B-grade stat potion," she whispered. "The examiner I spoke with will smooth your entry." It didn't sit right with Aris, but it was his only way. "Sold my other knife," she whispered.

Inside the courtyard, a broad-shouldered official in a red sash stood waiting. His smile vanished when Lyra approached.

"Fifteen gold only covered consideration," he said smoothly.

"What do you mean, Lao?"

"Since entry numbers increased, the headmaster added a few challenges besides devotion and potential. I never promised the Academy wouldn't add... tests."

"You bastard—" Lyra started, but Aris caught her sleeve.

"It's fine," he murmured, though his stomach churned. "I'll take whatever they throw at me."

Aris noticed the bearded halfling headmaster Kerapha Vale walking among students, wishing them luck. When he saw Aris, he approached them with his scribe.

"Young..." he waited a couple seconds. "Aris? Was it?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Aris surprised by his memory.

"Did you study well? I don't want those curious eyes returning to their home."

"I did, sir. I studied every day of the library pass."

"Good job, good job. I hope you get in. Good luck." Then he returned to Lyra and said, "You must be the mother of that young scholar. Good job raising him. Good luck to you." With those wishes, he left to greet others.

"What a good, kind man," Fox said.

"If you knew the headmaster, why hire me, idiots?" Lao gestured for them to enter.

Lao bowed mockingly and led them into the hall.

The examination chamber stretched vast, banners of Chalice silk floating in unseen winds. At the front stood three robed evaluators, their gazes sharp as knives.

"Candidates will be tested in four parts," intoned the eldest evaluator. "Intellect, practical magic, adaptability, and cooperation. Failure in more than two sections results in dismissal. We will only take 100 new applicants. Parents leave immediately."

Lyra's knuckles whitened on her dagger hilt, but she made a move to leave. She turned to Fox: "Help him."

"How am I gonna do that idiot," Fox replied. Some parents turned to look at the familiar insulting their master but didn't comment.

Aris only had Healing Touch. Nothing more. But somewhere in the pit of his being, that strange divine luck stirred like a coin forever landing on its edge.

**First Trial: Intellect**

It was labeled as intellect but was actually memorization of the manifesto. It was the only thing Aris was sure to act like a devout Chalician about.

Candidates were seated before blank slates. A question appeared in glowing script:

"Describe the difference between obedience and intent, and explain how either may affect your rituals."

Aris froze. He had seen the words in dusty tomes but never pieced them together. His quill hovered.

Then he remembered how they were just made-up words for them anyway. He put down every way to be devout and obedient and how only giving your soul to Chalice would increase rituals.

The evaluator walking among students taking the test looked at Aris's notes and raised an eyebrow. "Impressive, very impressive."

Questions varied, but they all came to the conclusion: we give orders, our students follow, don't question, and promise you will follow.

Aris answered everything they expected, and with each answer, he made sure to give enough devotion without being insincere.

**Second Trial: Practical Magic**

In the center of the hall, a bound straw dummy was placed. Other candidates hurled firebolts, lightning arcs, or summoned spectral blades.

"Next," the evaluator barked.

Aris stepped forward. He could not harm the dummy. His palms shook.

Aris walked up to the straw dummy and noticed strange emanations from it, like it was alive, so he whispered "Please work" and used Healing Touch. It must be their twisted games, he thought.

Aris blinked. Slowly, he placed his hand on the shredded form and whispered Healing Touch. The straw mended, threads weaving back together, the dummy standing whole.

The hall fell into silence.

"Healing used as repair..." murmured one examiner. "Unorthodox, but effective."

"Lucky," some kids muttered.

**Third Trial: Adaptability**

Between trials, Aris charged his healing six times for guaranteed working. And with the stat boost potion, he was feeling lighter and energized.

The floor shifted sudden tiles rose, forming a small maze filled with dart traps and illusions. Candidates were to retrieve a crystal at the far end.

Aris darted forward. A trap snapped a poisoned dart grazed his arm. Pain seared. He whispered Healing Touch and staggered onward, wounds closing as quickly as they came. While others slowed from cuts and bruises, and some blocked or attacked walls with their magic learned from parents or special tutors, Aris pressed ahead, using his only spell again and again.

By the sixth time, he mended his feet and finished with bruises.

**Final Trial: Potential**

They took each kid into a room separately. Lao was taking kids one by one, and some left the room crying, others with glee in their eyes. When it was Aris's turn, he saw the plain room with a table and two iron rods.

"Normally you hold these and I write your potential, but since you paid upfront, I am writing something mediocre. It won't get you ahead of those kids. If you failed the other tests, this won't help you. And don't talk to anyone about this," Lao said.

Aris left the room thinking that without Master Nebu's luck or the coin, he would have failed. "If I enter," he thought, "I will act like their dog, consume their every knowledge, and won't ever fall into their shady laps again."

The candidates were dismissed into the outer hall where initiates received their simple blue sashes. Aris clutched his own, still disbelieving he had one. Around him, laughter, tears, and bitter silence filled the vaulted chamber.

Not everyone had passed.

One boy maybe twenty, with sharp features and burning eyes stood trembling without a sash. He reminded of Demir to Aris. His name had not been called.

At first, he only stared at the floor. Then his body shook, shoulders jerking.

"I did everything," he whispered. "I did everything you asked."

The evaluators turned, unsettled. The youth raised his head, eyes bloodshot.

"You won't have me because I am not like you. I'm a player. Was a player." His voice cracked with fury. "You closed me here... four years! You won't let me live or give me opportunities!"

Before the guards could move, he thrust his palms out. Bolts of raw flares erupted, arcing wild across the chamber. Stone cracked, banners caught fire, students screamed.

"Contain him!" barked the headmaster, a gray-bearded halfling in white and gold. He raised his staff, shimmering wards expanding to shield the initiates. The chamber shook as fire and lightning slammed against his barriers.

Aris crouched low, clutching Fox, heart hammering.

The youth howled, face twisted in grief and rage, hurling spell after spell like a storm unchained.

And then—

A scarlet sigil ignited high above.

For one heartbeat, the boy froze. His eyes went wide. Then his body burst, not with fire but with blood crushed from within by unseen hands. Red mist sprayed across the marble floor, leaving only a husk.

Silence devoured the chamber. Even the flames guttered out.

Every student, every evaluator, every guard turned toward the great doors.

They opened.

A woman entered. She did not walk so much as descend, her heeled shoes never quite touching the ground. Her gown shimmered with gold-thread lace, embroidered with sigils that seemed alive. Jewels dripped from her wrists and throat. And behind her, half-seen wings of light flared, terrible and angelic, vanishing as she touched the ground.

Her gaze burned hotter than any flame.

"The Ivory Gate is not a playground," she said, her voice carrying like judgment itself. "No heresy. No rebellion. No foreigner's poison will be tolerated within my Theocracy."

The evaluators bowed low, nearly groveling.

"Saint Aeloria," the headmaster stammered. "We had it under control—"

Her glare silenced him.

Students quaked. Aris felt the invisible weight of her authority press on his chest, heavier than any spell.

Lyra whispered in his ear, "That's the ruler."