Along the way, Athena talked nonstop. Atem listened at first, but soon his mind drifted toward the pendant on his neck.
The pendant looked ordinary, but he sensed a strange barrier forming around his body the moment he wore it.
So this is Ka, the spiritual energy of the world…?
Ka was a word temple children often heard, but very few understood it. It was the breath of the world—the elders said so. A magical force in mountains, rivers, wind, and all living things.
Some called it the world's pulse while others said it was a mist without shape drifting between heaven and earth.
Most mortals never sensed it in their entire lives.
Atem never thought he would either. His weak body wasn't even strong enough for simple chores. The idea of sensing Ka felt like a distant fantasy.
But now.....
Athena turned back with an annoyed huff. "Are you even listening? I said Thia's brother is going too!"
Atem blinked out of his thoughts and forced a small smile. "Sorry… I was thinking."
She eyed him suspiciously but continued walking.
Atem placed a hand on the pendant and couldn't but be inwardly pleased, For the first time in this life, he didn't feel cold.
They walked past the old stone well and the row of clay houses that lined the temple's outer path. Normally Atem's teeth would already be chattering, but today his steps felt steady and light.
He kept touching the pendant, unable to stop himself.
"…Don't play with it too much," Athena muttered without turning. "It isn't a toy."
"I know,"
A few children ran past them, laughing and chattering, but they slowed when they noticed Atem and surprise flickered across their faces.
"That sick boy is going too?"
"Huh, i thought he couldn't walk out Of their conteeryed ."
Atem lowered his eyes. He didn't respond. He was used to hearing such things. After all, among all the children in the temple, he was the weakest.
Athena stopped walking and glared at the boys. "Say that again and I'll break your teeth."
The boys ran off immediately, clearly not wanting to provoke her.
"You didn't have to do that," Atem said quietly.
"I wasn't doing it for you," Athena huffed. "I just hate idiots."
Atem smiled faintly. That was her way of saying she cared.
They continued down the narrow path that wound toward the temple courtyard.
Athena quickened her pace. "We're almost late."
The temple courtyard had never felt so large.
Children clustered in groups—laughing, whispering, some nervous, some excited. Parents stood behind them, tightening coats, smoothing hair, murmuring blessings. Even the old priest, Elder Kiros, had come out early, holding his wooden staff as though it were part of his spine.
Atem hesitated at the entrance.
Athena noticed and nudged him forward. "Don't freeze now. It's just a test."
He didn't reply. He could feel every gaze on him—curious, pitying, dismissive.
He lowered his head and stepped inside.
"Line up, children," Elder Kiros called out loudly. "Those who have reached nine winters, step onto the stone path."
Athena joined the line confidently. Atem followed behind her, keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves.
"Why's he here? He'll faint before touching the stone…"
"Does he even have an Inner Sun?"
"He's probably Barren."
Athena started turning, but Atem shook his head. "Let it go."
"Tsk."
Elder Kiros raised the bronze-handled mirror, letting morning light strike its surface.
"For those who haven't heard this clearly before," he said, "today's test is simple."
He tapped the mirror with his staff.
"This mirror measures the Inner Sun."
Atem focused. He'd heard the term his whole life, yet it had never meant anything to him.
"The Inner Sun," Elder Kiros continued, "is something every one of you was born with. It is not a real sun. You cannot see it with your eyes. Think of it as a small light inside your chest."
He placed his palm over his heart.
"It is the part of you that holds energy. Some children have a strong light. Some have a weak one. Some barely have anything."
"You will hear complicated explanations when you grow older," he said. "But for today, remember only this: a bright Inner Sun means your body can hold more strength. It means you can grow healthier, live longer, and learn to sense the energy of the world."
A young girl raised her hand timidly. "What energy?"
Elder Kiros smiled faintly. "The breath of the world—the strength carried by the wind, the warmth hiding in flame, the life flowing through all things. Scholars call it Ka. Invisible to the eye, but once your Inner Sun awakens, you will sense it."
Atem's fingers brushed the pendant instinctively.
The elder continued, lifting the mirror so the light caught it cleanly.
"Most people never feel their Inner Sun at all, It stays quiet their whole lives. They live normal lives, do normal work. Only a few have Suns bright enough to train their bodies or learn the world's energy."
He angled the mirror slightly, showing its polished surface to the crowd.
"This mirror tells us who has what."
Elder Kiros motioned to the first child, a small boy with round cheeks and nervously clutched sleeves. The boy swallowed hard before placing his hand on the back of the bronze-handled mirror.
For a couple of seconds nothing happened, then a faint, trembling shimmer spread across the mirror's surface. It looked like the glow of a dying ember, barely clinging to life.
"Mortal grade," Elder Kiros said calmly. "A modest Inner Sun, but enough for steady health."
The boy blinked in surprise before smiling shyly at his parents, who nodded approvingly.
Athena leaned slightly toward Atem without looking at him. "Most people end up Mortal. That's normal."
Atem hummed softly in agreement.
Other children stepped up one after another.
"Mortal."
"Mortal."
"Mortal."
"Mortal."
Then a thin, pale boy stepped forward. He pressed his hand to the mirror and waited, but no matter how long he stood there, not a single flicker of light appeared.
"Barren."
The boy's lips pressed tightly together as he stepped back.
A Barren grade is the lowest—those born with it often struggle with sickness and seldom live beyond forty.
Several more children came forward. Three more Mortals, then another Barren.
When Thia stepped forward, the mood shifted slightly.
A clean, steady glow filled the center—brighter than Mortal, not sharp like something stronger, but clear and stable, almost like a lantern in a quiet room.
"Spirit grade."