CH. 23 The Trial of Wisdom, Part III
When the mist clears, we are standing in an enormous amphitheater — circular, glittering, and utterly silent.
The floor is carved from translucent quartz, glowing from within like it’s breathing.
Above us, a colossal hourglass hangs suspended midair, its sand shimmering like powdered stars.
Twenty-six pedestals form a wide ring below — six occupied by us, the rest by silent, faceless participants conjured by the Seer.
Their robes shimmer with faint sigils, eyes blank as glass.
The Seer’s staff strikes once, and his voice rolls through the chamber like thunder behind silk.
“This is a sacred chamber of wisdom.
In this test, you must choose between the Two Lights:
Sun and Moon.
Those who choose the minority shall pass.
Those in the majority shall remain here, trapped in illusion until the dawn.
You have one hourglass turn to decide.”
The sand begins to fall.
That faint hiss fills the chamber like a countdown to doom.
---
Gavin folds his arms, voice smooth and loud enough for everyone to hear. “So. We win by thinking like fools.”
Farro grins. “Then I’m already ahead.”
Lady Alenia’s lips curve faintly. “It’s not a game of fools, my prince. It’s a game of anticipation. The wise must predict the unwise.”
Sorien glances toward the hourglass. “And every second spent talking changes the balance of prediction.”
The Seer’s illusions begin to stir — twenty shadowed figures shifting, glancing between the princes like nervous animals deciding which predator to trust.
I whisper, “Oh, this’ll go badly fast.”
“Not if we use the time,” Sorien says quietly.
Then, before I can ask what he means, he turns to me and says, “Come.”
---
He pulls me aside, out of earshot of the others.
His voice is low, calm, deliberate.
“There’s value in the time given,” he murmurs. “The hourglass isn’t just decoration. It’s the real test.”
“How so?” I ask, watching the glowing sand fall.
“Most people panic when they’re told to wait,” he says. “They’ll waste their chance to observe. But every word, every hesitation from those illusions… it all matters.”
He tilts his head toward the crowd of spectral participants. “Look. The illusions react to power. They shift closer to whoever they believe will win.”
I glance — and he’s right. The nearer Gavin speaks, the brighter some illusions glow, basking in his confidence. Others drift toward Farro’s wilder energy, drawn to charm like moths to flame.
Sorien’s eyes narrow. “We have to talk to those twenty.”
I nod my head. “Yes, I think they’re valuable props.”
---
The chamber erupts in noise. Gavin’s voice booms first, commanding, charming.
He stands on his pedestal like it’s a throne.
“Friends!” he calls to the faceless, his smile too polished to be real. “The Sun is the symbol of truth, the light of order! Choose Sun — stand with reason, not chaos!”
Lord Arec echoes him, his voice diplomatic and firm. “The Sun guides the realm, as the King guides the people. Let your wisdom shine.”
Several illusions nod, their blank faces tilting toward them.
Across the circle, Farro laughs, his tone dripping mockery. “Oh, sure. Follow the light and burn to death! Choose Moon, the path of those who think for themselves!”
Lady Alenia stands beside him, voice cool and melodic. “The Moon is the silent watcher, the keeper of secrets. Wisdom hides in shadow.”
Half the illusions waver, uncertain. The Seer’s arena thrums with their indecision.
---
Sorien mutters under his breath. “They’re just dividing them evenly. At this rate, Gavin and Arec will press Moon and Farro and Lady Alenia will choose Sun to be in the minority.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, agreeing with his logic.
He gives me a side look. “Any suggestions then?”
I drum my fingernails together. “How about we talk to them? We still have time.”
He looks up, almost surprised. “You’re right. A leader can only lead his people well if he knows what kind of people he’s leading.”
“That makes sense.”
Before I can say another sarcastic remark, Sorien is already moving.
---
He approaches one illusion — a man-shaped echo with faint blue light for eyes.
“What does the Sun mean to you?” Sorien asks.
The illusion tilts its head. “It means truth.”
“And the Moon?”
“Reflection.”
“Then which is wiser?”
A pause. “The one that changes.”
Sorien nods once. “Thank you.”
He moves on to the next, and the next. Each answer shifts slightly, like ripples on a pond.
I try one myself. “Do you follow light because you want to see,” I ask one illusion, “or because you’re afraid of the dark?”
The illusion flickers uncertainly. “I… don’t know.”
“That’s fine,” I say softly. “Most people don’t.”
Sorien glances at me — not unkindly, but with that faint, assessing look that means he’s rearranging the board inside his head.
---
Half the hourglass is gone.
The crowd has split — a constellation of murmuring illusions shifting between the princes like living votes.
Gavin and Arec have drawn the most. Their group gleams gold with light.
Farro and Alenia have fewer, but they stand loud and proud beneath the sigil of the Moon.
And Sorien?
He’s been silent, watching them all. Counting, maybe.
Finally, he leans toward me, his breath warm against my cheek.
“I’ve influenced them through my questions. I think I know which one will be the majority.”
“Which one?” I ask, thankful my mask hides my blush.
“The Moon.”
“So… we choose Sun?”
He studies the falling sand, eyes calm. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
---
The last grains of sand slip through the hourglass. The Seer raises his staff.
“Time is spent. Choose your light.”
Each pedestal glows. Two symbols appear before us — ? SUN and ? MOON.
Around the circle, the air hums with decision.
Farro slaps his hand on the SUN.
Alenia follows suit, serene as ever.
Across from them, Gavin and Arec choose MOON, confident in their influence.
The illusions flicker, each making their choice in quick succession — the room pulsing with alternating gold and silver light.
Sorien looks at me. “Well?”
“I like the Moon,” I say. “It doesn’t blind people.” My hand hovers at the MOON but then I shrug. “But I don’t always get what I like.” I press SUN.
He nods once and presses SUN.
The symbols flare — and the world freezes.
---
The Seer’s staff strikes the ground. The chamber shudders.
“The choice is made.
Twenty chose the MOON.
Six chose the SUN.
The few have chosen correctly.”
A flash of brilliance.
The majority — Gavin, Arec, and the eighteen illusions — are swallowed by light.
They freeze mid-motion, golden veins spreading across their bodies like cracks in glass.
Only the six of us who chose SUN remain standing.
Farro grins wildly. “Hah! I knew it!”
I grin too, mostly because I didn’t die.
But Sorien isn’t smiling. His eyes are on the still figures. “They’ll wake at dawn,” he says quietly. “But they won’t remember what they chose.”
“Is that… bad?” I ask.
“Forgetfulness is a kind of mercy,” he murmurs.
---
The Seer’s voice fills the chamber again, calm and resonant:
“Wisdom is not the absence of error,
but the will to act despite uncertainty.
Those who chose the Sun shall proceed.
For wisdom’s light burns — and reveals.
The Third Night approaches.
May your truths endure.”
The quartz floor ripples.
The hourglass in the sky turns itself over.
The sound of falling stars resumes.
I exhale, adjusting my mask. “Seven nights, seven riddles,” I mutter. “This Seer really needs a hobby.”
Sorien glances at me, unreadable. “He’s not the only one.”
The floor dissolves beneath our feet.
Another fall.
Another trial waiting in the dark.