The addition to the monastery's brotherhood did not go through without argument. Yet, despite such hardships, Luke went through as promised. The day arrived when Justin would take his oath and become accepted as a novice of the monastery. On that morning, the occasion had slipped through the youngster's mind. Justin did not mean any sort of harm by forgetting, but he had woken quite early in the morning to find himself a nice corner of the scriptorium to settle within. There were an infinite amount of texts held within this place—many of which were incredibly too difficult for him to read. Yet, the ones he understood to some extent, offered him interesting insight to the mysteries of the world and the particular occasion of natural life.
By the time a sister entered the scriptorium, the wax from the candle Justin lid had run down the sides of the holders they were planted within. "Justin, you were supposed to start getting ready an hour ago!" She spoke quickly before licking her fingers and snuffing out the candle's flame. Before Justin could utter an explanation, the sister whisked him off to prepare for the ceremony.
After being rushed around the monastery grounds, Justin found himself behind a privacy screen in a dressing room. His humble clothing made from coarse cotton was traded for an elegant, silky chasuble. The garment was mostly black with a detailed, white geometric pattern. There were many layers to the overall outfit, which hung heavy from his own shoulders and arms. It was obvious he hadn't been the first to wear it: as it smelled like it sat folded up in some cellar for an extended amount of time.
"I'm not terribly sure that I'm wearing this right," Justin mentioned to the sister behind the privacy screen as he held out his arms to his sides. The sister pushed back the privacy screen and gave him a brief look-over.
"You look fine," She briskly replied after uncapping a small glass vial of oil. There wasn't enough time to give Justin a proper bath, so she simply smeared the fragrant oil upon the skin of his neck and wrists. At the very least, Justin was glad he no longer smelled of the vestments. The last adornments given to him was a skull cap placed upon his head, and small cape which wrapped around his shoulders. Justin found the garment unusual, as the cape only rest a short length above his elbows.
The sister took Justin's hand and led him out of the dressing room. The layers of his elaborate vestments masked the clumsy movements his feet made while he tried to keep up with the sister while wearing such heavy clothes, it was no wonder such things were only reserved for special occasions.
When the two arrived to the cathedral, there were several people gathered around the altar. Justin recognized most of these faces, and could even associate a name with some of them. There was quite the turn out for this ceremony, but Justin's gaze tried to pick out a certain, special individual from the crowd.
Justin felt some heavy object bump against the top of his own head. When he turned around, he found the person he had been looking for: Brother Luke. The object was a leather-bound book, pages gilded with a certain passage marked out with a bookmark. "You told me you were going to remember the oath by heart," Luke teased while passing the book down to Justin. The youngster did not reply, instead, he darted his tongue past his lips briefly and faced forward. He cradled the book in one arm, reaching up to make sure the skull cap sat correctly upon his head. When a priest gestured Justin to move further toward the altar, he took careful steps and stood in the appropriate place: just as he'd practiced before.
The ceremony started, with most of the witnesses either sitting amongst the pews or standing around the altar. Justin recited his oath with some assistance from the open book he held before him within his arms. The words were long and drawn out with some dramatic emphasis, beckoning to God for His guidance and reciting the vows of the oath he'd hold himself to as a novice. Once the sacred oath was recited, Luke took the book from Justin before the priest conducting this ceremony stepped forward holding a gold-plated chalice. He had read the oath was once completed with drinking of blood: however, the ceremony changed to consuming wine. But in the extraordinary case involving Justin's age, a certain kind of grape juice was used. Justin took a sip from the chalice, and the priest reached forward to blot up the juice which ran beneath his lip. The taste was truly putrid, and he could barely swallow it. At the very least, he refrained from making a sour face for the sake of the ceremony itself.
That priest continued on with reciting the prayers associated with the end of that blood oath. Justin kept his eyes forward, recalling upon the one morning he had been alone in this room with that one light. He had read it was actually a soul—a benevolent soul from an innocent person. In the back of his mind, he wondered what compelled him to prey upon a wholly good soul. As Luke had mentioned: he was a weapon. There was a nagging suspicion he had to confirm with the monk he placed so much trust into: was there a difference between humans and weapons?