The chamber was quiet, lined with scrolls and ancient texts that seemed to absorb sound itself. Sunlight filtered through narrow windows, casting golden beams across dusty tomes stacked in careful order. The air carried the scent of aged parchment, ink, and something else—something subtle and electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.
At the center of the room stood a man cloaked in luxurious scholar's attire. His robes were deep indigo, embroidered with silver patterns that resembled spirals and eyes—symbols of knowledge and perception. Upon his head sat a traditional scholar's hat, its wide brim casting shadows across his weathered face. His eyes, sharp and assessing, watched Rachid with the patience of someone who had witnessed countless initiations.
This was Master Scholar Tour.
Most people in Mura knew of him only by name. He was a shadow in the royal court, rarely attending public discussions despite being one of the kingdom's most vital strategists. King Bakar valued him precisely for this quality—Tour preferred to remain unseen, unnoticed, observing from the periphery.
The less people know of you, Tour often said, the more you see their true nature.
And so, Bakar had granted him permission to operate in the shadows, advising the king in private, overseeing the kingdom's affairs with quiet precision. Today, however, he had been summoned for a purpose that required his full presence.
The initiation of the king's son.
Rachid stood before him, dressed in ceremonial white robes—simple, unadorned, symbolizing the blank slate he was about to become. His hands were clasped in front of him, his posture straight but composed. Unlike most who stood before initiation, trembling with uncertainty, Rachid's eyes carried clarity. Intelligence.
He had prepared himself. He had read what little texts were available to him. He understood, intellectually, what was about to occur.
But understanding and experiencing, Tour knew, were vastly different things.
Tour studied him for a long moment, saying nothing.
The silence stretched.
Finally, the Master Scholar spoke, his voice calm and measured. "Young Master Rachid. Do you know what you are about to undergo?"
Rachid met his gaze steadily. "Initiation into the Scholar Route. A formal entry into the Mystic Hierarchy of Nubia."
"Correct," Tour said, a hint of approval in his tone. "But do you understand what that truly means? Beyond the words. Beyond the theory."
Rachid paused, choosing his words carefully. "I understand that initiation is not merely ceremonial. It is a transformation. An awakening. A catalyst that activates dormant spiritual potential."
Tour's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "You have studied."
"I have," Rachid admitted. "I may not have been permitted to walk a Route until now, but I have read. I have observed. I have prepared."
"Good," Tour said, nodding slowly. "Then you understand that what you are about to experience will irrevocably change you. Once you cross this threshold, there is no return to ignorance."
"I understand," Rachid said firmly.
Tour stepped closer, his expression growing more serious. "Then let us begin with the first stage: The Commitment and the Pact."
Tour gestured for Rachid to kneel.
Rachid lowered himself to one knee, his white robes pooling around him.
"Young Master," Tour began, his voice taking on a formal, ritualistic cadence, "you stand at the threshold of the Scholar Route. Before you can be initiated, you must first commit. Not to me. Not to your father. But to the path itself."
He placed a hand on Rachid's shoulder. "This is not a commitment made lightly. This is a vow to pursue truth above all else. To discipline your mind. To seek knowledge even when it brings discomfort. To serve the greater understanding, even when it conflicts with personal desire."
Rachid's voice was steady. "I am ready to commit."
"Then speak your vow," Tour commanded. "Declare your intent to the unseen witnesses who watch this moment."
Rachid straightened slightly, his voice clear and unwavering. "I, Rachid, son of Bakar, pledge myself to the Scholar Route. I vow to pursue truth with clarity of mind and discipline of thought. I vow to seek knowledge wherever it may be found, to serve understanding above comfort, and to walk this path with integrity."
He paused, then added, "I commit my intellect, my will, and my soul to this journey."
The air in the room seemed to shift—subtle, but unmistakable. The shadows deepened. The light grew sharper.
Tour nodded slowly. "The vow is spoken. The commitment is made."
He extended his right hand. "Now, we seal the pact."
Rachid raised his hand, and Tour grasped it firmly—a handclasp that represented not just agreement, but a formal bond between master and student, between the path and the seeker.
"By this clasp," Tour intoned, "you are bound to the Scholar Route. You are bound to me as your guide. And you are bound to the entities who oversee this path—the ancestors, the guardians of knowledge, the spirits who dwell in the Ethereal Drift."
He released Rachid's hand. "Rise, Young Master. The first stage is complete."
Rachid stood, his expression composed but his eyes betraying a flicker of anticipation.
Tour turned and retrieved a small brass bowl filled with water and a bundle of dried herbs—sage and myrtle, their scent sharp and clean.
"The second stage," Tour said, "is Purification. Before your soul can awaken, your mind and body must be cleansed. You carry within you years of worldly attachments—doubts, fears, resentments, ego."
He lit the herbs, and smoke began to rise, thick and fragrant. "These must be purged. Not destroyed, but acknowledged and released."
Tour dipped his fingers into the water and traced a symbol on Rachid's forehead—a spiral, representing the journey inward. The water was cold, sharp, purposeful.
"Close your eyes, Young Master. Breathe deeply. And reflect."
Rachid obeyed, his breathing slowing, his posture relaxing.
"Think of the attachments you carry," Tour instructed, his voice low and steady. "The need for your father's approval. The resentment of being overlooked. The fear that you are not enough. The pride that tells you that you are better than others believe."
Rachid's jaw tightened slightly, but he did not open his eyes.
"Acknowledge them," Tour continued. "Do not deny them. Do not fight them. Simply see them for what they are—burdens. Weights that anchor you to the physical realm."
The smoke swirled around Rachid, thick and deliberate, as though it were alive. Tour began to chant softly—words in an ancient tongue, rhythmic and hypnotic.
Minutes passed.
Then, Tour spoke again. "Now, release them. Let them dissolve into the smoke. Let them be carried away."
Rachid exhaled slowly, his shoulders loosening, his face softening.
"Good," Tour murmured. "You are purified. The ego has been acknowledged. The mind has been cleansed."
He set the herbs aside. "But purification is not enough. You must also be tested."