Yet what the elder spoke of was not the ritual itself. It was something far more significant, and far more intriguing to Oren.
"Enlightenment. Does anyone know what enlightenment truly is? What it means to become enlightened?"
Oren, like all of the other candidates, fell silent beneath the words.
He did not like this. How, as a human, could he understand enlightenment?
Though he had been tied to divinity once, Oren had never heard of mortal ascension.
And now, forced into being one, he was supposed to grasp something as abstract and distant as it?
'Ridiculous, completely and utterly so!'
It might as well have been asking a fish to touch the sky.
He paused, his attention shifting to the back of the hall, lingering on the doorway behind the rows of students.
A man had just arrived, but no one seemed to care.
'What?' Oren stared at the man, astonished.
He watched the hall with a calm, almost protective smile.
His jade eyes were like the shadowed hues of forest trees. His pale skin and ice-white hair blanketed him like snow, reminding him of winter.
Instantly, Oren's gaze swept across the room, searching for a reaction.
But there was none.
'That's not right, why does no one care?'
Oren's frown deepened with confusion.
'Is it not bad to be late? Is it not frowned upon?'
'No...' he dismissed the thought.
Perhaps he was an elder. There were a handful scattered around the hall, after all.
Yet as the elder turned, a faint tension crept into Oren's chest.
Their gazes met for only a moment, and yet it felt as though nothing else existed within the academy hall.
Something about his eyes felt off. Not hostile or spiteful, just slightly inhumane.
Then the man smiled politely.
"As youths born into the outskirts, you should understand this truth. The 'outskirts' is a label, not what the people are.
There are those wealthy enough to live within Unison City yet still dwell in the streets by choice, and others forced into it by circumstance.
You students are among the fortunate. You have what most do not, access to proper education, unlike the poorer folk.
Most of you belong to clans, groups tied to the outskirts by history, yet still connected to the city.
Whatever your status, it far exceeds the place you were born into, but I am not so blinded by ignorance as to not understand that plenty here are of the unfortunate."
'Hmmmm,' Oren mused, 'so the people in the outskirts have connections to the city, which would mean those here who come from clans are better off.'
Elder Idris' gaze sharpened.
"I would have thought you'd already been informed because of this."
His voice hardened.
"So tell me, did the clans you reside in teach you nothing? Did they not even tell you that enlightenment begins with sensing the world's energy?"
'World energy?' Oren crossed his arms as Elder Idris exhaled, irritation slipping through his stern tone.
"No… no, this will not do. Because of their ignorance, precious time will be wasted on what you all should already know."
He paused, then spoke more coldly.
"Still, I will speak of enlightenment another day, when you have reached it. How you reach it is what I am here to tell you."
His eyes moved across the hall.
A brief silence followed.
"To put it simply, you do not have long. One week at most. That is when the trial begins, and that is the only time you have to prepare."
Walking along the front rows of students, Elder Idris smiled faintly.
"The trial decides whether you remain in the academy. It will also decide if you are worthy of being blessed by the world and granted enlightenment."
He glanced at the candidates, then at the elders surrounding the room.
"In this hall, there are only a handful of rising talents who will pass the trial with flying colours. In other words, prodigies.
But do not let that delude you. You will only have seven days."
His voice carried through the vast stone-slabbed hall.
"When the trial starts, that is your timer. If you are even a minute late, you fail."
Elder Idris stopped abruptly in the middle of the central aisle.
"Elder Idris," a young girl's voice rang out.
"What happens if we fail? If there is nothing to prepare for, how will we know what we are to face? You know failure is almost certain if we go into it blind. That's what my older brother said, at least."
She fell silent.
Elder Idris continued, answering with a mask of indifference.
"Your brother is a wise man, young lady..."
Hearing his words, the girl's face flushed crimson.
"Sadly…" Elder Idris said indifferently.
"The mind cannot be sharpened like a blade. In other words, in the Trial of Longing, there is no correct way to prepare.
Unlike the trials that focus on the physical, where two candidates face one another, or a single candidate is matched against an unknown champion chosen by the trial, this trial is purely of the mind.
Purely of the self. You will be alone.
If you see someone, it is either when your trial starts or when it ends."
A quiet ripple of wariness passed through the hall.
No one dared interrupt the elder, but Oren had many questions.
He briefly wondered how the trial had changed so drastically from physical to mental.
Perhaps he knew too little about this world to judge it.
In the end, Oren did not speak.
Elder Idris resumed walking, a dim smile on his face.
"But remember this. The trial is equal, fair in a way. Whatever you face, you will have an equal chance of success or failure."
Several students shifted in their seats. Equal did not mean merciful. Failure was failure, and no one welcomed it.
"In order to somewhat prepare for this major event, you must isolate yourselves.
Dive deep into meditation, concentration, and refinement. Feel your body and your senses. And finally, prepare for what comes after the trial.
When you succeed, when you overcome the Trial of Longing and become able to feel the world's currents, its essence, then, with time, you will understand."
A faint crease formed between Oren's brows.
"Still, do not be mistaken."
The words drained what little hope remained. The hall grew heavier, as though the air itself had thickened.
"The trial will be cruel. In the Trial of Longing, you have no guide. Your mind and your resolve will be your only weapons. But beware. A weapon that turns on its wielder cuts deepest.
Unlike the Trial of Combat, this will not be a fight between two candidates, nor between one and a chosen champion.
Unlike the trials of the other district academies, this one is rare. You will face something neither flesh nor spirit."
A few swallowed.
"You are children in this world. You have no voice and no power. I can only teach you so much. And strength is not one of those lessons, and that is precisely why you must succeed."
His gaze passed over the hall, slow and deliberate.
"For your other question, it is quite simple, actually.
Losing in the Trial of Longing means death."
The word struck harder than any shout.
A chill ran through Oren's body, his fingers tightening slightly at his sides.
"If you fail the trial, what happens to you will be out of our hands. That is why your success proves your innate talent."
His eyes darkened, staring at the rows of people with a somber expression.
"If you fail," he said softly, "you will not see the light of the eighth day."
...
Days passed quietly after the Trial Assembly.
Before dismissing the candidates, the academy bestowed each of them with a small pouch containing the currency of Unison.
They called it Yie.
At first, Oren did not understand what he was holding. The object resembled a coin, ten of them to be precise, yet their material was difficult to identify.
They were neither clearly metal nor stone, but something in between, cold and strangely smooth to the touch.
One side bore the engraving of a half-circle. The other, a cross. Beneath the symbol, etched in precise lettering, were the words.
"One Yie. Currency of the New Era."
The inscription raised more questions than it answered. For the rest of the day, Oren remained alone with his thoughts.
Was this what made a Revos Verum? A curse… and a blessing. In some twisted sense, it could even be called one.
It bestowed enlightenment, but at a grand cost. Fail, and you died.
It was only a suspicion, yet he knew enlightenment was only the tip of the iceberg.
He believed this to be one of the causes. Because in the place he came from… in his home… there were no enlightened, no ranks, only him and the pitiful humans who dwelled there.
And now, he was fighting for something they had never been given the chance to experience… something he had already reached, in his own way.
The looming reality of the Trial of Longing weighed heavily on him. It made him wonder.
Death. Peace.
No, wait!
Not just death, but a state of peace, a peace he had spent an arduous stretch of time seeking, only to disrupt it with C04's healing.
And now, he was trapping himself in the same cycle, inflicting upon himself the same harm.
He did not even know anymore. Did he want peace?
And if he did, did he truly want it?
He could no longer see it through the narrow lens he once trusted, the lens that had told him the only path to peace was through death, through the absence of consciousness, through the complete erasure of sentience.
The new information did not only affect him, but the countless other students in the assembly, who wished to become enlightened.
Because death was no longer an abstract concept whispered about in halls.
It had become a real possibility.
And now, for reasons he did not yet understand, he had been given money.
It was only the following morning that clarity came.
The class held what would be his first and only lesson before the trial.
The subject was one rarely taught within the Academy of Enlightenment, as most considered it common knowledge.
It was called Resource Theory.
The lesson existed less to educate and more to prepare, to remind the candidates what reality felt like beyond polished stone floors and structured schedules.
In the outskirts, education was a luxury few could afford. Mundane schools were small, tattered structures that barely qualified as institutions of learning.
Knowledge there was fragmented, inconsistent, and often outdated.
The academy, by contrast, was something else entirely. Many of the candidates had already glimpsed the promise of success long before arriving, some through distant relatives, and, as Elder Idris said, through fortunate clans into which they were born.
For those born into clans, advancement was almost expected. For the rest, it had always been a distant rumour, a half-believed story told to make harsh lives more bearable.
During the lesson, Oren finally learned what Yie truly was. It was the currency of the Unison Region, forged directly from materials harvested from the Unison Mountains.
There were three recognised grades. Mineral Yie was the lowest form, shaped from the most common yields of the mountains.
Mountain Yie was the standard currency, refined from stronger and more stable materials.
Golden Yie was the rarest and most prestigious grade, extracted from scarce deposits found deep within the range.
Yet the Unison Mountains no longer sustained civilisation. Whatever settlements once stood within that vast range had fallen generations ago.
From afar, one could still glimpse the remnants of villages and fractured cities, but there were no trade routes threading through the peaks.
No markets, no caravans. There was nothing to barter with. No population left to sustain commerce.
That was why no other land could place a value on its name.
Because of this, Yie was not earned through trade. It was extracted. And it remained specific to Unison City, as the mountains were only accessible to the Enlightened.
The volatile zones within the range were unstable and lethal to ordinary citizens, a place that had not been touched in centuries.
As the sun waned, the world seemed to dull, and with it, the resolve of many candidates. Few were truly willing to face death.
And for some reason… the academy began to speak more of the Enlightened.