Eventually, Masa Ed and Sugar reached the exit of the corridor; however, Sugar stopped while Masa Ed continued ahead. He stepped onto the wall-cresset-illuminated white floor of a narrower passageway, twelve meters wide, flanked by congruent white rake walls whose tops—almost as tall as the forty-meter ceiling stretching as far as his eyes could see—descended toward the ground in the distance, where a group of people stood.

  Moving closer, he stopped behind two cloaked individuals just as a projected voice echoed softly around them. *Fari Ynnick Zisa,* the voice called out. One of the cloaked individuals responded, moving toward a group of five people standing side by side facing them, a crate behind them. After approaching the person in the middle—a yellow-haired, amber-eyed youth wearing yellow-rimmed glasses pushed onto his forehead—he stretched out his hand and collected a golden fist-sized ball from him. The yellow-haired youth nodded, after which the cloaked individual stepped to the side and stood before a beautiful middle-aged woman beside the youth. She collected a mahogany-brown briefcase from the young lady next to her and passed it to him. Once he received it, he walked past the young lady and left the passageway.

  *Pastor Kanu,* the voice resumed. In response, the remaining cloaked individual approached the yellow-haired youth and, like the previous one, collected a similar fist-sized ball from him. After a nod from the youth, he accepted a mahogany-brown briefcase from the middle-aged woman—passed to her by the young lady—and then also walked past them, leaving the passageway.

  *Black King.* The voice echoed again, rising with subdued intensity.

  Finally. Masa Ed huffed, the edge of his mouth lifting. He approached the yellow-haired youth and the four others. This guy looks younger than me. I wouldn’t be surprised if they said he was sixty years old, he remarked internally.

  As he paused, the yellow-haired youth glanced at the slender cylindrical container he supported at its base with his left hand. He dipped his other hand into it and withdrew a fist-sized ball like the ones given to the cloaked individuals—but one white with golden markings. Nodding at Masa Ed, he held it out. Masa Ed accepted it, then moved to stand before the beautiful middle-aged woman. She glanced at the yellow-haired youth, who stared ahead as though spaced out. Receiving no response, she turned to the young lady dressed in a black skirt suit complemented by a white shirt. As if receiving a signal, the young lady turned around, retrieved a pitch-black wooden briefcase unlike the previous two from the crate behind her, and prepared to hand it over to the middle-aged woman. However, the middle-aged woman shook her head and instead faced forward like the youth, appearing distant.

  Are these people starting already? Masa Ed scoffed inwardly. After a glance at the pleading eyes of the depressed young lady, he accepted the pitch-black briefcase she offered with shaky hands. He then walked past her, heading for the terminal of the passageway where the rake walls ended.

  A moment later, he stepped onto the white floor at the encircled center of the arena, patterned in gold and illuminated by cresset flames and light from the ceiling. He stopped and turned around to face the murmuring crowd seated tightly within one of the three radial sections of annular tiered seats, divided by three passageways. After scanning the boys and girls in black cloaks, his eyes stopped on Plum waving at him from the rear. A smile bloomed on his face.

  He quickly approached the nearest aisle of the white tiered seating platform. Ignoring stares, glances, and whispers, he scaled it, one foot per rise. Reaching Plum’s row, he turned right and walked between the seatway behind the golden seats. A moment later, he sat beside her, leaning back while placing the pitch-black wooden briefcase on the seat at his other side.

  He sighed, eyes on the arena’s aqua ceiling, where white light from flame balls floating in the water above illuminated the space below.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Plumpy,” he called softly. “You have any idea what’s next?”

  Before Plum could answer, Abu Dinn—seated diagonally behind him—leaned forward.

  “Your Excellency, nobody knows,” he said. “Your excellency, I heard your exalted name is Black King?”

  Masa Ed ignored him. Leaning forward, he focused on the back of Sera, who sat among a block of tiered seats to their left. Curious, he scanned her surroundings and noticed that all nearby seats were occupied by cloaked figures. He chuckled. Pests, he scoffed internally. A moment later, Sera turned briefly, and their eyes met.

  “Your Excellency, I heard her flame height is 35.94—a new record,” Abu Dinn remarked, eyes fixed on Sera’s section, calculating.

  I understand now—she’s like a mini god, Masa Ed thought with a smile. He glanced over his shoulder at Abu Dinn. He’s either a wolf or a fox, he concluded, leaning back again. Then he looked at Plum, whose hand rested on his on the armrest while she watched Sera and the cloaked initiates around her.

  At that moment, a voice identical to the one in the passageway reverberated through the arena. *I WANT Y’ALL’S ATTENTION,* it said. Silence fell as everyone focused on the center platform, where the five people from the passageway—minus the young lady in the skirt suit—now stood, with the yellow-haired youth at the front.

  *I WANT YOU ALL TO OPEN YOUR RING CASE—THE BALL YOU WERE GIVEN. JUST PRESS YOUR THUMB ON THE WHITE SPOT,* the youth instructed.

  Masa Ed looked at the white-and-gold ball in his hand. Pressing his thumb against a golden spot, it split open with a click, revealing a silvery-white signet ring with golden engravings.

  “Oh, it’s pretty,” he blurted, staring at it.

  “Rayo, yours is different,” Plum remarked, leaning closer.

  Curious, Masa Ed examined her ring—gold with silvery-white engravings, the opposite of his. He scanned the rings of others nearby; all were similar to Plum’s. It’s that bitch—I’m sure of it, he concluded internally.

  *THAT RING YOU’RE LOOKING AT IS THE SYMBOL THAT MAKES YOU ONE OF US—THE SYMBOL OF ACCEPTANCE. GO AHEAD AND PUT IT ON.* the youth instructed. *WELCOME TO GOLDEN COURT.* He added.

  Meanwhile, Masa Ed slipped the ring onto his left index finger and rotated his wrist, expecting something dramatic to happen; however, nothing did. I guess there’s no drama here, he thought.

  *HELLO, EVERYONE.*

  A feminine projected voice startled him. He turned toward the center stage, focusing on a tan-skinned petite woman wearing a black tank top and white sweatpants, her long hair braided into a sleek-back ponytail. She stood where the yellow-haired youth had been; he now stood a few meters behind her with the middle-aged woman. Beside her was a dark-skinned, stocky youth in combat uniform radiating intense pressure from his gaze.

  *I AM ROSA YINI, THE COMMANDER OF TRAINING AND DEVELOPMENT DIVISION. THE TASK GIVEN TO ME IS TO OVERSEER YOUR GROWTH AS INITIATES TILL YOU BECOME JUNIOR PRACTITIONERS; SO I AM AUTOMATICALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR FOUNDATION AS A PRACTITIONER TO SOME DEGREE, DEPENDING ON THE CHOICES YOU MAKE, AND BEFORE I CONTINUE..*

  She stretched out a hand slightly and paused. The stocky youth retrieved a folded piece of paper from his vest and handed it to her. Opening it, and looking at its contents, she resumed:

  *AMONG THREE THOUSAND RECRUITS THAT PASSED OUR FINAL ASSESSMENT, A HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-FIVE WON'T JOURNEY WITH YOU COMPARED TO SEVENTY OUT OF THREE-THOUSAND IN THE LAST BATCH, BREAKING THE RECORD TEN BATCHES AGO—A RECORD OF NINETY OUT OF THREE-THOUSAND. TEN ACOLYTES BROKE DOWN FROM THE OVERWHELMING REVELATION OF THE SPIRITUAL WORLD, FIVE STUDENT DIED IN AN ACCIDENT—TWELVE FORFEITED—FIFTY TWO RECRUITS FAILED THEIR INITIATION RITUAL, AND THE REST WENT MAD FROM SEEING SPIRITS. AND AMONG THOSE OF YOU GATHERED HERE TODAY, THREE ARE WHITE LANTERNS, A THOUSAND-SIX-HUNDRED-AND-EIGHTY ARE MORTAL-BORN, SEVEN-HUNDRED-AND-THIRTY SIX ARE TALENTED—FIVE HUNDRED PLANTED A WHITE SEED—AND FOUR HUNDRED OF YOU ARE HEAVEN-BORN.*

  She raised her head and surveyed the silent audience before continuing.

  *I PREDICT SOME OF YOU WILL DIE ON THE WAY SOONER OR LATER, SOME OF YOU WILL GET STUCK, SOONER OR LATER, SOME OF YOU WILL SUFFER A LOT AND SOME OF YOU WILL REACH THE PEAK BUT IN A POOR CONDITION. ALL I AM SIMPLY SAYING IS, WHICH ROAD YOU TAKE AND HOW YOU STAND AT THE END OF THAT ROAD IS YOUR CHOICE; IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS, WE JUST MAKE UP NUMBERS, SO BE WISE. SEE YOU LATER.*

  With that, she turned around and left the stage with the stocky youth in tow, walking past the yellow-haired youth and the middle-aged woman, who both gave her subtle bows that she returned. Meanwhile, a heavy silence settled over the arena, persisting even as the yellow-haired youth stepped forward again.

  I might like that woman a bit—she didn’t mince her words, Masa Ed thought, smiling faintly as he scanned the cloaked initiates around him, all clustered in one section, analyzing them on autopilot.