"What are you doing here?"
Alric froze as the voice rang out just as he turned the corner. He looked up to find a young man standing at the far end of the corridor. He wasn't much older than Alric himself, though something about the way he carried himself—relaxed but alert—suggested confidence earned, not assumed.
What stood out most, however, was his appearance.
The man had shoulder-length hair the color of burning coals, untamed and brilliant, and his eyes were a deep crimson that caught the morning light like rubies. Alric had never seen eyes like that before.
"I'm lost," Alric replied, bowing slightly in greeting—the kind he'd seen exchanged often in the cathedral over the past few days.
His father and their company had gone out early that morning. Now that they'd received their identity plaques, they had errands to run in the capital. Alric, meanwhile, had been instructed to report to the training grounds. It was time for the test—the trial to determine if he was worthy to begin training as a holy knight.
He could've bypassed the test entirely. The Mother Reverend had already given her blessing. But something inside him—part pride, part stubbornness—had made him refuse the easy path.
He'd told her as much, flustered and red-faced in her presence two days ago. "I want to earn it," he'd said, barely above a whisper. She had only smiled, pleased, and given him leave to try.
"And where are you headed?" the red-haired man asked, interrupting his thoughts before he could finish forming them.
"I'm looking for the training grounds," Alric answered, straightening his shoulders. "I intend to take the test for holy knight trainees."
The man's mouth curled into a faint grin. "Ah. So you're the nomad youth everyone's been whispering about."
Alric blinked. "They are?"
The man let out a quiet chuckle. "Dark skin, Red cloak, plains accent, walking like you'd rather be back in the saddle than on marble floors. You stand out."
He stepped closer, offering a gloved hand. "Benedict," he said. "Trainee knight, second cohort, Word discipline."
Alric shook his hand, still slightly uncertain.
"Come on. I'll take you there," Benedict added, already turning on his heel.
Before Alric could respond, Benedict had grabbed him by the shoulder with surprising familiarity and began steering him down the hallway. Alric stumbled a step before falling in stride beside him.
They walked in silence for a few moments, the twisting halls finally giving way to open air.
Benedict led him through an arched gate, and suddenly they stood at the edge of a broad courtyard. High stone walls surrounded the space, enclosing an open ground packed with straw dummies, sparring circles, and rows of wooden practice swords arranged like soldiers on a rack. Then red swords placed on the other side with the red sunlight reflecting off their surface.
The training grounds.
There were several figures already gathered in the hall, each clad in black uniforms trimmed in silver. Embroidered on their chests, the green eight-pointed star within the oval ring stood boldly, its red thread-like accents descending from the emblem like streaks of blood. The symbol of the Goddess had never looked more commanding.
Benedict led Alric toward the far end of the hall, where a raised stone platform stood like a throne dais. A group of people surrounded a single man seated at its center—older, but no less imposing for it.
"Sir," Benedict said, his voice formal now. "This is Alric. He was sent to take the trial for Holy Knight candidacy."
All heads turned.
The man on the chair looked up. He was broad-shouldered and straight-backed, with a square jaw, streaks of white and grey through his closely-cropped hair, and a short beard like iron filings. Despite his age, he gave the impression of raw power held in check—like a sword sheathed in stillness.
His dark eyes fixed on Alric, calm yet cutting.
"I was informed," the man said, voice deep and controlled.
Alric had seen his fair share of seasoned warriors—men who had clawed their way through mud and blood, who screamed in the charge and died with blades in their bellies. He'd fought beside mercenaries and under commanders. But none of them, not one, had the presence this man did.
It wasn't about size, nor armor, nor scars. It was a gut-deep certainty: this man could break you, if he willed it.
Then another voice spoke.
"You may have been favored by the Mother Reverend," said a younger knight standing just beside the seated man. His tone was sharp, his gaze cold with disdain. "But that does not grant you the right to bypass the trials, plainsman."
He looked at Alric as one might regard a stray dog that had wandered too close to the high table.
Alric held his gaze, refusing to flinch.
The seated man raised a hand, silencing further commentary. "He is correct," he said. "Even divine recommendation must be tested. The will of the Goddess is not without proof."
He stood slowly—no ceremonial gesture, just motion. But even that made the air seem heavier.
"There are three trials you must pass before you can be considered a trainee of the Holy Order," he said.
Alric nodded, silently steeling himself.
"The first—and most critical—is the Test of Divine Resonance."
The words hung in the air like a sentence passed.
Alric furrowed his brow. He understood the words, but not the meaning.
The seated man—now revealed as the Commander—studied him a moment, then explained.
"It is the gauging of divine power," he said. "The presence of the Goddess within you. Her breath. Her flame."
Alric's mind reeled. Divine power? He had no priest's training, no lineage soaked in temple rites.
"How... do I show it?" he asked, voice steady despite the cold creeping into his gut.
"You don't," the Commander said, expression unreadable. "It shows itself."
He turned to a tall, silver-robed acolyte who had been standing quietly at the edge of the platform. "Prepare the relic."
The acolyte bowed and turned away, disappearing through a heavy wooden door.
"You'll step forward," the Commander continued, "and place your hands upon the sacred relic of resonance. If the Goddess's favor stirs within you, it will answer."
"And if it doesn't?" Alric asked.
The younger knight scoffed softly but said nothing.
The Commander, however, answered without hesitation.
"Then you go home."
The silence that followed was brief—but heavy.
Alric nodded once.
"Very well," he said.
He would not let a test of faith turn him back. Not now. Not after everything.