I hoped I had this right, I told Caidan that I may know where the eting was taking place, but the longer I walked, the less sure I was. More than once I found myself doubling back and turning left where I once turned right, trying to chase this gut feeling that just around the corner I would see two torches, with one of them lit, while the other lay extinguished.
Felix didn’t offer Ronan much information, but that was probably more Ronan’s fault. Sothing was off about him, like, really off. It’s not like it took a genius to identify the blatant changes from vicious tyrant to brainless zombie, but the big question was, what caused it? I tried to bury these thoughts and return myself to the task at hand, but I quickly discovered that it wouldn’t be necessary. As I turned the corner, I saw the door in question, with the singular lit torch.
I rubbed my face and eyes with my hands before lightly slapping my cheeks, trying to hype myself up, trying to get so blood flowing to my head.
"Get yourself together Mara," I encountered myself.
I kept my steps asured, my breathing even. Every movent had to feel natural, and unhurried, and in doing so it only made it feel like I was trying too hard. I was questioning everything about this, but if Caidan and Ronan were risking their lives to rob an Academy vault in one of the restricted zones, I could attend a lecture, eting, or whatever culty thing this was.
I approached the lecture hall, my fingers brushing against the worn leather of my satchel, grounding myself before stepping into the unknown. From the outside, the hall looked exactly as it always had—aged stone, sturdy wooden doors, the faint hum of arcane wards woven into the walls. It was unremarkable. It was all familiar until it wasn’t. The mont I crossed the threshold, everything changed.
The air thickened, cool and heavy, pressing against my skin and sending goosebumps along it. The warm glow of enchanted lanterns flickered and dimd, their light twisting unnaturally. The wooden floor beneath my feet felt different—no longer polished and well-tread but smooth, like carved obsidian. I hesitated before I lifted my gaze.
The rows of simple benches and desks were gone, replaced by towering pillars wrapped in intricate carvings that stretched toward an impossibly high ceiling. The walls no longer bore the sigils of the academy, no banners of scholars or mages. Instead, they were lined with statues—figures frozen in silent reverence, their expressions caught between cruelty and seduction, carved from stone so lifelike they seed monts away from breathing.
Each depicted the sa woman—exquisite, flawless, yet eerily unknowable. Her features were sharp but not harsh, a beauty that was dangerous unto itself, one that radiated authority, and yet when I looked into her eyes, I felt at peace, like there was nothing left to worry about, no more worldly troubles. I had seen enough artistic renditions of divine figures to recognize sothing sacred when I saw it, but this—this wasn’t in any of my studies. It didn’t help that I never really enjoyed any theological studies, even less so that my parents never pushed it on like so many of my childhood friends dealt with.
The gods of the Trinity were often depicted in murals, their visages ant to inspire or comfort. But these statues? They did neither–magnificent as they were.
I forced myself to move forward, my eyes flicking to the doorway behind . It was still there, still open. Sothing told that if I turned back now, I wouldn’t simply be able to leave without trouble.
Rolling my shoulders, I pushed down the unease creeping at the edges of my mind. Whatever this was, whatever I had stepped into, I needed to see it through. With a steadying breath, I stepped deeper into the temple that should not exist.
The chamber that opened before was a vast, vaulted space that must have been sothing grand once. Now, it was stripped of unnecessary ornantation beyond that of the tiless statues. Function over form. At the center stood a figure cloaked in deep gray, their presence masked by sothing beyond magic. It was like looking at an aunt or uncle you had known your entire life, and yet, when you really focused, you found that you couldn’t recognize anything about them.
The others settled into place—rows of silent figures, neither rigid nor lax. I followed suit, choosing a spot near the middle where I could observe without drawing attention. There wasn’t any chatter, and still, a hush fell over the room. The figure raised their head.
"Welco."
The response ca, unified.
"We are here."
The voices that carried those words were not loud individually, yet they rang in my ears collectively. It wasn’t an unnatural sound, at least no more unnatural than any other religious gathering.
The speaker seed more about refreshing mories, reminding the congregation about their roles, and goals, and all of that.
"We are bound by fate, yet unshackled by ti."
"The world as they see it is an illusion, but we walk the path of clarity."
"We do not bow. We do not kneel. We do not forget."
A mory that was not mine stirred, fleeting and aningless, but nonetheless there. I tried to recall it, but it was gone. So far it just felt like scripted words and not much else. Then the ceremony began in earnest.
One by one, the attendees stepped forward, kneeling before a raised basin. The liquid inside was dark, thicker than ink, thinner than blood. The first person dipped their fingers into it, drawing a mark upon their forehead.
The sigil shimred, just for a second. Then it vanished. I had to morize this–if I was going to be forced to do it, I needed to do it right or be caught as the imposter I was.
No one reacted, no one even seed surprised. Unfortunately, I had to move with the next group, keeping my gaze neutral. My fingers brushed the liquid. It was cold, but not in the way water is cold. It was cold like a void, lacking any substance or form.
I traced the symbol as the others had done, expecting nothing, but hoping desperately I got it right. Then sothing reached back.
Again, sothing flickered and pulled at the edges of my mind. It all happened too fast to identify, and just as quickly was gone, or was it? Had it even happened at all?
I kept my expression smooth and withdrew. I resisted the urge to peer around and see if anyone was staring at and if anyone had caught onto my charade yet. Sothing definitely felt off, but all things considered, so far so good.
The speaker lowered their arms. Their voice, though calm, started to have an impact on . I felt like flas were licking the marking on my forehead–not in a painful way, but as though sothing was trying to make itself known, to let know that it was present.
"For too long, the world has been shaped by the hands of the blind. The cycle repeats, over and over, each age thinking itself differently, each kingdom believing itself strong. But what is a kingdom without knowledge? What is strength without purpose?"
The heat grew, not unpleasant, but at an alarming rate. I did everything I could to not bring my hands to my head, I just had to power through it, pretend like nothing was happening, and try to listen to the sermon, or whatever this was.
"We are builders of what will co, caretakers of what was stolen, and guides for those who will walk the path." The speaker’s head tilted slightly as if surveying us all. "Many of you have already seen the signs—our efforts bear fruit."
Still no words from those attending. I refused to look, but despite the stillness, there wasn’t so much as a shuffle of robes stirred around .
"The summonings have begun."
Okay, confirmation on the summonings, this is a good start.
"Not once, but multiple tis. You have seen the great shifts in the currents of mana, the way the fabric of the world bends. It is no accident. It is no re phenonon. We have called forth the remnants of what was lost, and they have co, answering as they always have, as they always will."
Still no movent, but the air was electric with a sense of excitent. Be it a magical or spiritual energy, there was a change happening. The heat I had felt was giving way to water, as dark as the void that swam within that basin. My mind was swimming now, filled with a sense of peace and comfort.
The speaker’s voice softened, taking on a reverent edge.
"The first steps were taken in secrecy, but the veil will not remain forever. They have already begun to walk among us, unknowingly at first, but soon they will rember. The lost will return. The scattered will be gathered. The order that was shattered will be made whole again."
A flicker of movent caught my eye, one of the robed figures shifting ever so slightly. I kept my eyes forward, but I could feel his anticipation–this was all building up to sothing.
"And what of us?" The speaker spread their hands. "We are the foundation. The stones upon which the great design will be rebuilt. Each of us carries purpose, whether through study, through devotion, or through sacrifice."
Sacrifice? The concept of sacrifice, hard work, dedication, or the act of giving one’s own life?
I tried to swallow my unease as the speaker continued, stepping toward the basic of dark liquid.
"We have seen our reach expand. We have touched the highest walls, the most guarded halls, and soon—" their voice softened, "—soon, we will step into the light once more."
"Our work is not done." The speaker dipped a single finger into the basin, then lifted it, the dark liquid clinging unnaturally to their skin before vanishing into nothing. "But the gate opens, piece by piece, and we are its keepers. Through us, she will know the world again."
Every ti I rebelled and tried to hold onto my feelings of discomfort, the sensation of eerie calm crashed against and it was like defending against the ocean with nothing more than a crude wall of sand, built by the hands of children.
"Each of you carries a piece of this path."
The speaker turned, gesturing toward the crowd.
"To the scholars, you gather knowledge that was stolen, fractured, erased."
A few figures dipped their heads, acknowledging their place.
"To the seekers, you listen, you watch, you bring forth what has been hidden."
More heads bowed.
"To the hands that move unseen, you shape the tides, you prepare the world for what cos next. And to those who would give all..." the speaker’s voice deepened. "Your offerings will not be in vain."
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