Orlin was a lonely town situated on the very fringe of the empire. Despite its remote location, it was the only town in the surrounding areas that possessed an old temple devoted to Goddess Solas.

The folks of Orlin and nearby villages were pretty diverse in their faith, but it didn’t stop them from crowding over the old temple on occasions such as the awakening ceremony.

Nestled amidst a serene expanse of wheat fields, the temple stood as a weathered and unpretentious chapel that seemed to have withstood the test of time. It failed to reflect the true grandeur and influence associated with the Primordial.

Unsurprisingly, Harrow found scattered groups of minor nobles in lavish clothing camped outside the temple, eagerly waiting to recruit the promising, awakened candidates. It was nothing unusual to see them here, though he was astonished to find them not crowding inside the temple.

The skeletal remains of a stone arch led him into the sanctuary, where people crowded, clamouring. As he crossed the arches, a withered statue at the heart of the plaza came into his sight. One simply couldn’t assume it to be a statue of the goddess, considering it was challenging to determine whether the statue depicted a male or female figure.

Harrow trudged his way and met with a sea of people obstructing his path. The number of adults in attendance far surpassed the youths present for the ceremony. After a couple of good minutes of shoving and wrestling with the people, he painfully made his way towards the main hall. Thankfully, the crowd was sparse there, as only the candidates taking part in the ceremony were allowed inside. Unless you have given a hearty donation to watch your child awaken their power, of course.

Saving himself from the mass, Harrow hurried into the hall. In his haste, he failed to see someone emerging from the hall.

He caught sight of blonde locks of hair just before colliding with someone. Harrow stumbled, barely regaining his balance and scattered attention until he could finally discern whom he had collided with.

“Eira,” Harrow instinctively called out, stooping down to extend a helping hand.

Her wet hair and outlook implied she had already undergone her awakening and awakened no physical strengthening ability, as she alone ended up falling from the impact.

“You shouldn’t be running inside the temple,” Eira said, raising her right arm to inspect the bruise on her elbow.

“I wasn’t,” Harrow muttered, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“It’s alright,” Eira sighed, accepting his arm and allowing him to help her up. Her expression showed she was bothered by something else entirely other than the little bruise she received from the collision. Perhaps not satisfied with the result of her awakening.

The way she averted his gaze and drifted away before he could ask about her experience only gave evidence to that. If it weren’t for his own ceremony, Harrow could have stayed there for a few minutes to listen to her. But there were far more qualified people out there to reassure her. She didn’t need my help.

Nevertheless, a disturbing agitation settled in his stomach as he regarded others of his age. Many stood with a self-assured poise, clad in white ceremonial dress. But it was only after observing their body language did Harrow noticed their assurance was nothing but a facade. Plebeian or Patrician, all of them bore the telltale signs of nervousness. Fidgeting limbs or darting eyes were all common.

If someone of Eira’s upbringing and blood could awaken an inferior skill, what fate had in store for them?

Harrow sucked in a deep breath and drifted to one corner where nobody would see him. At least the Rector conducting the ceremony was not the same one who liked to blabber unnecessarily. Some gossip that entered his ears revealed that it was the Rector who banned the Guildsmen and nobles without a candidate from entering the sanctuary.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He didn’t stop there. Observing the chaotic gathering in the hall—which was no better than a bustling fish market—he dismissed the families who had already completed their ceremonies. Even among those still yet to undergo the awakening, the stern Rector allowed only two relatives to wait.

In a matter of seconds, the hall grew more spacious as more than half the attendees dispersed. The local priest called individuals forward one by one, as the Rector led them to the awakening chamber where the awakening pool should be.

The youths chatted idly, mostly to shake aside their nervousness. Although some envious voices entered his ears over rare elemental skill. Harrow clenched and unclenched his jaw, choosing to remain silent. The cold wall he was leaning against reassured him as much as the inheritance in his pocket did.

The door to the ceremonial chamber opened and closed as each youth came and went in turn. He kept his eyes steady on them, so focused that their delightful or sorrowful words blurred in his mind.

Harrow noticed Durian—a boy his age from the orphanage, now an adult—completed his ceremony and came out of the chamber with a defeated look. Despite nothing changing in his outlook, the world would expect a great many things from him. Want him to be self-reliant.

Time blurred before his eyes. Almost everyone was gone from the chapel when the blond Rector ushered him into the chamber. Instinctively, Harrow lowered his head, ensuring not to directly stare at the priest of the goddess.

He was as pious as the next bloke, but there was always something unnerving about the eyes of powerful awakened. And one had to be a pretty high ranked—perhaps Elite Class to be a Rector. It was as if they could see his whole fate unfolding before their eyes.

Soft rays of sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, casting a gentle glow upon the worn stone floors of the ceremonial chamber as Harrow cast his sight inside. Amidst the hallowed walls, tapestries, and murals telling stories of the Primordial, Harrow found the small pool next to the altar where another statue of the goddess stood. It was in far better shape than the one outside.

Then he saw something truly foul that churned his stomach.

“Sorry about that,” the Rector said, looking at the nasty vomit sprawled before the Ascendant Pool. “Some kids just couldn’t tolerate the process.”

There was nothing foul in the pool, right? Harrow hoped.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Harrow,” he said unwittingly. “Um, it’s Harrowin, your grace.”

“Harrow,” the rector nodded, as a light flickered from his palms. “Hopefully, you followed the tradition and fasted for the occasion.”

He nodded, his eyes glued to the glowing hand of the priest.

“Just a minor cleansing spell,” the Rector said to ease him. “No need to get worked up. I’m far from being a magus.”

He cast the light into the foulness, which melted it out of existence along with any urge Harrow suffered to follow in the footsteps of the previous candidate.

“What skill did he awaken?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that,” the blond man said with a smile. He was way more polite than he looked, which eased Harrow’s anxiety somewhat. “But safe to assume it’s a strong physical-based skill. Usually, those tend to cause an upheaval in the stomach.”

The middle-aged man guided him towards the pool. Harrow approached, his gaze fixed upon the clear, dense water that seemed to possess an otherworldly quality. The surface of the water reflected light differently from ordinary water, with thin misty threads of smoke puffing out.

“Do not resist the Aether, son,” the Rector advised, his voice carrying a tone of solemnity. “Embrace its essence, open your heart to the goddess, and let her lead you to your designated path.”

Gathering his wits, Harrow stepped into the pool, allowing himself to be submerged in the hallowed water. A chill rushed down his spine. Any doubts he harboured dissipated as he witnessed a radiant white glow emanating from the Ascendant Pool.

Harrow cast one last glance at the statue of the goddess on the altar, his right palm clasped over his heart in prayer. Give me a chance. Please. I’m not worthless!

Then he dipped completely into the cold water. The water swirled around him. His right arm jolted with piercing pain as icy coldness stabbed into it.

Harrow couldn’t comprehend what was happening as the chill spread through his body and mind, stunning him completely. The Rector had advised him not to resist, but he wasn’t sure if he could have resisted even if he tried.

Golden light shimmered, and then blackness enveloped him, drowning him in a sunless realm. Gasps clawed their way out of his parched throat as he stared into the thick darkness looming over him.

[Legacy Confirmed: Mark of the Sleepless.]

[Qualification Achieved for Trial Protocol.]

[Initiating Rite of Passage Sequence…]

[The Primordial Awaits Your Triumph.]