The day had come. It was just on Sorach this day. He was in the preparation room. They had adorned him in white garments. Chali was helping him prepare. A priest came to fetch Sorach when the hour arrived. He was walked to a large round hall. It was eerily silent in the temple. The Prest swung a vial of burning incense on a rope before him and led the way to the altar. Apon entering the room silents all around him started blowing on flutes, a choir of flutes. Some deep some high. The enigmatic sound echoing in Sorachs ears. All around the music got louder. On the altar laid the ceremonial dagger. The blade had been in use since the inception of the temple. It forged out of a heavy silver found in the core of a meteorite. Forever pristine. A gift from the heavens.
Sorach sang his prayer in the ancient tongue. Its meaning lost to the ages but the knowledge forever inscribed into the halls of light. The tombs of the ancients resonating with his song. An acknowledgement of his eternal servitude.
Sorach picked up the blade. And lifted it above his head. His eye tearing up. Soon he too will join the glory of the light.
In one methodical motion he lowered the blade vertically into his mouth. Cutting the tongue in two. Then brought the blade to the left severing the muscle from the throat. Then a second smooth motion. Powering through the searing pain, severed the second half in a similar fashion. He then shat out both pieces onto the altar, where the blood would mix with the dried blood of those who went before him, He then sheathed the dagger into the hole in the altar. The Ceremony was done. Now he had to survive.
He had to calm His mind. Taking his blood soaked white clothes he stuffed a part of the clothing into his shirt. He had cut slightly too deep he realizes. He probably cut an artery. With only the cloth of his clothing acting as a gause to stop the bleeding. He began pouring his mana over the wound. Taking everything from what he had learned. The pain now with the healing neurons becoming something akin to a blinding light. A glorious blinding light. He remained focused. Slowly but surely cauterising the wound with searing light so that he may survive to heal the wound when he Has sufficient subsistence. It was then that everything faded out. He had lost a lot of blood and had exhausted his mana. The combination of the two making him lose consciousness. He could only hope that what he had done was enough.
When using mana ones proficiency indicates a oneness with nature. With absolute oneness the world would not let one age for the environment would not cause you to age. However in practice one cannot truly have perfect control. One always experiences the wear from not being perfectly intuned with the mana stream. However in the Temple the mana users are very well trained. In ways and since ages and with a devotion that no other faction can replicate. This leads to any of the elders becoming 300 or ever 400 years old. When one reaches this age. It is only the mortal part of your body that dies. Whilst your soul has become strong enough and in tuned enough to act as a longer lasting fragment of your will. The older and more in tuned you are with the mana-stream the more this fragment will resemble all of your will. Ancients like these are entombed within the temple. Given eternal bodies of rock and gemstones so that their remaining fragments may not dissipate. This acts as a mana generator within the temple and all who are within the will of the ancients can tap into this reserve. And where this effect is the strongest is right above their eternal tomb. Which is also the sacrificial altar where Sorach is right now.
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Normally true mana exhaustion would leave one incapacitated for days. Now this is easily preventable by resting for a little bit. It is not too dissimilar to running. When you run you are able to run after rest even if you just had a few minutes of rest. But if you ran till you passed out from running you would not be running soon again. But being in this room. Has made the mana fill Sorach to the brim with raw light energy. From the most devoted pieces of thousands of ancients. Sorach was refilled within 20 seconds what should have been days’ worth of recovery.
The moment Sorach lost consciousness he entered a plane. He was standing on a black marble floor. He could see. Infront of him was a statue that stood tall. It was that of an old man. But he was elevated on a platform and he was face to face with the man. There was an aura surrounding the man. Sorach walked to the edge of the platform. The marble he had been standing on became reflective and he could see the stars in them. He looked up into the infinite expanse of the night sky. This beautiful blue and black realm of magic. He could see his own eyes in his reflection. He experienced colours ,as he reached the edge of the platform he realize that the statue had not changed in size nor perspective. It was just very big and very far away from him. It stretched down infinitely into the abyss was down below. As he was looking around happily he hear a voice behind him. “Stay strong child, In our failures we grow do not let your doubts steal your destiny.” He swung around too see who had spoken. There was no one there. As he looked around his eyes fell onto the statue. It opened its eyes. And out of them was the glow of ethereal white light blinding Him In an instant he shaken out of this plane.
As he became conscious, he realized that he had managed to stop the bleeding. He was awake. All of the silents just watched him. He sat there contemplating about what he saw. It had been a vision, and a warning. He remained silent and walked out of the hall. Seeking the library so that he may know how to interpret his vision.
When he got outside of the door Chali was there waiting for him. She ran to him and hugged him. He was not yet able to tell her what he saw. She would be as puzzled as he was. The Ancients barely communicated with anyone directly and the words they had spoken talk about things yet to come. He would pray so that he may discern the correct meaning when the time is right.
The following weeks were rough. Having cut too deep Sorach had fallen victim to a severe infection and he was forced to heal on his wound daily. Sometimes falling out of consciousness from exhaustion. Chali was bringing him food and caring for him. He had gotten close to the verge of dying too many times for comfort. And Chali was powerless to help. One was to survive this ordeal on one’s own. On the 53rd day Sorach was healed. He had survived and passed his Ceremony. And had become an official Acolyte of the servants of the light. He was ordained as so and would also wear the accompanying garbs. As well as receiving his very own ceremonial cleaver.