Meanwhile, the priests were busy with their preparations.
One set a peculiar tripod on the altar. Another diligently inscribed runes. A third chanted a solemn prayer, seeking the favor of the divine.
Finally, someone brought forward a mysterious dark sphere, the size of a football. At first, it seemed ordinary, utterly plain and featureless, devoid of any hint of magic. But the moment it was placed on the tripod and infused with energy, its surface began to glow with an enchanting light, as if a swarm of constellations had started dancing within it.
"Mother… is this… is this a fragment of the night sky?" Grace whispered in awe, unable to tear her eyes away.
"No, my dear. This is the Sphere of Origin. It will serve as the conduit for your awakening," Catherine said gently, trying to explain in terms her daughter could grasp.
In truth, these spheres were considered the foundation of the Roman Empire's power—a gift from the gods and a treasure beyond price. Their importance to the state could only be compared to fire for all of humanity.
Legends said that, envious of Prometheus' feat, Hephaestus sought to surpass him. He pondered long over what gift could be greater than the flame that was essential for survival.
Then he observed: a satiated person always yearns for more. Like the gods themselves, humanity is prone to ambition. Once their hunger is sated, they strive for power and status.
Hephaestus decided to grant humanity strength. From orichalcum ore, he forged the Spheres of Origin—artifacts capable of awakening the magical core within ordinary mortals, opening the path to their perfection.
To this day, the Roman Empire is considered the most powerful, for it has the highest proportion of practicing citizens.
The Sphere of Origin was more than a treasure. It embodied authority, mystery, and the promise of a bright future for every Roman.
While the Altar activated the sphere, Adam's trusted ally, Allaric—the cardinal of the Church of Light—took charge of the ceremony. He was short, slightly hunched, with chestnut hair and a hooked nose, yet standing atop the altar in the radiance of light, he seemed almost saintly.
Allaric opened a massive book bound in gold and began to chant:
"In the name of our Lord, the great God of Light, I proclaim the beginning of the Awakening Ceremony! Phoebus!"
The crowd answered in unison: "Phoebus!"
"Oh, Almighty, grant your servant the right to carry out your will. Phoebus!"
"Phoebus!"
"For the good of all believers, grant mortals strength! Phoebus!"
In response to the priest's prayers, the entire pyramid was bathed in the purest divine light. The scene was so majestic that it seemed as if the god himself had descended into the mortal world.
"Step forward, child," Allaric said, turning to the crowd and inviting Grace to ascend the altar.
Confronted with such solemnity for the first time, the girl froze. Her hands twitched nervously at the hem of her tunic, and her eyes trembled with uncertainty. But all eyes were fixed on her, leaving no choice.
Taking a deep breath, Grace took small, tentative steps toward the altar. The sphere called to her, like an oasis to a traveler lost in the desert, like air to a drowning person. The feeling was strange, yet completely natural.
With each step, her fear ebbed, giving way to nervousness, then curiosity, anticipation, and awe. She longed to discover which magical core she would awaken—and what her brother, mother, and Cassia would say.
Her thoughts began to whirl:
"What if I get an S-class core? Mother will definitely praise me! Maybe she'll even give me a new doll… And brother will be even prouder of his sister!"
"And I'll win the bet! But what should I wish for? Maybe have him clean up all my toys all day? Hmm, too boring…"
"What if I make him brush my hair? No, no, that's a punishment, not a reward! Although… he does need to learn to be gentle. Ah! I've got it! He can practice on Mother—he definitely won't hurt her. Hee-hee-hee… I'm a genius!"
Allaric noticed that the girl had drifted into her daydreams. He understood better than anyone how the Sphere of Origin worked. The power and authority it promised captivated all mortals. Its effect seemed almost primal, uncontrollable.
Grace's reaction surprised him not at all. Of course, he had no inkling of the exact thoughts running through her mind—otherwise, he would have acted very differently.
"Calm down, Grace," he said softly, with a gentle smile, like a grandfather encouraging his granddaughter. "Don't worry. Just relax and touch the surface. Everything will be fine."
Grace obeyed.
"Good. Now close your eyes and listen to yourself," Allaric continued in the same warm, reassuring tone. "Feel your body. Right there, in your stomach, you'll notice a light tickle. Found it? Remember this feeling. Good. Now try to slowly guide that tickle upward, toward your arm… and further—straight into the sphere."
He spoke simply, as if telling a story. At that moment, he truly seemed less like a strict cardinal and more like a caring mentor.
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus. At first, she felt only a faint numbness, as if her arms and legs had gone slightly asleep. It made her a little anxious. Was she doing something wrong?
She recalled his instructions and tried to relax—her shoulders, stomach, arms, and legs. A minute later, in her lower abdomen just above her navel, a strange sensation emerged—a light tingling, as if tiny sparks were tickling her from within.
The moment she paid attention, the tingling intensified. It became a faint itch, like a gentle warmth, yet still easily guided by her will. Grace imagined it slowly rising, toward her solar plexus, and felt the energy obey her.
The tickle slid across her chest, passed to her shoulders, and surged into her arms—first to her elbows, then her wrists, and finally to the tips of her fingers. The energy seemed eager to flow outward on its own.
A thin, glowing thread entered the device and resonated with it. Then Grace clearly felt changes within her body. Her magical core had awakened, as if it had always been a part of her—just as natural as her arms and legs.
The Sphere responded, bursting into a radiant rainbow of light. Darkness evaporated. Within the orb, bright flashes ignited—red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and deep violet. All seven colors intertwined, weaving an invisible web of light, dancing and shimmering in every hue.
The brilliance was breathtaking and blinding. It filled the acropolis completely, saturating the space with a mystical aura.
Without a word, every observer understood: the princess's magical core was extraordinary. It would surpass anything they had ever seen. Their own rituals now seemed dull and insignificant in comparison. Truly, comparison can be lethal.
Part of the effect, of course, came from the quality of the Sphere of Origin itself. That was why only the most perfect specimens were used for the royal family. Their genes were inherently strong; an ordinary awakening stone, available to common citizens, simply would not have worked. Everyone knew: the more powerful the core, the harder it was to perceive its strength.
Admiring gasps and hushed whispers filled the hall. The priest flipped through his book frantically, trying to determine the core's type, but the eyes of the people around him were already tinged with green envy. They spoke quietly among themselves, yet no one dared to interrupt the ceremony.
Finally, Allaric completed his calculations. He stood on the altar, trembling slightly with excitement. His voice was measured, yet firm:
"After analyzing the completed ritual, I can state with full responsibility: Princess Grace's magical core belongs to the legendary class with S-level throughput. A Rainbow Core, allowing its owner to wield any elemental magic without overload. I assure you, the young Grace's talent will astonish not only the Province of Light but the entire Roman Empire."
The crowd could no longer contain itself. The spectators' emotions finally found release.
"Long live Princess Grace! Phoebus!"
"Long live the Province of Light! Phoebus!"
To grasp just how extraordinary little Grace's core was, one must understand that most spectators had only managed to develop their cores to Class A. They were nobility, the cream of society—but only after years of grueling effort and mountains of resources.
The money spent on their development could have sustained a small city for a decade. And here was a little girl, receiving everything at once, and even more, simply by birthright.
The emotions were indescribable. Envy, anger, awe, and admiration. At that moment, Grace basked in the rays of undeserved glory. She was utterly ecstatic.
Yet it was far from over…
A beam of light shot down from the heavens onto the altar. It enveloped Grace and Allaric in an impenetrable cylinder, cutting them off from the outside world.
The spectators' jaws dropped to the floor. They knew exactly what was happening. Grace's performance had drawn the attention of a god! The patron of the province, the most handsome man in the world, Apollo himself, had personally descended from Olympus to approve the princess's talent.
What an honor! What grandeur!
Divine blessings were not unheard of in Eridania. The practice of offerings existed precisely for this purpose. Yet it was always understood that blessings varied in magnitude. Even the nobility, capable of spending vast sums, found it difficult to capture a god's attention. The slightest favor was already considered impressive—and to earn it required countless resources.
So how could they not feel envy when a simple talent of a little girl compelled Apollo himself to appear? Where was the justice in that? Were they truly destined to "eat dirt" while others "feasted on lobsters"?!
Meanwhile, at the very top of the pyramid…
Surrounded by sacred radiance, Grace froze, eyes wide. She watched Apollo with a mixture of fear and awe. His form was entirely white, composed wholly of light. Within that glow, no eyes or face could be discerned—just a simple silhouette, its edges blurred and indistinct.
"PHOEBUS TO YOU, ALMIGHTY APOLLO!!!" Allaric slammed his forehead to the ground, daring not to lift his eyes. His posture radiated absolute loyalty and reverence.
Grace simply stood, stunned into immobility.
"What are you doing, Princess? Kneel at once!" the cardinal shouted, sweat pouring from his brow.
"It's all right," Apollo waved off his concern. His voice was calm, detached, as if the mortal world mattered little to him.
Yet Allaric knew better than anyone—it was not so. Gods were not so magnanimous, Apollo included. Grace had just shown a hint of disrespect and lost a small measure of favor. But there was nothing he could do.
In a way, those eyes stood out even against a figure made entirely of light.
"I… I… G-G-Grace… P-P-Princess," Grace stammered, her nerves betraying her.
"A beautiful name. Blessed, radiant, and merciful. It suits you perfectly," Apollo praised her. "I am impressed by your talent. Do you wish to become my chosen daughter? You could serve as a priestess, like little Eva. Your task would be to guide people toward the Light. You will enjoy both secular and ecclesiastical power. You will grow even more beautiful. You will earn fame and honor. And in the end, you could enter Elysium and live forever. Do you agree?"
Grace nearly lost her mind. The god had offered her everything a human could ever dream of. Could she possibly refuse? Yet she was only three years old. Her mind was focused on something else. She knew it would be presumptuous to ask, yet she could not hold back.
"I-I… S-Starlight… Umu… M-my mother and brother… P-permission…" Grace stammered. She struggled to put her thoughts into words, but the right ones simply slipped from her memory.
Suddenly, she was interrupted by Allaric himself:
"Lord, allow me to report urgent news. Personally."
The God of Light cast a dismissive glance at the priest.
"Have you forgotten your place, servant?! How dare you interrupt a conversation with my future priestess?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!" Apollo's composure shattered. The girl had nearly agreed. Just a moment more, and he would have that uncut diamond. Yet this lowly servant, without a shred of talent, had dared to intervene.
Taking a deep breath, Apollo decided to listen. The girl was here—she could not escape him.
"Go on. She can't hear us. I hope this is truly important."
"As you command, merciful god. I shall explain at once," Allaric said, trembling under the intense gaze of the higher being. He dared not delay and began his account:
"The matter is this. The humble one believes the girl wishes to plead for her family. But there is something unusual about it. Three years ago, the third concubine gave birth to twins. Their birth was accompanied by a heavenly blessing…"
"Get to the point! I don't have a whole day to listen to your nonsense," Apollo interrupted.
"Y-yes, my lord. The matter is that the celestial manifestation was a rainbow that rose above the province. However, it was interrupted by an eclipse that spread across the entire continent."
"Continue…" Now Apollo's interest was piqued.
"The girl's parents are both fair-haired, yet the boy was born with black hair. We suspected the mother had been unfaithful. To conceal such a disgraceful act, it was claimed that the child had been touched by the eclipse.
The request was sent to the pontiffs in the capital. It was a trivial matter, perfectly routine. Yet the reply from the capital surprised us.
We were ordered to investigate. That's how we discovered that three thousand years ago, the Senate had decreed that all the Sibyls be gathered. They were tasked with predicting Rome's fate.
There were over a hundred of them. Together, they performed the 'Propheteia' to divine the future. Everything went well at first, but when they attempted to see three thousand years ahead, they began coughing up blood and dying, one after another.
They left behind a single prophecy:
'When day and night fall out of rhythm, a child shall be born whose shadow will eclipse the sun. Old histories will burn, legends will be rewritten. Invaders will come, and the world will bear new chains.'
That is how the Sibyls disappeared. The pontiffs are deeply concerned. This ceremony is our only chance to determine whether Grace is the harbinger of night.
I fear that any careless actions on our part could interfere with your nobility's plans. Please, grant me your instructions!"
Allaric finished his account. He remained kneeling, awaiting judgment.
He had his own motives. He did not believe in the prophecy in the slightest—it was too vague, too convoluted. Yet he knew that the gods cared most for their reputation.
He was certain that Apollo would notice the hint: "…a child whose shadow will eclipse the sun…" Was this not a direct challenge? No matter how talented the child, he would never allow her to rise at his expense. Whatever the princess requested, he simply could not consent.
This was how Allaric planned to help his friend rid himself of an unwanted offspring while simultaneously earning favor from the deity.
The god did not respond. He sank deep into thought.
"I remember that three years ago, the forces of Light across the world were suppressed. I doubt it was a natural phenomenon. Surely, Nix, Azazel, or Hel had a hand in it. Who can say what they were planning?"
Through the veil of light, he scanned the crowd. He studied each member of the royal family with intense scrutiny, calculating something in his mind. When he noticed Catherine, his gaze flared so brightly it could have burned through the walls.
Even Allaric sensed his astonishment, yet he kept his head bowed.
Inside the God of Light, turmoil raged. What he had seen made him question his own sanity. He simply could not believe it.
His plans needed to change immediately. He could not afford to miss this opportunity.
Apollo simply stood in silence. Ten seconds… a minute… two… three…
It must be understood that for a god, ten seconds of contemplation could equal a dozen years of active research by a team of mortal philosophers. What could occupy him so completely?
Finally, he reached a conclusion. He had to act carefully.
"You have done me a great service," he said to Allaric.
These words were everything the cardinal had ever dreamed of. He trembled with ecstasy.
"Do not rush. You must follow my instructions precisely," Apollo said, reaching toward the crown of Allaric's head and imparting his guidance. Then he took the priest's right hand and inscribed a rune upon it.
"Use this, and under no circumstances deviate from the plan. Do you understand me?"
For a moment, Allaric's gaze lost all focus. He stared long and intently at his hand, the very hand the god had just touched. Yet he regained clarity and hastened to pledge his loyalty:
"Yes, great lord. I will do everything you command."
"Very well. Rest assured, I will not forget your contribution," Apollo assured him, then shifted his gaze to the girl, who was still struggling to finish her thought.
"B-brother and I h-had a bet on whose magical core w-would be stronger…"
"I understand. You have nothing to worry about," the God of Light said, no longer able to listen any longer. He had thought for so long, and this little girl still hadn't finished speaking…
Yet his reply was careful and gentle, as if concerned he might frighten her:
"I do not wish to separate you, so I will give you this bracelet. It will protect you from any harm. Be wise and obey Eva. She will be in charge of your training…"
With those words, the God of Light vanished. He dissolved into particles of light, leaving behind only a simple white bracelet. His manifestation was not infinite.
The moment his consciousness returned to his true body, he burst out laughing.
"Ahahah, Apollo, oh dear Apollo. You cannot blame me for what is about to happen. How do they say it—'an eye for an eye'? Yes… exactly that. You brought this calamity upon yourself.
What kind of fool leaves an altar unattended? Now I will have my revenge. Your son will live a fate worse than death. I will toy with your daughter. I will give you horns. I will destroy your reputation. Ahahahah.
And all in a single move! I will outplay you until you die, you bastard."
The God of Light laughed maniacally, as if he had completely lost his mind. Yet this was not the most handsome man in the world. One could barely even call him human.
Suddenly, he remembered something.
"Oh, right. I need to find Apophis. He will help me bring my plans to life. I remember Apollo gave him horns too. The time for revenge has come, my friend. Nix won't help you. Just relax and wait! Ahahahah."
While someone successfully slipped away from the scene of the crime, Allaric straightened up and exhaled. He looked at Grace with a strange expression, but said nothing.
Meanwhile, the girl was happily playing with the bracelet. She liked it very much. She had no idea what danger it represented.
Watching the dome of light slowly dissipate, the cardinal tried to make sense of what had just happened. The God of Light had been so disturbed by the prophecy. Had he noticed something? Why did his orders feel a little… strange?
In the end, he cast those thoughts aside. What was the point of dwelling on them? The best course was simply to carry out Apollo's command. Should he even question the words of a god? Of course not.
Apollo had given him power and status. His duty was to fulfill divine will and carry the word of god to the masses—not to ponder the motives of a higher being. He had no desire to become a heretic.