A hushed silence rang through the stone chamber. Nothing, not even the mice below the flagstones, dared break it. From outside the building there came the occasional shout or clang of wood on metal, but these few sounds seemed muted and far away, as if even the air was waiting.

Twelve girls knelt on the worn floor before a simple altar adorned only with a silver bowl and disk. However, on second glance, the disk was not ordinary-it shimmered in an inhuman way and caught every scrap of light there was, drawing them in yet seeming to glow with a light of its own. The girls' lips moved slightly, whispered prayers. No errant breeze dared ruffle their white robes or swish the ends of the blue cord belts that marked them as priestesses. An older woman knelt just in front of the altar, facing them, her lips also moving with barely discernable words. The air seemed to become thicker; all whispered prayer had stopped entirely.

The glow of the disk brightened suddenly. From in the room, an answering radiance pulsed into life. One of the girls noticed and looked up, gasping in awe.

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The man in front of him touched the disk, closing his eyes. He stood for a long moment with his hand splayed on the golden surface, his brow furrowed. His eyes snapped open, and, shoulders slumped with disappointment, he walked away. The slap of his sandals on the floor and the whisk of his brown robe as he left snapped the next man out of a stupor as he stepped forwards. Only initiates wear brown, said the voice of his old mentor in his head. If you're ever good enough, boy, someday you may wear a priest's orange. He touched the disk, felt the ripples of the finely worked golden sun-rays. He shut his eyes, centered down, and concentrated on channeling the power as he'd been taught. His breath came in ragged gasps; he sucked in a lungful of air and calmed his breathing, feeling the chased-gold patterns pressing themselves into his skin.

Nothing.

Insides writhing with bitter disappointment, he began to open his eyes.

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A bright aura of moon-silver light surrounded one girl's head. She did not seem to notice, kneeling as she had before, head bowed, hands clasped. As her companions watched, the light brightened until her entire body was cocooned in brilliance. The others stood slowly and moved away as the older woman seemed to notice. She brought trembling hands to her mouth and, standing slowly, made her way to the lone kneeling girl. "Amarantha," she called as if she woke a sleeper, her face bathed in silver light. "Amarantha." Startled, the girl's eyes opened. She raised her hands to eye height and gasped. Looking up, she put her hands in the woman's and allowed herself to be helped up, her eyes filling with wonder. "Amarantha," said the woman again, her voice trembling. "You are the Mother's chosen."

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The disk exploded into golden splendor before him.

Whirling, the man that had preceded him gaped at him. He felt unable to take his hand away as the disk blazed-no, he couldn't take it away. The light seared his eyes with a fierce light yet did not hurt him…it was the strangest feeling. For a fleeting instant, he saw himself as he must look to the others, with his face half-hidden in golden light. He knew that they envied him, and at the same time were glad they weren't in his place, and perhaps were a little frightened of him. He felt as if he held the power of the whole world!

The light pulsed once and died. He gasped and reeled backwards, feeling small and weak and insignificant. Hardly insignificant, he thought. Two hands caught his shoulders and he found himself staring into the eyes of the old priest. "You know what this means, boy?" the man asked gruffly.

He swallowed, met the other's gaze. "I do, sir."

The eyes smiled for a second. "Good."

Like it so far? The next chapter should be up not-quite-soon but it shouldn't take too long, either…I actually know what happens. Hint: Reviews and questions make me update faster. Flames don't, though I don't mind them, but they're discouraging.