The Cardinals exchanged a look, their expressions unreadable.
Next was Rosalyn.
The question posed to her seed simple, yet was profoundly difficult: "What is sanctity?"
Rosalyn’s gray-blue eyes gazed ethereally into the void. "Sanctity is the rejection of all worldly forms and the shedding of all colors of the self, until the soul is like the first snow in the Northern Lands—blank, cold, reflecting only the pure light of Oriane. Without joy or sorrow, without desire or want, only then can one beco a vessel to receive Divine Grace."
Finally, it was Elizabeth’s turn.
It was Saint Cyril himself who spoke.
His calm gaze rested upon her as he asked slowly, "Elizabeth, Princess of the Vilt Kingdom. You personally witnessed the battle of Blackstone Fortress, seeing both death and salvation. In your view, in the depths of despair, which is closer to God: unwavering faith, or actions born of compassion and responsibility?"
Elizabeth’s breath hitched. Her mind was instantly flooded with images: the muddied yet grateful eyes of the people in the Lower District of Blackstone Fortress, the glint of swords and the spatter of blood on the eastern ridge, and Murphy’s calm figure, which seed capable of shouldering anything.
She raised her head, eting Saint Cyril’s gaze, which seed capable of piercing one’s very soul.
"Your Eminence." Her voice was hoarse at first but quickly beca clear, echoing in the silent great hall. "I believe faith and action are two sides of the sa coin. Like light and heat, they are inseparable."
She paused for a mont, gathering her thoughts as a bright light began to kindle in her dark eyes.
"Unwavering faith gives action direction and courage, preventing one from becoming lost in the mire of worldly concerns. Conversely, actions born of compassion and responsibility are faith’s truest echo and proof in the mortal realm."
"At Blackstone Fortress, I saw soldiers willing to die to protect the civilians at their backs. Their actions stemd from their belief in their duty and their fellow countryn. This conviction is, in itself, a form of faith."
"I have also seen soone use the sword in their hand to fulfill a vow of protection, their actions illuminating the light of faith in many hearts where it had nearly been extinguished."
"In the abyss, faith without action is like a rootless tree. Action without the guidance of faith can easily lead one astray or exhaust one’s spirit. Only when the two rge, with faith becoming the backbone of action and action becoming the proof of faith, can one forge a Path through the darkness and light a spark in despair."
"This Path, this spark... perhaps that is the closest we mortals can co to the divine."
Saint Cyril listened quietly, his aged face betraying no emotion.
After a long mont, he finally gave a slow nod. "Conviction and practice... Very good. Next question..."
The questioning lasted for the entire morning.
The questions were all-encompassing, at tis profoundly esoteric, and at others, aid directly at their innermost weaknesses.
Elizabeth did her best to answer, her back remaining ramrod straight. Fine beads of sweat began to form on her temples, dampening the wisps of hair there.
As ti went on, silence once again descended upon the great hall after the final young woman finished her answer.
Saint Cyril conferred in hushed tones with the two Cardinals beside him for a mont. Then, he rose once more, Scepter in hand, and approached a raised dais on one side of the hall, which was concealed by a deep red velvet curtain.
"The inquiry of faith is complete," his voice reverberated. "However, the selection of a Saint ultimately requires the recognition of a Holy Artifact."
He tapped the floor lightly with his Scepter.
Two Cultivators in pure white Sacrificial Robes stepped forward and slowly drew back the heavy curtain.
Behind the curtain was an ancient bell, roughly twice the height of a man, its entire body a dark, dull bronze. It hung silently from an equally ancient wooden fra.
The body of the bell was covered in mottled verdigris and fine cracks left by the passage of ti. The engravings of stars and Holy Emblems upon it were blurred and indistinct. It looked unremarkable, even sowhat ancient and worn.
’Is this the legendary Morning Star Bell?’
’The Holy Artifact that hasn’t truly rung in centuries?’
Varying degrees of surprise and curiosity flickered in the young won’s eyes.
"Step forward, touch it with your hand, hold fast to what you believe, and await its echo," Saint Cyril said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "If the bell rings, you are recognized. If it remains silent, you have no affinity with the sacred Path."
Following the order determined by the lots they had drawn, the first young woman, who hailed from the desert, stepped forward. She took a deep breath, placed a slightly trembling hand on the bell’s cold surface, closed her eyes, and focused her mind.
Ti ticked by, but the Ancient Bell remained utterly still.
The young woman’s face grew progressively paler until she finally retreated in dejection.
The young woman from the Jade Coast also t with no success.
The third was Adela.
She approached the bell with a steady gait, her eyes glinting with a resolve that showed she was certain of victory.
She did not touch it imdiately. First, she gave a slight bow, a standard salute of the Imperial nobility, before solemnly placing her hand upon the bell.
Her lips moved slightly, as if in silent prayer or declaration.
Ten minutes passed. The Ancient Bell remained silent, the only sign of her effort the tips of her fingers, which had grown pale from the pressure.
In the end, she pulled back her hand and returned to her spot, her chin held even higher, though her face had a faint ashen hue.
Fourth was Rosalyn.
She floated before the bell as if in a trance, extending fingers so pale they were nearly transparent and lightly touching them to the mottled, verdigris-covered surface.
She closed her gray-blue eyes. The Qi around her seed to thin, as if she were about to rge with the Ancient Bell and the very silence of the hall.
The seconds and minutes ticked by. Just when everyone thought this attempt, too, would end in failure...
VMMMM!
An incredibly faint and deep vibration, as if coming from a place far, far away, emanated from deep within the bell.
The sound was so faint it was almost imperceptible; had the great hall not been quiet enough to hear a pin drop, it would have been missed entirely.
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