I

Logos is a student at the Delphi School of Philosophy, the head of the Delphi Society, and the youngest member of the Delphic Oracle in nearly a century. Known for her exceptional character and academic excellence, she is held in high regard by the Society due to her innate talents. Her name, derived from an ancient language, signifies "speech, law, philosophy, and reason".
As the head student, Logos bears significant responsibilities. he must create the duty roster for all Delphi students, assign roles and responsibilities, and oversee whether students from various faculties are fulfilling their duties. The complexity of this task is evident, considering that Delphi is home to some of the world's brightest, most energetic, and least conventional minds.

II

According to tradition, the final stage of the Delphi Society's entrance exam — the interview — is held at the Altar of Wisdom in the Philosophia District. This ancient marble relic features a statue of Pallas, the god of wisdom worshipped by the ancient Delphians. Weathered by millennia of wind, frost, and rain, the statue's face is now indistinct. Although some have suggested restoring it, generations of scholars argue that the statue's blurred visage perfectly represents the ambiguity of philosophy, which can only be clarified through profound thought, not with a hammer and chisel.
At the age of 14, Logos ascended the Altar of Wisdom to face the final question before entering Delphi. Legend has it that this question has remained unchanged for millennia.
The ravages of time had shrouded Pallas's statue in a thick veil, and the featureless eyes gazed down upon the young Logos as the statue spoke:
"I am the god of omniscience. I can answer any question you ask, but once you know the answer, you must die. What will you do?"
This statue is a masterpiece created by craftsmen from the Mechanicus District, with gears and springs embedded centuries ago that still function, enabling it to speak. In the information age, geeks from the Mathematica District even added sophisticated AI chips to the statue. Depending on the questions asked by prospective students, the statue can give various responses, adding a touch of humor and wit to this serious exam.
"You should go to a church. They answer such questions for free, while professors at the Academy of Philosophy charge a fee." — In response to "Does God really exist?"
"In simple terms, I suggest you earn more money. The satisfaction money can buy is beyond your imagination." — In response to "How can I become fulfilled?"
"You might as well take me down and stand here in my place, taking over my job." — In response to "How can I know the truth?"
Most people would ponder for a while after hearing Pallas's question, but Logos responded almost immediately:
"Please provide a mode of thinking that is both rigorously logical and morally sound, capable of yielding the optimal solution in any complex situation."
Pallas then fell silent for a long time. Just when Logos thought she had been rejected by the Delphi Society, the statue spoke again in a cheerful tone: "Young girl, go to the School of Philosophy. There, you will find many who are willing to risk their lives for the answer to this question."
Subsequently, Logos was formally admitted to the Delphi Academy of Philosophy.

III

As the Head Prefect of the Delphi Society, Logos held herself to an almost perfectionist standard, exhibiting a rare passion for all subjects. Few students shared her equal enthusiasm for every discipline. She immersed herself not only in highly logical subjects such as mathematics and physics but also in the romantic arts like painting and music. Before the final exam for her harp solo course, she commissioned craftsmen from the Mechanicus District to forge her custom-designed harp, "Muse". The blueprint for "Muse" was detailed down to the specific alloy proportions for each segment of the strings to produce the exact sound she envisioned. After the solo exam, the professor awarded Logos a well-deserved high score. But as Logos bowed and turned to leave the stage, the professor stopped her, saying, "Child, this is the first time I've heard this piece. What is it called?" "I composed it myself, and it's titled 'Thought'." "Why did you choose my course?" the professor asked. "Because I love music," Logos replied sincerely. "And why do you love music?" the professor continued. "Because the essence of music is mathematics, and the essence of mathematics is pure logic," Logos answered. "I see." The professor nodded. "Then I suggest that you should not take any more music courses at the Delphi Society.""Why?" Logos asked, taken aback. "You are not meant to play our kind of music. Don't worry, I'm not criticizing you, child. We use mathematical tools and theories to compose music, but the aesthetic beauty we aim for has little to do with mathematics. However, you are different. I can sense that your thinking is like a complex set of gears, each moving precisely as programmed. Even in your performance, what flows from your strings is not an auditory melody but a geometric rhythm. You use your fingers to segment the strings, not to play them; you are delineating and analyzing, not expressing or emoting. I'm not criticizing you," the professor repeated. "The core of your music has nothing to do with art or our concept of 'beauty'. Therefore, we, who study aesthetics, cannot help you progress further. That's all there is to it. This harp is excellent; do not let it gather dust. Continue creating your music in your own way. Perhaps your music can indeed come closer to human thought than ours." From then on, Logos never set foot in another music class at Delphi, but she heeded the professor's advice and kept Muse with her always.

IV

Logos' bookshelf sees a frequent rotation of books, with the exception of one thick ancient Delphi dictionary that has never been replaced.
This dictionary was the only book she'd brought with her when she was admitted to Delphi and moved into the society's dormitory. On the book's title page, a line of slightly sloppy handwriting reads: "It is said that this language was created by the ancient gods themselves, containing their secrets and powers. It was abandoned by people because they could not understand its true meaning. Perhaps you will be smarter than I am, my dearest—"
The name that followed this sentence has been obscured by a dull, dried bloodstain, making it unreadable. This stain extends to the edge of the title page and seeps through several pages below. Flipping through the pages, the last recognizable word tainted by the blood is "κόστος"—meaning "cost." 30 pages after "κόστος," the word "Logos" was circled in red, with a small, childlike annotation next to it: "My new name."
The page with "Logos" appears to have been splashed with water at some point, leaving a small, crinkled mark. The printed word on this wrinkled part is "ξεχνάμε", which translates to "forgetting," "blankness," "lesson," or "new beginning."