He stands and is once again young, striding the Hall of Trial, unaware of the present, only the dream. The air is dry and stale, reeking with old incense and attar. The light comes from torches in stanchions on the right hand wall. There are no sounds but the wispy scrape of his slippered feet on the stones. The trial is for power.
Power comes from inside, the ability to manipulate reality, bend and twist environments and times.
To get power, the wielder must master the subconscious that controls dreams. With this comes the power to unite what one sees with what one wishes to see. The rite of passage is completed when control is achieved. The passage leads ahead, but because the passage is not straight, he can only see a few yards before the twisting causes a wall to obstruct his line of sight. As in a dream he strides forward, not really wanting to, but drawn into the flow.