

BE GOOD

By Hayden Pearton

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Published by Hayden Pearton at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Hayden Pearton

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Discover other titles by Hayden Pearton:

The Chronicles of New Eden

Awakening

Sunrise Sapling

The Metrophobia Collection

Koinophobia

Autophobia

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### Contents

Prologue: Origin

1. Ten Thousand

2. Duty

3. What Could Have Been

4. The God Scars

5. Pyre

6. Reunion

7. Lords and Ladies

8. The First Son

9. Living in Shadow

10. Remembrance

11. Imran's Rest

12. Kindling

13. The Festival of Flame

14. Kill the King

15. The Great Prophet

Epilogue: The Last Order

About the Author

For Chanelle, Forever and Always.

For My Family, thank you for a childhood full of whimsy and wonder.

For Michael, I really hope you read this one.

And For You, for giving this story a chance. May it exceed your expectations.

And lo, it will come to pass that the disobedient children shall know discord. Brother will fight brother, and sister will strike sister. However, for they were all made equal, none shall gain dominion over the other. Instead, all shall be broken, and shall not rise again.

At that time, Priarch will look down upon his children with sorrow and pity, and his radiance shall shine brightly once more. He will descend to the Flamelands, bringing peace and understanding. He shall take his children into his embrace, strip them of their arrogance and foolish pride and minister to their wounds.

In time, they shall return to him, becoming one with him. With this, Priarch shall once more be the one and only, the great and mighty, the sovereign king. And so shall it be that he shall continue to expand, until his dominion covers every land, and all know his warmth and guidance.

Thus shall all men be freed from sin; save for those who chose instead the Void, and at last this world shall end.

-The Last Parabil: Children of the Flame

From _The Originarium_ , Chapter 10: Parabils of the Priarch

# Prologue: Origin

Holy Order 1: Spread the teachings of Priarch to every nation

Prion Almeran Lorral

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Prophet Imran, the Prophet of Prophets, Seer of All Things, Most Faithful, Most Holy, Chosen of the Priarch, Fireblessed and Lakeborn... was dying.

But this too, he had foreseen.

Almost fifty years ago, after he had received his first vision, he had started the Church of the Priarch.

From a handful of faithful it had grown, as he had foreseen it would, and it now counted as the most powerful religion in the Flamelands. But men were not immortal -the Priarch had not made it so- and so his time had come to an end.

But Imran had foreseen the future. He had foreseen every twist and turn the river of time would take. He had foreseen what would be, and what could be.

But that had not been enough. He had foreseen the rise of his Church. He had foreseen it as its most powerful.

And then he had foreseen it fall.

But this was not the future he would allow.

He would change the world. One step at a time.

Ten thousand ripples, which, when added together, would become a great tempest which would wash away the future that should have been.

Ten thousand soldiers, which, when added together, would storm the gates of heaven and change what was fated to be.

Ten thousand sparks, which, when added together, would ignite a flame which would burn away the sin of the world, and make it clean.

He lay on a bed of pillows. They were the only things keeping him up.

Around him, his faithful waited, bent low to the floor lest they catch a glimpse of the last order.

In his trembling hands he held the final Holy Order. The last of ten thousand scraps of parchment which would change the world.

He fought back the darkness. It had been growing closer, day by day. He would not let himself die, not until it was done.

His fingers were shaking as he moved the ink-brush over the parchment. Three words.

Three simple words.

And yet they would control the flow of history.

His hand trembled, but through sheer force of will he kept the brush steady.

He could not afford to make a mistake. A single wrong letter could undo everything.

Slowly, taking great care, he wrote down the words.

The darkness was growing closer. But in it, he could feel something else.

A warmth that he had felt for almost fifty years. Soon, he would be with his God.

He blew gently on the divine letters, praying that they would dry quickly.

When he was certain that the letters would not smudge, he folded the parchment and gestured forth for his seal.

Hot wax burned the letter closed. It would not be opened for a thousand years.

The last piece of the puzzle. The final part of his plan.

"And thus, is the future written," he said, wheezing.

The darkness in his vision had grown. He could just barely make out the faces of his faithful. They bore looks of sadness, and fear, and grief.

They did not understand. None of them did.

But they would.

"Prophet Imran, please, tell us what we must do!" one of his faithful said, taking hold of his hand.

"Train the Prions. Carry out the Holy Orders. Do not falter," he replied, each breath more strained than the last.

Some of them were thanking him. Some were crying. Some were asking for more.

But he had nothing more to give them.

Everything now lay in their hands.

Together, they would carry out his vision.

The darkness now consumed him. He could not see their faces, nor hear their voices.

All was still.

Summoning the last of his strength, he spoke his last words, and disappeared from the world.

"My will be done."

<>

990 Years Later

Attacus Lore held a smooth stone in his hand, feeling its polished surface as he cradled it.

It all came down to this.

He had thrown four times and struck twice.

The circular target was fifty paces away. It was only a hand-width across, and made of reclaimed bronze.

If his stone struck true, he would hear the unmistakable _katang_ sound. It was where the game of Katang had got its name, after all.

"Come on, Attacus, throw already!" Silas called, from his place atop the garbage pile.

Silas Fyrnorn, his best friend and greatest rival, was four years his elder. With his short brown hair and serious grey eyes, he bore a look that many in Slumtown found very attractive. He was close to his twentieth year, an age when he would be expected to leave home and find work.

But Attacus knew that Silas would never leave Edda, his mother, especially not in a place like Slumtown.

"I even accepted the handicap of only using my left arm and I'm still beating you three to two! Just hurry up and throw so we can do something more fun!"

Silas had thrown five times and struck thrice. If Attacus could hit the target, he would at least bring about a draw.

And that meant that he wouldn't have to be the servant today.

Every time they had played Katang, Silas had beaten him. And every time, Silas had chosen his favourite reward. He would be king for the day, able to freely order Attacus around with no limit to his power.

Even with his handicap, Silas had proven too skilled with his throwing stones. He had even boasted that the next time they played; Silas would be as good with his left arm as he was with his right.

That in itself was a frightful concept.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear away those distracting thoughts. All that mattered was the target.

A small bronze disc. A piece of twine securing it to a rusted carriage wheel.

Truly, Slumtown was as much dumping ground as it was living quarters for the undesirables of society. One day he would finally escape this dung heap, and then he would-

No... focus! He told himself, bringing the target to bear. He drew back his arm, as he took aim with his eyes.

He could feel it. He would not miss.

As he brought the stone around, he saw something that sent his mind into total disarray.

Edda, his adoptive mother, flanked by several royal guards.

What?

In his surprise, the stone flew wide, heading straight for the lead guard. It bounced off his breastplate with an audible _katang_ , although something told him that the shot wouldn't count. The guard didn't even flinch.

"Mother!" Silas cried, leaping from his perch. He raced towards the guards, grabbing a long piece of metal as he ran past.

Did he really think he could fight off all of them by himself?

Knowing Silas, he probably did.

As he reached them, however, they did not draw their swords. Even though they were from Pyre, the capital, and had every right to cut down a filthy 'street rat' who had attacked them.

Instead of killing Silas, they did something which defied belief.

They lowered their heads and knelt before him.

Silas was clearly as surprised as this as Attacus. He turned towards his adoptive brother and shrugged, but Attacus had no advice to give.

It was then that the lead guard said, in a voice that held no trace of levity, "It is an honour to meet you, your majesty."

<>

The next few hours had moved in a blur.

Too much had happened. Too much had been revealed.

It didn't feel real.

He had listened with a numb mind as the guard had explained. Edda had been a maid in the palace and had consorted with the king? That same king had cast Edda out of the palace when her pregnancy had been discovered, in order to sate the queen's rage? And now the king was dead, and, on his deathbed, he had revealed the truth.

He had an heir to the throne, living within sight of the capital.

Moving swiftly, the guards had bundled up everything that Edda and Silas owned.

It didn't take long. There wasn't much.

And now they stood beside a royal carriage, waiting to be whisked away to a life of parties, politics and plenty.

While Attacus stayed behind in the shadows.

Apparently the son of a miller did not rank as highly as the heir to the throne.

"Why can't he come with?!?" Edda was shouting. She had repeated those words a dozen times already, and always she received the same answer.

The nobility were outraged that their new king was from Slumtown. They could maybe forgive the addition of the king's mother, but to bring along a nobody with no blood relation would be stretching the fragile arrangement to breaking point.

After calming down his mother, Silas made his way over to Attacus. There was a gap between them now, and it was widening with every passing minute. They had been born in Slumtown. They had been raised in Slumtown, by the same woman even.

But only one of them would die in Slumtown.

"This changes nothing, Attacus," Silas said, laying his hand upon Attacus' shoulder.

"This changes everything, Silas," Attacus spat back, knowing in his heart that none of this was Silas' fault.

"No. You are still my brother. This is still my home. And nothing can change that," he said, pulling Attacus into a tight embrace.

"Our positions might change. Our appearances might change. Our views might change. But this I swear will never change. You are my brother, from this breath until my last."

And then it was over. The guards had run out of patience. They pulled the two boys... the two brothers apart. Silas and Edda were herded into the carriage, but not without protest. Edda cried openly, weeping for her lost son. Silas did not cry, not in front of his new subjects, but his heart wept all the same.

And then they were gone, and Attacus was alone once more.

<>

Attacus sat on a mound of unidentified garbage. It was where he belonged. After all, without Silas and Edda, he had nothing left.

In the span of a single afternoon, he had lost it all.

"That must have been awful, watching them take your mother away like that."

There was a man walking towards Attacus. A man dressed in red robes that flowed from shoulder to sandal.

A Prion.

One of Priarch's chosen.

"She was my adoptive mother," he said, reflexively, "My real one died when I was five."

He didn't see a point in lying to a Prion. It wasn't worth going to the Void over a simple fib. And it had already been ten years since his family had passed away, so the hurt was well and truly healed.

The loss of Edda, however, would take longer still.

"Then I am doubly sorry for your loss, both for your first mother and your second."

The Prion grew closer, extending a hand towards Attacus. He ignored it.

"My name is Prion Uther Pathos, and I have come for you, my child," the Prion said, wearing a smile that he probably thought was comforting.

It wasn't.

"I don't have anything to give to the Church," Attacus said, and he meant it. He had the clothes on his back and not a piece more.

"Ah, but the Church has everything to give to you, if you would have it," the Prion replied, moving closer.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"Food, a warm bed, and a purpose."

"What purpose?" Attacus asked, weighing his options. He could always run, but then he would just be hungry _and_ tired.

"The greatest purpose there is. I would have you enter the Church."

"What, as a servant?" Attacus spat. He had had enough of serving others. If that was to be his fate, he would rather just risk it on his own.

"No, as a Prion. You would be like me, a real member of the Church."

A memory of Edda's words surfaced then. A lesson on the Church, and its customs.

"I thought that they only accepted ten people each year into the training?"

"That is correct, and we just so happen to have one more opening. So, what do you say? Will you stay here, powerless and doomed to a life of misery? Or will you follow me, and enjoy a life of purpose?"

Attacus hesitated. He could almost feel the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders. This was a turning point, he knew.

But in reality there was no choice to be made. A short and brutal life versus a comfy and productive one?

"Alright, I'll become a Prion," he said, feeling something inside himself change.

"Praise be unto Priarch, for he is father to us all. Praise be unto Priarch, for his light shines down on all. Praise be unto Priarch, for he shall guide us back into his radiance," Uther said, gesturing him closer. As Attacus came closer he turned, leading them out of Slumtown.

As he followed Uther, he glanced back at his former home. He wondered if he had made the right decision.

No. He could have no doubts.

Silas had chosen his path, and Attacus had done the same.

Perhaps, one day, those paths might converge once more.

He could only hope that their reunion would be a happy one...

# Chapter 1: Ten Thousand

Holy Order 2385: Count to one hundred and then kill yourself

Prion Morte Caine

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Morning, Pyrday, 19 Ashos, 1000AC

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Prion Attacus Lore sat in the Garden of Imran, surrounded by a hundred candles, meditating on the future.

Soon, he would receive his Holy Order. Soon, he would be recognized as a full member of the Church. Soon, his ten years of training would end.

Soo-

"There you are, you useless oaf!" came a voice which he had become well accustomed to over the last decade.

Opening his eyes, he looked up, and found a woman staring down at him.

Luceel Voraine, the 9999th Prion, gazed at him with disgust in her striking blue eyes. A noble by birth and Prion by choice, she was everything that Attacus was not.

Where he was short and stocky, she was tall and graceful. Where he had skin the colour of well-worn bronze, she had a coating of palest white. Where his head was to be kept shaven, she had been allowed to grow her light blonde hair to shoulder length. Where he was timid and soft-spoken, she was loud and proud.

It was no mystery why she hated him.

"Sorry, I was lost in thought," he replied, moving to stand. She gave him a look of disdain before turning to walk away.

However, she stopped at the Garden's exit and waited as Attacus slowly moved around the area extinguishing each and every candle. He could have easily asked a servant to do it for him, but he wouldn't. This was his task, and he would see it through to completion.

When the last flame was snuffed out, he turned and headed for the entrance. Luceel opened her mouth to speak, but closed it a moment later without saying anything.

She led the way, naturally taking the lead as she had been raised to do. The youngest daughter of the prestigious Voraine family, she had spent her childhood learning everything from politics to accounting and even swordplay.

Attacus, by comparison, had spent his formative years playing around in trash heaps.

The difference between them could not be more apparent.

And yet here they were, walking almost side by side, made equal by the Church of the Priarch. In a short while, they would both receive their Holy Orders, and become true Prions. Their lineages, upbringings and skills would matter no more. To the world, they would simply be two Prions, no difference between them except for their appearances.

Leaving the Garden of Imran, they passed by one of the classrooms. For ten years they had spent almost every waking moment learning and practicing their craft. They had received instruction in mathematics, cartography, linguistics and more. They had spent hours poring over The Originarium -the Church's holiest tome- trying to understand its mysteries and lessons. They had memorized the Parabils; the collection of allegorical stories that Imran had used to teach his followers. They had practiced the Rites; the duties that they would one day perform for the faithful. Everything from performing marriages to overseeing cremations of those who had stayed true to Priarch and rejected sin.

As they watched, an elder Prion was giving a class to a group of ten Pre-Prions.

"And lo, it came to pass that a simple fisherman, who had been thrown overboard during a storm, washed ashore on the banks of Lake Elcaro. The fisherman, thought dead by his fellows, had been saved from drowning by a higher power. He had also been bestowed with the power of foresight, a gift from Priarch himself!" The Prion spoke, reading from the great tome before him.

Continuing, he read, "This gift, along with his miraculous rescue, changed the life of the fisherman. No more content to simply catch fish all day, he took to preaching Priarch's message. He told all who would listen about Priarch, about his warmth and light, and about how he had been betrayed by those he himself had made. And when people came to silence the fisherman, they found him long gone, as he had been forewarned of their arrival by his gift. And as the faithful grew in number, so too did the fisherman's power."

A single hand, raised in question, interrupted the reading. "How far into the future could the fisherman see?" asked one of the Pre-Prions.

"At first, the fisherman could only see a few hours into the future. However, as he grew older and wiser, his power matured. He started to see events that were weeks away, and then months, and even years. By the time he had reached old age, the fisherman could see several centuries ahead, in the same clarity that I see you with now. And then, on one fateful night, the fisherman had a powerful vision. He saw the world a thousand years later, and what he saw prompted him to begin writing down the ten thousand Holy Orders which guide us to this day. Truly, even after he left this world, the fisherman continued to look after it."

The Prion paused for a moment, a wide smile on his withered face, before asking, "And do you know the name of that fisherman?"

"IMRAN!" the class screamed, in joyful unison.

Sporting a matching smile, Attacus allowed his feet to carry him forward, towards his Holy Order... and his destiny.

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They had almost reached Imran's Providence when they were stopped once more. A Pre-Prion, carrying a load of linen, had beckoned them over.

He was taller than Attacus, despite being younger, and looked around nervously as they approached. He was wearing a set of yellow robes, a symbol of his station, and a contrast to their red coloured attire.

"Greetings, Prion Lore and Prion Voraine, may Priarch favour you on this blessed day," he spoke, mumbling slightly.

"Greetings, Pre-Prion...?"

"Ah! I am Pre-Prion Fennix Ashram; I am to be the 10001st Prion when I complete my training next year."

"Greetings, Fennix. Tell me, what troubles you this day?" Attacus asked, sensing the young man's hesitation.

"We're going to be late, again, if we stop to help every single person who crosses our path," Luceel said, a frown marring her pretty features.

Ordinarily, Attacus would have agreed with her and followed her will; such was the wise thing to do. But today he felt brave. Perhaps because he had been summoning up courage since the early hours of the day.

"We still have time. Speak, Fennix, and tell me what bothers you."

Fennix bowed, most likely out of fear, and said, "I am given to understand that you, Prion Lore, will be the recipient of the 10000th Holy Order. I am wondering, if you are to receive the last Holy Order and become the Executor of Imran's Will, what will I receive? What should I do, with no Holy Order to guide me?"

It was a difficult question, and one that not even his teachers had been able to answer. But enough Pre-Prions had come to him with the same concern that he knew what to say.

"Fear not, Fennix, for Imran has seen all and knows all. I am sure that he has prepared for this day, and for all the days to come. He will not leave you unguided, and he will not leave you to flounder. Have faith, finish your training, and in time, the way will be revealed to you."

"Ugh," Luceel sighed, but she did not contradict him. Turning, she walked away, without waiting for Fennix's reply.

Fennix watched her for a moment, before saying, "Thank you, Prion Lore, for your kind and insightful words. I shall keep them close to my heart." He moved to carry on his way, but soon stopped and asked, "This is unrelated, but I am curious... when you first arrived, did you know what to do? I mean, could you feel Imran's guidance, even then?"

Attacus thought for a moment, letting his mind drift back to that fateful day. Recalling what had happened brought out a small laugh, which left a confused look on Fennix's face.

"When I first arrived, I was still in the rags my second mother had made for me. I had not taken a bath in months, and I still stunk of Slumtown. The other Pre-Prions assumed that I was a new servant, meant to help them unpack their things. I had already moved seven loads of luggage, including that of Prion Luceel, before Prion Garnick arrived and set the matter straight."

Fennix said nothing for a moment. Eventually, a small smile spread across his face and he said, "I see... Thank you, again, Prion Lore. May your Holy Order bring joy to many."

Bowing once more, he left.

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In the centre of Origin -the walled compound which acted as the heart of the Church of the Priarch- lay a large, circular building enclosed by a great dome: Imran's Providence.

Inside lay three of the holiest objects known to the Church. The Great Flame, a large fire which had been burning continuously since Imran's death. Imran's Rest, housed below the building, where his body would one day be cremated and join Priarch in eternal bliss. And, of course, the Holy Order repository, where ten thousand Holy Orders had once been kept in special shelves.

But now only ten remained.

And soon, Attacus would take the last one.

Standing before the reinforced doors that led inside was their former teacher, Prion Mentan Garnick. He had been their teacher for their final year of studies, and wore his usual half-smile. Upon seeing them, his smile widened, and he beckoned them closer.

"Greetings, Prion Attacus, Prion Luceel! May Priarch shine his light down upon you on this holy day!"

"Greetings, Prion Garnick," they replied, at the same time.

"So, how are the two of you feeling?" he asked.

Luceel, naturally, answered first, "I'm feeling good, Prion Garnick. I am eager to carry out Prophet Imran's Will and make the world a better place."

It was a textbook answer, which was to be expected from their generation's smartest student.

"I see. I am happy to hear that, although there is no shame in admitting that you are nervous. It is not every day that one receives direct instructions from a man who died a millennium ago!"

Prion Garnick turned his gaze to Attacus. Attacus had been in enough of his classes to know that he would not be allowed to leave until he gave an answer to the unasked question.

"I... I am nervous, if I must be honest," Attacus said, while Luceel let out a low, abrasive chuckle. To her, being nervous or afraid was something that simply only happened to other, lesser people.

"And why is that, Prion Lore?" Prion Garnick asked, with a warm smile.

"Well, what if I can't fulfil my Holy Order? What if it's an impossible task? Or if I misunderstand what I am supposed to do? Or if I'm not brave enough to do what needs to be done?"

Prion Garnick let out a small chuckle, but unlike Luceel's, his carried an air of levity.

"I think that you are underestimating the strength of Prophet Imran's foresight, Prion Lore. When he wrote these Holy Orders, he could see the entirety of what was to come. He knew which Prions would receive which Holy Orders, and almost certainly tailored them to fit each individual's strengths and weaknesses. So, no matter what your Holy Order says, remember that it was written with you in mind! Prophet Imran would not have given you a task that you are incapable of completing, and I'm sure that you will have the strength to complete it, just like all the Prions which have come before you surely possessed. Do you understand, Prion Lore?"

"I do, Prion Garnick. Thank you, for putting my mind at ease."

"Excellent! Now, I must head inside and take my place. Please, take a moment to compose yourselves before following me."

They both nodded in affirmation. Leaving them, he opened the wide double doors and entered Imran's Providence.

<>

A minute later, Attacus took a step toward the entrance. However, a firm tug on the back of his robes stopped him. Glancing back, he saw that Luceel had taken hold of a handful of the crimson material.

"Attacus, I hope you understand how important this is to me... My family has been producing Prions for generations, and I will not let you embarrass me. You... through some kind of sick joke, are the 10000th Prion. In a few minutes you will receive the last Holy Order Prophet Imran ever wrote," She let out a great sigh, before continuing, "Priarch only knows why you were chosen for such an honour... but no matter what the Prophet asks of you, I want you to accept it with grace and dignity. You will carry out Imran's Will without wailing or moaning, understand? Because if you embarrass yourself, and by extension, me, I will make sure that you regret it..."

Without waiting for him to reply, she released her grip and strode past him, towards the entrance.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he followed her.

<>

Imran's Providence, the tallest building in Origin, lay at the centre of the compound. Its tallest point stood at a hundred and fifty paces from the ground, and within it lay the greatest gift Imran had given to the world: guidance.

Stepping inside, Attacus felt the breath leave his body. This was the holiest of places, and it demanded respect and subservience. In the centre of the room lay the Great Flame, a large fire which had been burning since the night Imran had left the world. No attendants supplied it with wood, and no servants manned bellows to keep it lit. It had simply burned, without any need of fuel or air, for a thousand years.

Attacus had been taught that the Great Flame was a remnant of Prophet Imran, and a reminder of his eternal curatorship of the Church. If it ever died, it would be a sign that Imran had left them, and had gone to be with Priarch in the Eternal Flame that even now burned in the sky above.

Standing before the Great Flame was a gathering of people. Nearest to the dais which bordered the Great Flame was the oldest Prion, Hearn Rodan. He wore light blue robes with a single strip of white at the hem. For every ten years a Prion served the Church, another strip of blue would be added. At the end of the year, Prion Rodan was to receive his final strip, a symbol of his lifetime of service.

Standing to his right was Prion Garnick, and to his left Prion Lutze, another of the elders. Standing before them were eight of his fellow Prions. He had spent the last ten years with them, but still felt like an outsider. Perhaps he had never truly shaken off that first day, and even now felt as though he did not belong amongst their ranks.

He saw Luceel take her place on the end of the line and he moved to join her. As he walked, he raised his head, trying to take in the enormity of the tower. Ringing the inside of the building were thousands of small indents which had once contained the Holy Orders. But they now lay empty, a reminder that Prions had been carrying out this duty for almost a thousand years.

And now it would finally come to an end.

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When Attacus had finally taken his place beside Luceel, Prion Rodan gestured to the assembled men and women.

"Greetings, my fellow Prions!" he exclaimed, with a voice that was louder and stronger than would have been expected from a man approaching his eightieth year.

They muttered a response. Apparently Attacus wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"Every year we gather in this place, so that the latest generation of Prions might receive their Holy Order. In my time, this tower still had over six hundred Holy Orders tucked away on its shelves. Now, only ten remain. All of you, standing before me, will be the last to receive Imran's guidance. To speak honestly, I do not know what the future holds. Only Prophet Imran was granted that great gift. However, I am not disheartened, for I know that this is not the end of things. The sun... the Eternal Flame, will still rise over the horizon tomorrow. The citizens of the kingdom of Vuria will still need to be ministered to. Babies will be born, and the dead will be cremated. We will still have jobs to do!"

Prion Rodan paused for a moment, glancing into the eyes of each Prion standing before him.

"Remember, when you receive your Holy Order, it is meant for your eyes only. Once you have committed it to memory, cast the parchment into the Great Flame, so that it may return to its creator. Tell no one of what you read and what Imran has asked of you. Not your friends, or your family, or your fellow Prions. Not even me. This is the covenant that you will make today. I trust that you will work tirelessly until your Holy Order has been completed, and at that time, you will say that your guidance has ended."

Attacus could feel the weight of history... of destiny... pushing down on his shoulders. Ten years of studying, and praying, and wondering... all for this day. He was sweating, but eager at the same time.

"Now, when I call your name, please step onto the dais behind me and pull the lever. This will activate the mechanism which will fetch your Holy Order. Once you have received it, you are free to leave. We will not ask anything more of you. Whether you walk out through the front gate or stay inside these walls for the rest of your days, no punishment shall befall you."

A moment later, the first Prion was called forward. They would be called in the order that they had entered the Church, all those years ago.

Attacus swallowed, and wondered what his Holy Order would say.

He hoped that it wouldn't be too difficult a task...

<>

Five Prions had already received their Holy Orders. Some had looked shocked, others joyful, but all had thrown the parchment into the Great Flame and left without a word.

Of the five remaining Prions, Attacus could hear whispers of a conversation between two of them.

"So, did you ever hear of the Prion who killed himself after he received his Holy Order?" asked Prion Jossei, a gossip loving woman who had often taken to spreading malicious rumours about his time in Slumtown. According to her, he had been a thieving, murdering brute who had chosen to join the Church in order to avoid the king's guard.

The Prion standing next to her, Tyrin, shook his head.

"Well, apparently a few centuries ago a Prion received his Holy Order and, less than two minutes later, jumped into the Great Flame, killing himself. No one knows if that was his Holy Order, or if he simply could not carry out what was written, and chose death instead..."

Tyrin, already pale and sweating, lost all colour in his face.

"Prion Tyrin Ferros!" called Prion Rodan.

Tyrin hesitated. He looked as though he would faint on the spot, or turn and flee. But, to his credit, he instead took a step towards the dais. Ten years of training could not be overcome by a simple rumour, as it turned out.

A few minutes later, he threw his Holy Order into the Great Flame, a wide smile on his face. Clearly, he hadn't been ordered to take his own life.

Attacus swallowed once more, hoping that his Holy Order would be the same.

<>

"Prion Luceel Voraine!" Prion Rodan called, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

Luceel approached the dais with all the confidence and grace of someone who had done this a thousand times. She had been raised to be a Lady, and clearly her ten years with the Church had not changed that.

She reached the platform in ten, easy steps. Ascending it, she pulled the lever with a flawless motion. Far above, Attacus heard the roll of parchment, wrapped securely around an iron bar, begin its slow descent. Carried down to the dais on a set of rails that wrapped around the inside of the tower, the entire process was an engineering marvel.

Finally, the Holy Order came to rest on the raised pedestal which sat at the centre of the dais. The Great Flame, ever-burning, provided a constant warmth to the Prion in their time of uncertainty.

Not that Luceel looked uncertain in the slightest.

Unravelling, the Holy Order, she glanced around the room, a triumphant smile upon her beautiful face.

And then she read the parchment.

A heartbeat later, the smile left her face. In its absence, it went through a full range of emotions. First came disbelief, and then shock, and finally, anger. She glanced up, locking eyes with Attacus, and then her voice returned to her.

"No! I won't! I can't! You ask too much of me, Imran! I won't do it! And you can't make me!" she shrieked, eyes filling with tears. Visibly shaking, she threw the parchment into the fire as if by burning it she could change what it had said.

And then she ran.

She leapt from the dais, feet already moving as she landed. She ran full speed, passing Attacus in a blur.

And then she was gone.

In the silence that followed, Prion Lutze let out a great sigh.

"Ah, well, we get one every year..." he said, staring at the doors as they slammed into place.

<>

"Prion Attacus Lore, the Executor of Imran's Will!" Prion Rodan called.

Attacus hated that title. It sounded a bit too much like 'executioner' for his liking.

Calm once more dominated the room. Only he and the elder Prions were left.

His legs were shaking as he stepped forward, towards the dais. He could feel the stares of the Prions on him as he walked. He could feel their expectations.

Please... let him not betray them.

He knew, despite what they had said, that they saw him as special. He had heard the rumours. He had heard the Prions talking. Everyone believed that his Holy Order was special... that it would contain some great instruction from Imran that would finally unveil what all of these Holy Orders had been building towards. It would be the last piece of the thousand year puzzle.

And he would be the one to receive it.

A moment later, he reached the central platform. Stepping up, he reached out and grabbed the lever embedded in the pedestal. He hesitated for a moment, but he had come too far to turn back. He pulled it, silently agreeing to walk the path, no matter where it led it.

For several long seconds, nothing happened. No Holy Order appeared. Perhaps they had miscounted? Or perhaps Imran had died before completing it? Or perhaps there was some trick to it? Had he pulled the lever incorrectly?

Already nervous, Attacus started to sweat. He saw the look of concern on Prion Rodan's face grow with every passing second. Prion Garnick was shaking slightly, no doubt thinking that he would be blamed if one of his students had messed up a thousand years of planning.

Prion Lutze, by comparison, looked... relaxed. He even wore a small smile, and his eyes never left the platform.

And then, Attacus caught a glimpse of a roll of parchment, wrapped around an iron bar, slowly making its way down towards the dais.

His Holy Order had come.

A moment later, it reached the pedestal. Unlike the other Orders, written on fine parchment, the parchment he now held looked crumpled and worn. Perhaps it was true, then, that Prophet Imran had written the last Holy Order on his death bed, and that his attendants had had to pry it from his grip after he had died?

Turning it over, he found Imran's seal. A simple fishing hook, a reminder of his origins, and of that fateful day when he had received his mission from Priarch.

He broke it in one swift motion.

Slowly, he unravelled the parchment, heart pounding in his chest.

He really hoped that Imran wouldn't ask him to kill himself. He didn't know if he would be able to go through with it...

KILL

He read the first word, and his blood ran cold. Had his worst fears come true?

Hastily he unravelled the rest of the message. Taking a deep breath, he read:

KILL THE KING

Attacus breathed out a sigh of relief. He would not die this day.

He felt elated, and, with nary a pause, carefully dropped the parchment into the Great Flame.

He was halfway to the exit when he heard a great commotion erupt behind him. However, as he went to turn around, realization struck him.

Imran had asked him to kill the king.

That meant... that Imran wanted him to kill... Silas.

His friend.

His brother.

His king.

It was all too much. The nervousness. The anxiety. The realization.

He stumbled and fell, meeting the cold stone floor without any resistance.

As he lay there, vision fading, he could only hope that when he awoke this nightmare would finally be over...

# Chapter 2: Duty

Holy Order 5327: Marry into the Voraine family and conceive a son

Prion Hanna Sylbol

<>

Afternoon, Pyrday, 19 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Attacus dreamt of Silas, and Edda, and Slumtown. He dreamt of a life in which he had never met Prion Pathos. He dreamt that he had never left Slumtown, that he had grown old without ever achieving anything, that he had been alone in his final moments. The only positive was that he had never been forced to kill his oldest friend.

"Are you planning on sleeping all day?" came a familiar voice, waking him from his bittersweet dream.

Opening his eyes, Attacus found Prion Garnick standing over him. He was in Origin's infirmary, a place he had only visited once before when Luceel had knocked out a tooth following an argument. As he recalled, she had been angry that his room was nearer to Imran's Providence than her own.

He still didn't know what that had been about.

"How long?" he asked, once his vision settled.

"About three hours. I was starting to get worried..."

"I'm fine... I think."

Prion Garnick moved away, giving him some room. Strangely, his face looked pale and sweaty. Had he really only gone to the infirmary for Attacus' sake?

"Is everything... alright?" he asked.

Prion Garnick looked around the room for a moment, seemingly trying to find his words.

Eventually he took a big breath and said, "Look, we're trying to keep this a secret from the other Prions... but I figure you have a right to know..." Leaning in closer, he whispered, "The Great Flame has gone out."

Attacus didn't know what to say. For a thousand years that fire had kept going, and know, on the day he received the final Holy Order, it died? That seemed like too much to be a simple coincidence.

"For now, we've told the others that Imran's Providence has been temporarily sealed while we decide what we will do with the space... now that it no longer houses the Holy Orders, of course. But that will not keep them sated for long. Sooner or later someone will discover the truth, and then there will be panic."

"I see," Attacus said, "But don't worry, I won't tell a soul."

Prion Garnick nodded, a relieved smile creeping over his worried features. As he turned to leave, Attacus recalled his dream.

"Prion Garnick, before you go, may I ask a question?"

Prion Garnick stopped in his tracks. "Of course!" he said, "What do you want to know?"

Attacus took a moment to compose his question. He couldn't simply tell Prion Garnick what his Holy Order was, nor could he let slip that he was planning regicide.

Instead, he settled on, "Prion Garnick, I'm curious, how many kings are there in the Flamelands?"

Prion Garnick gave him a strange look, replying, "I never took you as someone interested in politics, Prion Attacus, but I guess I can answer this. There are currently two kings in the Flamelands..."

Two? So there was still hope! Attacus might have to kill some other kingdom's ruler... preferably of the despotic type.

"No, wait, I'm wrong," Prion Garnick said, "King Relix of the kingdom of Lusaine was overthrown and killed by his military advisor, Commander Asher, about 60 years ago. So that would leave King Silas Fyrnorn as the only king left in the Flamelands... for now."

"For now?" Attacus asked, voice quivering. Had he been discovered already?

"Of course, if another king rises in one of our neighbouring countries then King Silas won't be the only king, right?"

"Right..." Attacus muttered, crestfallen.

Then it was true. Imran wanted him to kill Silas.

"Well, I hope you feel better! Good luck with your Holy Order, I'm sure it'll go well!" Prion Garnick exclaimed, before leaving the room.

"Oh... I really hope that it doesn't," replied Attacus, to the closed door.

<>

Attacus left the infirmary a short while later. There was nothing wrong with him physically, after all. As he walked out, his mind started to settle. He thought back on his training, and everything he had learnt about the Holy Orders. As Prion Garnick had said, Imran had written each Holy Order with a specific Prion in mind. Of all the Prions, only Attacus had grown up with Silas, and would thus be able to approach him without suspicion... assuming Silas hadn't forgotten about his promise.

There must have been a reason, as well, for wanting Silas dead. Imran had been able to see far into the future, and thus everything he had done and ordered must surely have fit into the future he saw. Perhaps by killing Silas, Attacus would save lives? Or was there some other reason that he could not even fathom?

Either way, he needed to go to Silas. And that meant going to Pyre, the capital.

He wondered if Silas had changed at all during their separation... would he still be that confident, righteous and kind man whom Attacus has spent his childhood chasing after?

Most likely.

A small part of him, however, hoped that Silas had changed. He hoped that Silas had become tyrannical, cruel and arrogant. It would make it easier to do what needed to be done...

As Attacus left the infirmary, he felt that only two paths lay before him. Either Silas hadn't changed and he would be killing his best friend and brother, or Silas had changed and he would be putting an end to a dreadful king.

Either path ended with Silas dead.

That was not a comforting thought.

<>

Less than an hour later, he had collected his things and was on his way to the front gate. He had contemplated staying in Origin overnight but eventually decided against it. The sooner he reached Pyre, the sooner he would have his answer. And besides, he didn't think he could handle all of the stares he was receiving.

Every Pre-Prion in Origin looked at him as he went past. Did they see him any differently, know that he was the Executor of Imran's Will? Or did they wonder, 'why him?'

As he approached the colossal gates that he had not passed through in ten years, he saw someone who did not look at him with awe or hope.

Luceel was sitting beside the gates, a large bag between her legs. She looked up as he approached, and it was immediately obvious that she had been crying.

As he drew nearer, she stood. Everything about her, her posture, face and body language, shouted that she didn't want to be there. But whatever Holy Order she had received had most likely told her to leave Origin.

"Um... sorry, about earlier," he said, not knowing how to act around her.

"It's... fine," she said, in a sharp tone.

"Are you heading out?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Ordinarily she would have given him a sarcastic eye-roll, but her expression did not change.

She looked at his pack before replying, "I am. What about you, where are you going?"

"I'm heading towards Pyre."

"Me too," she said, sounding strained, "I... I guess we can travel together... as long as you don't slow us down..."

Attacus briefly wondered if he was still dreaming. In the last ten years, she had never once offered to do anything together. And now she wanted to travel all the way to Pyre side by side?

"Are you sure?" he asked, half expecting her to start laughing at him and telling him how foolish he had been for believing her for even a second.

But no laughter escaped her lips.

"Yes. It'll be safer than travelling alone, and we can spend the night at my parent's estate. I'm sure that'll be better than searching for a barn to room in."

Attacus had no words. Not just travelling together, but allowing him into her familial home? Truly, Priarch worked in mysterious ways.

Without waiting for confirmation, she slung her pack over her shoulder and moved towards the gate.

"Come on, it's not far," she said, slipping through the crack.

As Attacus followed after her, he briefly wondered if the next time he entered Origin, he would be a murderer wanted for regicide. He shut down that thought as best as he could. All that mattered now was reaching Silas and accomplishing his Holy Order. After that, he would let Priarch decide his fate...

<>

The countryside around Origin was fairly nondescript. There were a few hardy trees, a river which ran Duskward towards Lake Elcaro -which was situated in a shallow and wide region of the Elcaric God Scar- and a well-worn path leading Northward. They took the path, moving in silence.

It had been an... eventful day, and yet, as they walked, no conversation passed between them.

It was to be expected, given their shared history. In the past ten years, they had only spoken when necessary. Despite being in the same class and only having eight other classmates, Luceel had seemingly gone out of her way to avoid socializing with him. He knew that she didn't like him, but her actions over the past decade transcended simple dislike.

It was as if she resented him for not just being near her, but for existing in the first place. How was he supposed to start a conversation with someone like that?

"This land has been part of my family's estate for generations," Luceel suddenly said, breaking the silence along with Attacus' preconceived notions.

"Oh," he replied, dumbfounded, "I thought that it belonged to the Church?"

"It does, in a way. The Church has a claim to everything that the land produces, from livestock to agricultural produce, but my family has claim to the land itself. It's an agreement which has bound the two together since my family arrived here."

"So the Church gets everything that comes from the land your family owns, but what does your family get?"

Luceel looked back for a moment. Origin, with its signature thick walls, heavyset front gate and silhouette of Imran's Providence in the fading light, stuck out from the surrounding landscape.

"Preferential treatment," she said, sighing, "In exchange for the land's bounty, the Church promised to always include a Voraine child in the Prion training, provided it was feasible. That way, the Voraine family can claim that it has produced more Prions than any other, and they have stayed relevant by being a part of shaping history."

"I see. So does the child have any say in the matter?"

Luceel said nothing.

Once more, silence filled in the gap between them, as they slowly made their way towards her family home.

<>

Priarch's remnant, the Eternal Flame, was nearing the horizon when they eventually reached a large continuous, stone wall, broken only by an equally large wrought iron gate. Two guards, wearing half-plate armour and wielding spears, stood before the gate. They wore the colours of House Voraine, green and white, in a checkered pattern.

"Halt!" the guard on the right called, lowering his spear to eye-level, "Who walks in the night?"

"A daughter of the light," Luceel answered, without any hesitation or trepidation.

The guard on the left came forward, spear dropping slightly. "Who do you serve?"

"I serve the world," Luceel replied.

Both guards nodded at her response. Attacus, however, was mystified.

"Lady Luceel-

"Prion," she barked.

"Ah... forgive me... Prion Luceel, my name is Custos, and it is an honour to have you grace these lands once more. If you would allow me to accompany you to the manor?"

Luceel nodded, and the guard produced a lantern from a nearby holder. Lighting it, he beckoned them closer, as his colleague wrested open the gate.

As they stepped forward, the man seemed to see Attacus for the first time.

"My Lady- Prion Luceel, if you would order your servant to remain here, I will take him to the servant's quarters once I have seen you to the manor?"

Attacus sighed. Even after ten years, people still looked at him and see something undesirable. He stole a glance at Luceel, wondering what she would say. If history had taught him anything, she would go along with the guard's suggestion, if only to humiliate him.

"You speak to Prion Attacus Lore, the last to receive Prophet Imran's guidance. If you wish to keep your position, you will kneel at his feet and beg for forgiveness," Luceel said, in a cold, demanding manner.

The guard immediately went pale. Dropping to his knees he started crawling towards Attacus.

But Attacus had seen enough men on their knees due to the whims of some entitled noble.

"Stand, guardian of House Voraine! I take no offense at your words. Even Prophet Imran, a fisherman by trade, struggled to be accepted by the people at first. You have done me no wrong," he said, in what he hoped was a voice filled with conviction and compassion.

The guard stood, slowly, glancing to Luceel the entire time. But she said nothing. Instead, she stared at Attacus with an expression he had never seen before. Admiration? No... that wasn't possible. The lighting was too poor for a clear look, anyway...

Shaking off his embarrassment, the guard reclaimed the lantern and gestured for them to follow him. In the distance, Attacus could make out a large building. A few lights flickered in a handful of windows, beckoning him close. At least he wouldn't have to spend his first night on a bed of hay...

<>

The path to the manor was deceptively long, especially with the shadows created from the fading light obscuring the way. After a time, they arrived at the manor. The building was grandiose in both design and scale, but it also had a sense of longevity. From the way that the masonry of the central structure differed from the outlying wings, it was clear that the manor had been built upon over many generations.

"I know," Luceel said, staring at his awestruck expression, "It's a bit small compared to the estates surrounding the capital, but mother and father refuse to waste any more money on expanding."

Attacus opened his mouth to reply that it was the biggest house he had ever seen, but the front door suddenly opening killed his words where they lay.

Standing in silhouette caused by the abundance of light within, two figures emerged. As Attacus' eyes adjusted to the sudden radiance, he saw the figures for who they really were.

The man had a pair of striking blue eyes. The woman possessed a mane of golden locks. And both bore an expression of utmost joy.

There could be no mistake. Attacus was looking at Luceel's parents.

"Luceelie!" her mother cried, bringing an instant blush to Luceel's pale cheeks.

"Daughter!" her father shouted, leaping forth and wrapping her in a tight embrace.

Attacus didn't know where to look, so his gaze found the guard instead. The man had still not regained his proper hue.

"Thank you, kind guardian," Attacus said, in a soothing tone, "I will make sure that the master knows that you performed your job admirably."

The guard instantly perked up. Wearing a nervous smile he bowed and said, "Thank you, Prion Attacus, for your kind words..."

With his task completed, he picked up his things and returned to his post.

Turning his attention back towards the happy family reunion, Attacus was greeted by two piercing stares.

"Luceel, would you care to introduce your... friend?" Her father said, obviously trying his best to sound welcoming.

"This is Prion Attacus Lore, we've been studying together for the last ten years," Luceel took a deep breath and added, "He is the 10000th Prion."

In a moment that was so fast as to be almost unseen, all colour drained from both parent's faces. But they were nobility, and had been trained to compose themselves in the face of unexpected news.

"I see..." Her father said, looking at her. A moment later, he turned to Attacus and, with a wide gesture, exclaimed, "Welcome, Prion Attacus Lore, to our humble home. We hope that you would grace us with your presence, and allow us to offer you bedding, a bath and perhaps a cooked beast?"

Attacus luckily caught Luceel's look before he answered. From her expression, it was clear that this was not an offer that could be refused.

"Thank you, Master Voraine, for your most generous offer. I will accept your hospitality, and may Priarch bless this house for many years to come."

Luceel's father gave a great smile in response, before turning to help Luceel with her things. Without being called, a servant appeared from nowhere and took hold of Attacus' pack. He thought about stopping the man, but then he remembered where he was.

As he made his way up the stairs leading towards the front door, he caught a few words of Luceel's parents' conversation...

"Well, she finally brought a man home, so let's not inspect the teeth of a given horse..."

Attacus, raised in a place bereft of any horses but with a surprising amount of horse manure, had no idea what the phrase meant, and thereby thought nothing of it.

<>

After an extensive tour of the manor and an even more extensive history of the Voraine family, they came together in the largest dining room. Looking around, Attacus reasoned that the shack he had grown up in could have fit inside the voluminous room ten times over and still had room to spare.

Lord Semper Voraine, which was Luceel's father's full title, had raised a glass of wine, silencing the table. Luceel, sitting beside Attacus for some unexplained reason, wore a look of fear. Clearly, she had heard an embarrassing speech or two from her father dearest in the past.

Lady Elyss Voraine, sitting beside him, had a hand on his side, looking ready to stop him in the event he went off script.

"This is a wondrous day, for Priarch has given us a great bounty! Not only has he returned my darling daughter to us after ten years spent apart, he has also seen fit to name her the 9999th Prion! Additionally, he has allowed her friend-

Luceel coughed. Loudly.

"-Fellow member of the Church, Prion Attacus, to share in our revelry. When last I saw Luceel, she was a sixteen year old girl, full of rebellious attitude and barely contained mischief. And now, ten years later, I see before me a woman who has matured beyond my wildest expectations. Truly, Priarch be blessed!"

They all took a sip of their wine, as was the custom. Luceel's sip seemed to go on for some time.

"Luceel, your mother and I could not be more proud of you! Ever since you were a child, we knew that you would not follow the same path as your sisters. No, you would not marry a noble from Hearthhall like Sillva, our eldest. Nor would you join a trading company and marry its chief, like Theressa, our second. No, your path lay bathed in Priarch's light, and we always knew that you would be a Prion like so many of your ancestors! And not just any Prion, but the ten... the second last one to receive Imran's guidance!"

Another pause, another sip. Again, Luceel didn't stop at one.

"I know that we are forbidden from asking about your Holy Order, but I am confident that no matter what Prophet Imran has asked you to do, you will do it with grace and confidence!"

Luceel, already drinking, coughed out a mouthful of wine. She stared daggers at Attacus, seemingly warning him to comment.

Wisely, his mouth stayed shut.

Semper, once more displaying the composure of the obscenely wealthy, did not even pause in his speech.

"But we cannot spend the entire night talking about our daughter, can we?" he asked, obviously rhetorically, but Attacus saw Elyss shake her head all the same. Semper, catching his wife's gesture, continued with, "So, Prion Attacus, I have not heard of House Lore before, are you from the borderlands?"

Attacus took a moment to answer. When he did, it was with a hesitant tone.

"I'm... I'm from Slumtown..."

The temperature in the room dropped several notches. Luceel, still recovering from her coughing fit, gave him a curious glance.

"Ah... well... just look at what you have made of yourself!" Semper said, recovering nicely, "I'm sure that your parents must be very proud!"

"They... they were Skullkin..." Attacus replied, in a small voice.

The temperature in the room edged closer towards freezing.

Elyss stared at her glass. Luceel bore a look of confusion. Perhaps she had never heard the term before? It wasn't unusual. It wasn't something that most people, especially nobles, ever dealt with.

"Oh... I'm sorry to hear that... You must have had a hard life..."

Attacus said nothing. Any words would just cheapen his struggles.

At that moment, a bevy of servants entered the room, holding plates.

"Of course, the Tama milk pudding, how could we have forgotten!" Elyss exclaimed, bringing some warmth back into the room.

Attacus ate the sweet dessert without complaint. Anything was better than returning to that conversation... Some things were better left unsaid, after all...

<>

The rest of the dinner went by without incident, aside from Luceel's continued unwarranted attacks on her wine glass. At the end of the evening, Semper and Elyss bade them a restful night before retiring to their room. Luceel went to freshen up, leaving Attacus alone.

It had been a duststorm of a day, but at least he had a roof over his head. He himself knew of many worse fates than a simple uncomfortable dinner.

Unsure of where to go, he took to wandering the halls, looking for his room. Eventually, his feet brought him to the kitchens, where a helpful cook directed him towards the servant's quarters. Apparently word had not yet spread from the front gate.

He was halfway to the squat building when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Luceel called, slurring a few of her words. It was clear that her attempt at freshening up had only been partially successful. She was wearing a white slip, which reminded Attacus that despite her harsh attitude, Luceel was still the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

Blushing slightly, he answered, "I was going to sleep, why?"

Luceel sighed, motioned towards the manor and said, "Not that way, you useless oaf! You're sleeping with me."

Silence filled the space between them. Time passed... an uncomfortable amount, by Attacus' measure.

Luceel, sporting a blush matching his own, stuttered, "Not... not like that! I meant that your room is next to mine!" She turned and marched off before he could apologize... although he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to apologize for.

Hurrying after her, he caught up to her as she reached the main entrance. They ascended the numerous staircases in complete silence, aside from the occasional _thump_ as Luceel's foot caught the side of the odd step.

Eventually they arrived at a set of doors. Luceel pointed at one, and then pointed at Attacus. He understood the gesture. As she stepped into her room, however, she stopped and said, "Don't even think about it," before slamming the door shut.

Thoroughly mystified, Attacus walked towards his quarters, whispering, "Good night," as he did so. It had been a strange day, and something told him that things would get stranger still.

# Chapter 3: What Could Have Been

Holy Order 9806: Start a farm close to Origin

Prion Tumul Marken

<>

Morning, Ashday, 20 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Attacus dreamt of his parents, and families, and strangely, Tama milk pudding.

He awoke in a bed which was not his own. He panicked for a moment, fighting his way out of the soft linen, until his mind shook off the last vestiges of the night. Sitting up, he found himself in a room that could have held his shack four times over.

Every ornament, every piece of furniture, every fixture, was most likely worth more money than he had ever held in his life.

But he was a Prion now, and he could not spend his life being dumbstruck by every display or wealth and power the world had to offer.

It hit him then, the full enormity of what had happened. He was a Prion. A full-fledged member of the Church of the Priarch. After ten years of training, he had finally fulfilled his dream.

Why then, did he feel so empty?

He had not grown up wanting to be anything. He had had no dreams or aspirations beyond living to see the next sunrise. He had lost everything, and the Church had given him something.

He had a purpose now, a divine mission, but after it was done? Would he even live to see a new sunrise, after committing regicide?

It was a worrying thought, and one that he would have to address in the near future.

<>

Attacus, Luceel, Semper and Elyss ate breakfast in a sun dappled courtyard, served by a legion of attentive servants. It was the Rising Hour, one of the four holy hours in the day, and lasted from the first glimmer of the Eternal Flame until Priarch's remnant cleared the horizon.

Luceel, holding her head with one hand and eating her meal with the other, was in no mood for conversation.

This fact, however, was lost on her parents, who were eager to catch up with their daughter.

"So, Luceelie, where are you headed after this?" Elyss asked, eliciting another grown from their child.

"We're heading to Pyre," Luceel replied.

Elyss turned to regard Attacus with a curious expression. "You're going together?" she asked, a small smile forming on her face.

"We just happened to have the same destination," Luceel answered, wincing as her spoon cluttered against her bowl. She was having sheep's blood soup, a well-known cure for Drinker's Remorse.

"I see..." Elyss replied, looking contemplative.

"Is there anything you can tell us about the capital?" Attacus asked, "I haven't been there since I left Slumtown."

Semper winced at the word, but quickly regained his composure. It was clear to Attacus that neither Voraine was used to entertaining someone of his... background...

"Not much that wouldn't be better understood by going there yourself," Semper replied, "Although I can tell you two things of note. The first is that this year's Festival of Flame is supposed to be the largest ever planned, although I don't know how they're going to top last year's. The second is that there has been some discontent from the nobility, especially House Beliere, over the king's special guest."

"Special guest?"

"We're not sure exactly who it is, but whoever it is causing quite the commotion amongst the upper ranks. Apparently it's quite the divisive topic in the capital, and no one can agree if it will turn out the way the king wants."

Attacus wanted to ask them about Silas, but he held himself back. It was no good relying on rumours and hearsay, given the nature of the topic. He could only confirm Silas' character with his own eyes... and after that...

At that point, Attacus wished that like Imran, he too possessed the power of foresight. It would certainly ease his conscience if he could see what Imran was trying to accomplish by asking him to kill the king.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Elyss exclaimed suddenly, bringing out a similar yelp from her daughter.

Motioning to one of the servants, she said, "I had been meaning to send someone to deliver this, Attacus, but if you are heading to Pyre, then perhaps you could do it for me? It is a gift for the one who brought us those wonderful Tama milk puddings." The servant came forward, holding a cloth bound package.

"Where is it due?" Attacus asked.

"Longwhistle Farm, it's just Dawnward of here. If you follow the main path you can't miss it!"

Attacus accepted the package, saying, "I would be happy to deliver it, Lady Voraine."

"Oh please, call me Elyss!" she replied. Turning to her daughter, who had managed to finish the strong tasting soup, she said, "Now, Luceelie, I can arrange for a carriage to take you straight to Pyre, if you would like that?"

The news that they would not be travelling together brought mixed feelings into his mind. On one hand, he knew that Luceel wasn't particularly fond of him, and it would probably be better for both of them to be apart... on the other hand, it would be lonely travelling to Pyre on his own...

Luceel looked up at the mention of her nickname. Her expression was... difficult to read. A few seconds later, she sighed and said, "Thank you mother, but that won't be necessary. I haven't been able to stretch my legs in a decade, and I think the walk to Pyre will do me some good. Additionally, if I'm not there to watch over him, who knows how much embarrassment Attacus could bring to the Church..." She was still wincing in pain, but a small smile, identical to her mother's, had appeared on her face.

"I see," Elyss repeated, once more looking contemplative. Her smile, if anything, had grown wider.

Attacus, somewhat relieved, continued to eat his breakfast. Aside from his two mothers, he had had little interaction with women before joining the Church. Even after spending ten years amongst them, he still had no idea how their minds worked, and he doubted that he ever would.

<>

Less than thirty minutes later, they were ready to leave. Luceel had regained her composure and, unfortunately, now wore her tell-tale grimace. Attacus thought about suggesting that she take the carriage after all, but something within him kept the words from leaking out.

The servants had cleaned their robes and packed their things, and had even thrown in a few morsels for the road. Attacus wanted to thank each one individually, but there was simply no time to do so. Instead, as he was leaving, he bowed towards the assembled staff and said, "Thank you, for your great hospitality. Imran himself would have been honoured to have been your guest."

The servants, ranging from maids to gardeners and everything in between, bowed as one. They were varied in age, gender, race and competence, and yet they moved simultaneously.

"Mother, I can't accept this," Attacus heard Luceel say, as Elyss proffered something which caught the light.

"Please, Luceelie? It may be of use to you on your journey, and goodness knows it's not doing us any good gathering dust in the vault..."

Luceel, after a moment's hesitation, took the item, handling it with great care.

"I shall not let it out of my sight," she whispered, stepping back. She slipped it into a pocket in her robes, however, before he could get a closer look.

Trying to dismiss his curiosity, he turned to his hosts and said, "Lord and Lady Voraine, I must thank you as well, for allowing me to share in your meals and sleep in your home. As my second mother often used to say, 'can I not enjoy the beauty of a rose, even if I did not plant it myself?' She meant that she loved me as a son, even though she had not borne me in her womb. In the same way I must thank you for allowing me to feel the warmth of a family that is not my own..."

"That is a very kind thing to say, Prion Attacus. Although Priarch blessed me with three lovely daughters, if he had given me a son instead, I would have wanted him to be like you," Elyss said, taking his hand.

"You honour me," Attacus replied, meaning every word.

Semper came forward then, and placed his arm around his wife.

"Now then, it is best if you are off. Longwhistle Farm is still a ways away, and beyond that, Aliark Village. If you continue Northward from the village, you will reach Pyre."

"Thank you, again, for everything," Attacus said, drawing forth his hand and bowing to the couple.

Gathering up his things, he retreated a short distance and waited for Luceel to say her goodbyes.

"Be safe," her mother said, wrapping her up in a warm embrace.

"We will see you at the Festival of Flame, provided you are still in the city," her father intoned, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"May Priarch favour you both, on your journey," they said together, as they watched their daughter leave once more. Hopefully, it would not be another decade before they saw her again...

<>

"You have a wonderful family... Luceelie..."

He couldn't help himself.

"Shut. Up."

"As you wish... Luceelie."

She had been mean to him for ten years... surely Priarch would forgive him if he returned a tiny portion of that treatment?

An hour after leaving the estate, the land had changed. The grass had withered, and what few trees remained were spindly and short. Rocky outcrops, shaped like knives, pierced the earth in random patterns. They were entering a region known as Erif's Reach, a large swathe of land which surrounded the Urnic God Scar and ran towards Mount Erif, the fiery mountain which lay a hundred great-paces Dawnward.

Luceel, despite having shown a warmer side of herself around her parents, had regained her icy disposition. Attacus tried to start a conversation, but was met with one word answers, often accompanied by a scornful look or malicious chuckle.

Mercifully, the appearance of Longwhistle Farm meant that he might find someone who was more interested in talking than his tight lipped colleague.

As they neared the large arch which denoted the farm's entrance, Attacus was hit by a scent he had not experienced in over ten years. He had grown up with it, after all.

Fertilizer.

"Ugh, what is that smell?" Luceel exclaimed, using her robe to try and mask her face.

"That, my young Prion, is the smell of hard work!"

From beyond the arch a man appeared, dressed in a labourer's brown overalls and bearing a weathered face which had obviously spent long hours in Priarch's embrace.

"Hard work smells like dung?" Luceel asked, voice muffled by her makeshift mask.

"Of course!" the man replied, "What did you think it smelled like, roses?"

Luceel said nothing.

"Greetings, my name is Prion Attacus Lore and this is Prion Luceel Voraine," Attacus said, "We are looking for the owner of this farm. We have a package from Lady Voraine."

The man, who looked to be approaching his middle years, laughed and replied, "Ah, I am glad that she received my Tama milk puddings, but she must have known that I didn't want anything in return..."

"You are the owner?" Attacus asked.

"Indeed, I am Prion Tumul Marken, the 9806th Prion and the owner of Longwhistle Farm!"

Luceel immediately spat the red fabric out of her mouth and exclaimed incredulously, "You're a Prion!?!"

Prion Marken did not even flinch.

"Yes, I am one of Priarch's chosen, and although my guidance has ended, I still serve the Church. Now, would you like to come inside? I would like to speak with you further, but before that, I am in need of some help."

"Anything for a servant of Priarch," Attacus answered, following Prion Marken.

Luceel, still rendered dumbstruck, did not move for several long seconds.

<>

Prion Marken led them towards the fields, where they saw several men and women, wearing wicker baskets on their backs, kneeling beside long, narrow mounds of earth. Green vines crisscrossed the mounds, and the workers would occasionally pull out a large green object from the mound before them and place it in one of their baskets.

"What are they doing?" asked Attacus.

"They are harvesting Tama fruit. Tell me, do they still teach Pre-Prions about the different seasons?"

"Yes," Luceel answered, always the perfect student, "Cultivar, the cultivation period, lasts from the month of Flaros to Kindlos. Sowlen, the sowing period, lasts from Sparos to Smollos. Fert, the fertilization period, lasts from Embos to Slumbos. Rize, the growth period, lasts from Betros to Blazzos. And finally Harvelar, the harvest period, lasts from Pyros to Ashos."

"A perfect answer! Well done, Prion Voraine," Prion Marken replied, his seemingly permanent smile growing slightly. "Now, in a few days, the harvest period will end, and I must start to prepare the fields for cultivation. However, a few of my workers have fallen ill and I am thus understaffed. If you have the time, would you mind helping me harvest the last of the Tama fruits? It won't take long..."

Judging from the look on Luceel's face, spending the morning helping out at a farm was not her idea of fun. However, strangely enough, it sounded quite nice to Attacus.

There was something about the farm, and Prion Marken, that made him feel... welcome.

"I will offer up my body for this task," Attacus said, "Although I cannot speak for my fellow Prion."

Luceel looked at him, and then the fields, and then back at him.

"Fine. I'll help out too. But only because you'll probably mess this up without me," she said, with a sneer.

"Priarch be praised!" Prion Marken exclaimed, "Surely even this was foreseen by Prophet Imran! My guidance might have ended, but it seems that he has not forgotten about me!"

Attacus was warmed by the thought, but at the same time, he wondered what Prion Marken, or any Prion for that matter, would say if they learned what his Holy Order was.

He doubted that it would be anything kind.

<>

After arriving at one of the furthest fields from the main house, Prion Marken beckoned for them to approach one of the dirt mounds that surrounded them.

"This is a Tama mound, and it is how we grow them. Tama fruit is, like many things, full of inconsistencies. It looks tough and imposing from the outside, and yet it is one of the most fragile crops we grow. It needs just the right climate, soil and care in order to survive, and even then, it can all be undone by a foolish farmer."

They watched as he reached into the mound and drew forth a Tama fruit. It was at least two hand-widths tall and one across, and had a hard, greenish shell which was crisscrossed by thin white lines. There was a thick green vine which connected one end of the fruit to the vines which covered the mounds.

"Do you see this vine?" Prion Marken asked the duo. When they both nodded, he continued, "This is the umbilical, and it connects every Tama fruit in the mound to a system of roots below the earth. It is very sensitive, and if it senses that the fruit has been damaged or destroyed it releases a substance which rots it from the inside out. I believe that this serves two purposes. Firstly it keeps the rest of the vine safe, in case a disease has infected one of the fruits. Secondly, it renders the affected fruit inedible, discouraging predators from consuming more."

"So how do you harvest it?" Attacus asked, thoroughly entranced. In all the years of his training, he had consumed a great deal of information, but this was the first time he felt interested in what he was learning.

"With this," the Prion turned farmer replied, pulling out a knife from a pouch at his side. It was at least two hand-widths long and had a straight, serrated blade with a hole, big enough for a single finger to fit through, at the base of the blade.

"The Tama knife allows us to make a quick, sharp cut, severing the umbilical completely. If done correctly, this prevents the vine from rotting, and ensures that the fruit remains viable. Here, watch," he said, bringing the knife to the base of the fruit where the umbilical attached.

With a sudden jerk, he sliced the vine in a clean motion, severing it completely.

"I apologize if I made it look too easy," he said, handing the fruit to Attacus, "But I'm sure you'll both have it down in no time."

Handing the knife to Attacus, he continued, "Now, make a small incision at the other end of the shell."

Attacus did so, driving the blade into the hard covering. As he did so, an errant thought stole over his mind. Was this what it would feel like to drive a knife into a person?

An image of Silas, as Attacus remembered him, flashed across his mind. And then it was gone.

A moment later, a stream of whitish liquid began flowing from the hole.

Prion Marken instructed them to both drink from the hole, which brought a look of revulsion to Luceel's pretty features.

Attacus, however, complied without complaint.

As the liquid touched his lips, he drew back and exclaimed, "Its sweet!"

"It is, isn't it?" Prion Marken exclaimed, "The milk of the Tama fruit is highly prized for both its flavour and its uses. It can be made into Tama milk pudding, naturally, but it can also be curdled and eaten as a meal. The leftover fruit, after being drained, can also be used to store water and other liquids, and I hear that it can also be used as an instrument if properly treated."

"Priarch be praised," Attacus said, awestruck. Eventually, they got Luceel to taste the Tama milk, and even she could not help but grin at the taste.

"Now, it's your turn," Prion Marken said, handing Luceel another Tama knife and motioning for them to start the harvest.

Kneeling down, Attacus reached into the earthy mound, feeling for the hard fruit. As he did so, he felt something inside him bloom.

For the first time, in a very, very long time, he felt... joy.

<>

Two hours later, around mid-morning, they were done. Attacus lay back against the mound, covered in dirt and sweat, holding the last Tama fruit in his hand.

Luceel, somehow having managed to stay clean, sat nearby. In her hands was another Tama fruit, however, unlike the vivid green of the one in Attacus' possession, hers was a dark blue, bordering on black.

A sure sign that it had rotted from the inside.

Tama harvesting, they had discovered, was not for her.

"Argh!" she exclaimed, hurling the useless fruit as far away from her as her strength would allow.

Attacus, wisely ignoring her outburst, placed his fruit alongside its kin. His basket was full of green miracles.

"You have a talent for this, my young Prion," Prion Marken said, whilst strolling over. On his back he sported an identical basket, also filled to the brim with the sensitive fruits.

"Thank you for your kind words, and thank you for allowing me this opportunity. However, I have but one question... when we arrived, I smelled a great deal of fertilizer, but I have yet to see what it is used for?"

Prion Marken smiled a mischievous smile. "Why, my young Prions, what did you think the mounds were made of?"

Luceel's outraged scream carried on for some time.

<>

The sun was heading towards Priarch's Hour when they made it back to the farmhouse. Inside, some of the workers had created a great feast to celebrate the last day of harvest. Naturally, the two of them were starving, and eagerly agreed to participate.

As they sat at the end of the long wooden table covered in the land's bounty, Prion Marken told them about himself.

"I was about your age when I started this farm, and, like you, I had no experience with it whatsoever. My first harvest was... well, a disaster, but I persevered and now, I own one of the largest farms in Erif's Reach."

"But how did you know that things would turn out okay?" Attacus asked.

"I didn't. I just trusted in Priarch and Imran, and I kept working at it. There is something so simple and rewarding about working a farm, as I'm sure you now know."

Attacus nodded. Luceel... didn't.

"This is a place where hard work truly does breed success. For every effort you put in, the land will reward you in turn. As I came to understand, you can't bear the harvest without working the fields. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so..." Attacus replied.

"I thought that you would. Something tells me that you know hardship better than most..."

Attacus hesitated for a moment before replying, "I... I grew up in Slumtown."

Prion Marken looked at him, regarding him with what seemed like a fresh set of eyes.

"As you know, Priarch never gives us challenges without meaning. I think that your journey so far is a testament to this. To know the value of hard work is a blessing, never forget that. So I believe that no matter what Imran has asked of you, you will be able to overcome it."

Attacus said nothing for a long time. He was conflicted, and it tore at his soul. On one hand, Prion Marken had been nothing but generous with his wisdom and kindness, but on the other... Attacus could not help but think of what would happen after his Holy Order was completed. Would the man before him spit in his face for killing their king? Would Semper and Elyss cheer as he was dragged away to be executed? Would Luceel laugh as he faced the gallows?

He wanted to tell them. He wanted to warn them. He wanted to let them know that he was not someone to be encouraged, let alone befriended.

But mostly, he just wanted someone to talk to.

"Thank you, Prion Marken, I will not forget your words," he said, eventually.

What else could he say?

<>

After the leftover food had been cleared away, Prion Marken fetched the package he had been given. Opening it, he let out a delighted sound, as it was revealed to contain a brand new Tama knife. It was of much higher quality than the ones that Attacus and Luceel had used, and was a testament to the Voraines' wealth.

"What luck! I had been meaning to replace mine," Prion Marken said, drawing forth the blade that Attacus had used.

Holding the two knives up, it was clear that they were a world's apart in quality. Strangely, Attacus felt an odd attachment to the knife. Perhaps spending several hours with it in hand had left an impression on him... a reminder that knives need not only be used to wound, but also to harvest.

"Here," the older Prion said, handing Attacus the well-worn Tama knife, "I have no further need for it, but I think it would serve you well as a memento. Take it, and whenever you are confused as to what to do next, remember my words."

"I am honoured," Attacus replied, taking the knife with great care.

Luceel, having stayed silent for most of the meal, finally spoke, "It's just a knife. I've trained with swords that would make that thing look like a hairpin."

Attacus shook his head, saying, "It's whatever I want it to be. And I will keep it with me, always."

"Fine," she snarled, rising from the table.

"Prion Marken, we must be going if we are to reach Aliark Village before the Fading Hour. Thank you... for... the food?"

Prion Marken nodded towards her, and helped them gather up their things.

<>

A short while later, they were standing once more before the entrance arch. Luceel had gone ahead, clearly tired of the farm and all that it entailed.

Attacus, however, struggled to pick up his feet. A part of him, a surprisingly large part, didn't want to leave. The farm felt like home. Not Slumtown, but a real home, full of warmth and purpose. It was that same warmth that he had hoped to find in Origin, but which had never come to him.

"Prion Attacus, a word before you leave?" Prion Marken asked, walking towards him.

As if he needed a reason to delay his departure by even a second.

"Yes, Prion Marken?"

Before speaking, Prion Marken looked towards the fields, a proud expression on his weathered face.

"There was a time when it was just me and a small patch of dirt. But now I have more fields than sense, and I am finding it harder to keep up. Once you have finished your business in Pyre, do you have any other plans?"

Aside from being arrested for regicide? No.

"Not at present," Attacus said instead.

"Perfect! I was hoping that you might care to return here, when you are able? You have a gift with this work, and I am sure that you would be a valuable addition to the staff!"

Him, working the fields? It was a tempting offer... a very tempting offer...

But he couldn't. Prion Marken was a good man, and good men did not deserve to work with murderers...

"I am honoured by your offer, but I am sorry, Prion Marken... I don't think that will be possible. It is not a matter of desire, but of duty."

Prion Marken looked crestfallen for a moment, but recovered well. "I understand. However, I will keep my offer open, in case things change. And I want you to hold onto that Tama knife, along with the words I spoke to you. Imran isn't the only one we can derive guidance from, after all..."

Attacus bowed in thanks, before turning to leave. As he did so, he felt the blade in its pouch, wondering if he would ever get to use it again.

Hurrying to catch up to Luceel, he mused over the words he had been told.

He would try and understand why Imran had chosen him for this task. He would meet with Silas before fulfilling his duty. He would do whatever was asked of him...

And he would work the fields before he reaped the harvest.

# Chapter 4: The God Scars

Holy Order 9743: Sabotage the Royal Mill during Ashrise

Prion Mentan Garnick

<>

Noon, Ashday, 20 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Leaving Longwhistle Farm, they continued on the path towards Aliark Village. The land, previously flat, had grown tumulus as they approached the Urnic God Scar.

After several minutes of hurried walking, Attacus had finally caught up to Luceel, who once more wore a frown. As he approached, she turned and glared at him.

"You are to tell no one of what happened back there, understood?" she snarled, and for a moment he was confused as to her meaning.

"You mean how you weren't able to successfully harvest a single Tama fruit?"

She said nothing.

"Prion Marken did say that it was a difficult task, even for experienced workers. Honestly, I think I just got lucky," he said, trying to soothe her emotions.

"Ever since I joined the Church... no, ever since I was born, I have excelled at everything I ever tried. Swordplay, studies, even sociability. Today was the first time I failed at anything... and you will tell no one."

Attacus thought about keeping quiet. The old him certainly would have. The old him had learnt that, in order to survive in Origin, where he was the odd one out, the best strategy had been to keep his head down. He had spent ten years not getting in anyone's way, doing the tasks that they had found repugnant, and enduring Luceel's frequent abuse.

But he was a Prion now.

"I admire you, Luceel, for what you did today," he began, earning him a fierce look from his travelling companion. Clearly she thought that he was being sarcastic. Continuing in the face of her stare, he said, "You tried something new, and even though it did not work out, you did not give up. I, of all people, know just how much effort you put into everything you do... Did you think that I did not see the light in your room, even during the Sinner's Hour? While we slept, you studied. While we played, you studied. While we ate, you studied. I am sure, that if you were to continue to practice, you would be better at harvesting Tama fruits than anyone... because that's just who you are."

He meant every word. They had never gotten along, but he had always admired her work ethic. Perhaps if things had gone differently, they might have ended up as friends...

Although he wasn't quite sure what it had been that had earned her ire in the first place...

Surprisingly, she didn't shout at him. Instead, a small blush rose to her cheeks. Turning away, she stammered, "Of course I would be the best... you oaf... I just didn't want you to embarrass yourself by failing at this too..."

Attacus smiled. It was getting easier to do so, he noticed, since leaving Origin.

With the atmosphere between them slightly warmer, they continued onwards towards their destination.

<>

An hour and a half after Priarch's Hour, they arrived at Aliark Village. It was a small village, serving mostly as a rest stop for travellers on their way to and from Pyre. The village was bordered Dawnward by the Urnic God Scar, one of the many great fissures that crisscrossed the kingdom. Running at its deepest point, almost a great-pace –equal to one thousand paces- from the surface, was the Urnic River, which brought fresh water to every town and village along its route. The God Scars, while imposing and a hassle to cross, nevertheless served as the lifeblood of Vuria. Without them, the arid land would never have survived.

Upon arrival, however, there were no signs of life.

This did not cause any alarm, for Attacus knew exactly where the people would be.

Heading further into the village, they passed row after row of quaint thatch cottages. This was a place of peace, and its people had likely never known suffering. They soon came to the centre of the village, a wide open space which had deliberately been left undeveloped.

Every resident strong enough to walk had gathered in the space, which ordinarily would have been used for village meetings and the occasional market.

But today was special. It was the second tenth day of the month, and that meant that it was a Holy Day. A Prion, dressed in white robes, signifying that she had completed her Holy Order, was giving a sermon to the crowd.

Beside her was the remains of a great candle, which, as Attacus had been taught, would burn for exactly 100 minutes, the exact length of a sermon. When it died, the sermon would end, and would not reoccur for another ten days.

As they got closer, they became able to hear what she was preaching.

"And now, with our prayers sent to the Eternal Flame, we have an occasion worth celebrating! Mikal, the child of Gretta and Huin, turned one years old three days ago! As all of you know, when a child turns one, we grant them the Waxmark, to symbolize that they are a child of Priarch! Will the parents please bring the blessed child forward!"

Immediately, a man and a woman stepped forward, beaming with pride and joy. Held in the father's arms was an infant, swaddled in red cloth as the customs demanded.

He was brought forth by the couple, until they stood before the remnants of the candle. Extending a slender hand, the Prion reached out and placed a single finger on the rim of the candle. She withdrew it a moment later, holding a drop of wax on the tip of her finger. Leaning forward, she placed the wax on the infant's forehead and drew a circle, eliciting a wail from the pained child.

A moment later, the wax hardened, leaving behind a white circle on the child's head.

The Waxmark.

"From this day forth, this child, Mikal, belongs to Priarch. He will grow under the ever watching Eternal Flame! He will serve the land and its people, and he will prosper so long as Priarch wills it. And one day, hopefully many years from now, he will die. If he has abstained from the sins of the Void, he will be cremated, and his embers will float up towards the Eternal Flame on wings of ash. There, he will spend eternity in peace and warmth, as he waits for Judgement Day, when the Eternal Flame will grow in size and cover the sky, and all people will be raised up and join in Priarch forever!"

Taking the babe from its parents, the Prion raised it up overhead, so that the entire village could see the Waxmark. As she did so, a great cheer rose amongst the people, and many began to dance and sing.

Attacus, wearing a matching smile, walked forward, towards the people.

<>

Prion Ameerah Sereb, the 9902nd Prion, stood at the head of the table. Before her was the entire village, gathered together for the traditional feast to mark the end of every sermon. Gossip would be shared, plans would be made and the people would come together for a short time, hopefully putting aside any grudges or disputes as they did so.

Despite having eaten just a few hours before, Attacus found himself starving. Without restraint, he gladly scooped up various meats and cheeses from the platters before him. As he ate, Luceel conversed with the village's Prion.

"Prion Sereb, thank you for having us," Luceel said, with a humble tone.

It was not a tone that suited her, Attacus decided.

"It is my pleasure, Prion Luceel, to welcome the two of you into my village. With so many people travelling through here on their way to Pyre for the Festival of Flame, it is nice to find those who aren't in a hurry."

"Have you been in Aliark Village long, Prion Sereb?"

"Almost ten years now, if my calendar is still accurate. I came through here while I was following my Holy Order, and the people treated me very well. After my guidance had ended, I came back, determined to repay their kindness in any way I could. Their own Prion had gone forth to join Priarch in his eternal embrace the year prior, so I decided to stay. What about the two of you?"

Luceel glanced over in his direction, a strange expression on her face. It certainly wasn't one that she had shown him during their ten years of training. He had absolutely no idea what it meant.

"We are heading towards Pyre, so that we might follow Imran's Will. Attacus is the Executor, and I have my own task... although I am finding it hard to complete at the moment..."

"Have faith, Prion Luceel, Imran would never ask something that cannot be done. I am sure that in time, you will find a way to complete your Holy Order," Prion Sereb said, placing her hand on Luceel's shoulder.

Turning to Attacus, she continued, "Although I was expecting someone a little... well, more... I am honoured to have the Executor of Imran's Will in my village. I am sure that you will do great things, both for the Church and the kingdom."

Attacus looked at his plate. Suddenly, his appetite had vanished. Every time he let himself forget about what lay at the end of his path, something came along to remind him.

Was that Imran's doing as well?

"Thank you, Prion Sereb, for your kind words. I will do my best to make them my own..."

"Good! Now, you are most likely tired from your long journey, but I do have a favour to ask, if you would listen?"

Attacus sighed quietly, sensing a pattern emerging.

<>

For the rest of the day, they spoke with Prion Sereb and the villagers. They learnt about life beside the Urnic God Scar, about how every morning the men of the village would descend the set of steep stairs cut into the canyon wall and bring back buckets full of water from the river below. They learnt about the latest births, deaths and marriages in the village, and who was most likely to propose next. They learnt about things that they never would have considered important and would most likely never use.

All in all, they spoke to the point of hoarseness.

That night, after the Fading Hour, when the Eternal Flame dipped below the horizon, they retired to Prion Sereb's home. It was a humble dwelling, situated in the heart of the village, in case she was needed in the night.

They had gathered around a table in her central room, upon which lay several rolls of parchment.

"These," she said, picking one up, "Are lessons that I have been trying to teach the children of the village. I have had success with the Parabils, but the more advanced content hasn't been as well received. I have been trying to simplify the information within, and I wanted someone to read over them and tell me what they think. I had been planning on asking the elders of the village, but two young Prions will do much better, don't you think?"

Handing a page to Attacus, she continued, "This deals with the creation of the world, the Plasmology. I have tried to summarize the events to make it easier to follow. Please read over it and tell me what you think."

Handing a seemingly identical page to Luceel, she said, "And this is a summary of the various Holy Days which occur throughout the year. If there is anything missing, please let me know."

With that said, she retreated into the back room, closing the door behind her.

Luceel took the page and moved over to a comfy chair by the window. Attacus, finding nowhere else to go, took a seat at the table. Rubbing his tired eyes, he started to read...

<>

THE VOID

In the beginning, there was but a single flame, flickering in the infinite Void. That flame was Priarch, the Original God and God of Beginnings and Endings.

THE FLARE

Priarch desired to fill the Void with light and matter, and so he burned brighter, filling the Void with warmth.

THE KINDLING

His embers became the stars in the sky. From his ash he fashioned the world.

THE SPARKS

From his smoke he fashioned new life, six deities that he made to carry out his will. Amat, the eldest son, God of Life and Love. Vuri, the eldest daughter, Goddess of Death and Hate. Bal, the middle son, God of Land and Underland. Ciel, the middle daughter, Goddess of Sky and Sea. Lusa, the youngest son, God of Men, and finally, Eta, the youngest daughter, Goddess of Women.

THE SMOLDERING

However, after exerting himself, Priarch needed to rest to recover his energy.

THE EMBERS

While he slept, his children added to his creations, with Amat creating the beasts of the land, sea and sky; Vuri creating the oceans and rivers; Bal creating the mountains and plains; Ciel creating the skies. Eta and Lusa, desiring to be equal to their siblings, fashioned smaller beings in their likeness, which became man and woman.

THE SLUMBER

For aeons, the Gods and mortals lived in peace, as Priarch slowly recovered.

THE BETRAYAL

However, when he eventually awoke, he saw that his children had turned his creations away from his light and claimed his works as their own. They had betrayed him, and scorned his love and light.

THE BLAZE

In anger he struck out against them, but they had foreseen his rage and were ready for him.

THE PYROCLASM

Combining their might they fought against their father, breaking the land with their struggle.

THE ASHENING

In the end, Priarch was defeated and was cast out into the Void, and all that remained of him was a small light in the sky, the Eternal Flame. However, he is not gone from this world, and will one day return, to judge all that has been done in his absence.

<>

Attacus dreamt of Priarch fighting his own children. He dreamt of the world trembling under their blows, as great fissures tore through the earth.

He dreamt of life, and death.

And then Luceel hit him over the head with a candle, and he dreamt no more.

"Wake up, you pitiful excuse for a Prion," she said, with a snarl, "We can't go to sleep until we've finished reading all of these." Behind her was a large stack of parchment, easily a pace high.

Sighing, he tried to shake off his sleepiness and got back to work.

As he moved to grab another lesson from the pile, he overheard Luceel talking to herself.

"It's impossible... It can't be done... no matter how hard I try..."

Whatever lesson she was busy reading, it must have been exceedingly difficult, to stump even her.

Thankful that it was not one of the ones in his pile, he picked up a parchment which, at first glance, gave a summary of Imran's life, from fateful storm to final sermon.

At that moment, he was envious of Imran, who had told others what to do, but whom had never had a Holy Order to complete. What he wouldn't give to be free...

<>

Eventually, and with Luceel doing the majority of the work, they finished reading every lesson. Attacus, sleep deprived and head pounding, now understood how frustrated Luceel had been during the Tama fruit harvest. Studying was her realm, and it was one that she enjoyed greatly. If it meant being the best in something, and being able to show off how much she knew, Luceel would work harder than anyone.

The following morning, they sat around the table, eating a breakfast provided by the villagers. Apparently it was a daily ritual for them, a form of almsgiving to their resident Prion.

"So... anything I could do better?" Prion Sereb said, with a small smile on her face. Unlike Attacus and Luceel she looked well rested... almost annoyingly so.

Luceel, naturally, went first.

"Regarding your lesson on the Holy Days, I thought that you could restructure it to better emphasize the link between Embershine and Ashrise. Embershine, marks the birth of Prophet Imran, and the carving and subsequent burning of a full tree trunk creates the ashes which are later used in Ashrise. Ashrise is meant to be a sombre event, due to it marking the day of Imran's passing, so the words used should convey that feeling. The children who gather up the ashes and place them inside the parchment lanterns might otherwise think that it is a game to be played. Instead, as they watch the ash-filled lanterns ascend skyward, where they will eventually burn up and disperse the ashes on the wind, they should behave in an appropriate manner."

Prion Sereb had lost her smile.

"Thank you, Prion Luceel. That was very... informative. And what of Stormseer, the day when we celebrate Prophet Imran's near drowning and first vision? Is there anything there I could do better?"

The tone in her voice made it clear that she didn't think that there was.

Attacus, never a good judge of character in the best circumstances, felt as though he understood why Prion Sereb had assigned them this task. She had not, in fact, wanted any changes suggested. Instead, she had most likely just wanted people to tell her that her lessons were flawless. In that regard she would have had more luck with the village's elders than with Luceel, who had been known to correct her teachers on more than one occasion.

"Ah, yes, I was getting to that," Luceel replied, whilst simultaneously ignoring the small groan which escaped Prion Sereb. "The practice of extinguishing every flame in the kingdom for an entire day might seem strange for the children, so I would use the Parabil of the Drowning Man to explain that, although we almost lost Prophet Imran on that fateful day, it was actually within Priarch's plan for him. Had Prophet Imran not almost drowned, he would not have been able to receive his gift of foresight, and the Church as we know it would not exist."

"I see," Prion Sereb said, in a tone that grew colder with every passing word.

The next hour was... tortuous... to say the least.

Attacus, determined to simply praise each lesson and move on, was eventually reduced to prayer as Luceel began interjecting and adding her own comments on the lessons he had read.

Apparently, she had read from his pile too.

It was going to be a long morning.

<>

An hour later, they left Aliark Village. By the end of things, Prion Sereb had been practically pushing them out of the door. Luceel, seemingly unaware of the damage she had caused, had thanked the poor Prion.

She had even promised to return in the future, and continue their discussion.

For a moment, Attacus thought that Prion Sereb would faint upon hearing this, but she had managed to stay on her feet.

They had crossed the Urnic God Scar without incident; its wooden bridge bearing their weight just at it had done for the thousands of travellers who had come before them.

Now heading Northward, they had entered the region known as Kynda's Embrace, so named for the ancient name for Pyre, which had changed at the behest of Prophet Imran. The region surrounded the capital, which was situated on a plateau completely enclosed by the Pyric God Scar. Its remoteness had allegedly attracted the first settlers of Vuria, a travelling tribe looking for safety and finding it atop an unassailable natural fortress. Since the time of the Flameland's settlement, some one thousand three hundred years prior, the capital had never fallen to outside forces.

As they walked, they were joined by others making the journey. At first, there were a handful more to share the road, but after a few hours, they had joined a great throng of people heading towards Pyre.

It stood to reason that at least some of them were heading into the city in preparation for the Festival of Flame, but the rest were surely there to either trade, visit family or find work. Pyre, the largest city in the kingdom and the seat of the throne, was the place everyone wanted to be.

Even Attacus, feeling apprehensive about his Holy Order and his reason for visiting the city, had a smidgen of excitement at the prospect of visiting the city after ten years.

Would it still look the same? Had Silas done anything about Slumtown? Was Edda looking after her son with the same grace and wisdom she had shown him?

And what would she say, when he killed her son?

No... he couldn't think about that now. It was too painful a thought. Perhaps even more painful than the act itself would be...

"There seems to be a problem up ahead," Luceel said, breaking Attacus free from his worries.

Inwardly, he thanked her, while outwardly he said, "What do you think it is?"

Before Luceel could answer, they found themselves at the front of the queue. Before them, located just beyond the Great Bridge, was their destination. However, there were no people moving across the stonework bridge.

Moving forward, they soon located the source of their problem. Two merchants, each leading a great caravan of servants and carriages, had blocked the path. From the sound of their argument, it seemed like neither one would move out of the way.

Most people, faced with this situation, would keep their heads down and wait for a solution to be found.

But Prions had been trained to resolve conflict, whether it was between neighbours arguing about whose cattle could feed first, to arguments between towns over forestry rights.

Rolling up their metaphorical, and it Attacus' case, literal, sleeves, the two Prions got to work.

After a quick conversation about their plan, they split up, with Attacus heading towards the outbound merchant. When they reached the feud, which was growing his intensity, the two men turned and opened their mouths simultaneously, reading to shout off anyone who got in the way of their heated discourse.

When they saw that it was two Prions, their mouths slammed shut.

"Ah, now look here you fool, these two fine Prions have come to prove that you are wrong, and tell you to move your caravan out of the way!" the inbound merchant proclaimed, after recovering from his shock.

"It is you who are the fool, you goat-carrying lump of lard! They are clearly here to side with me!" screamed the outbound merchant, also recovering quickly.

"We are here to settle this peacefully, and not to take sides, is that understood?" Luceel announced in a powerful voice. Immediately, silence settled over the duo.

"Prion Attacus and I will discuss the matter after hearing from both parties, and after we have made a judgement, it will be final. Do you all understand?"

The two men, both swarthy and easily towering over Attacus, nodded meekly.

<>

Half an hour later, the two men shook hands, having agreed on a reasonable arrangement. The outbound merchant would move his caravan off the bridge first, but would buy the inbound merchant's spoiled produce, which had rotted in the midday sun. This, unsurprisingly, lead to applause from the surrounding travellers

After the merchants had moved away from one another and started to move their respective caravans, Attacus and Luceel came together once more.

"So..." Luceel started, a small grin on her pretty face, "What did you tell your merchant to get him to agree to the deal?"

Attacus looked around to make sure that none of the other travellers could hear them. It wouldn't do the public good to learn the secret negotiation techniques of the Church.

"I regaled him with the Parabil of the Stubborn Son," he said, eventually.

Luceel gave him a look of disbelief. "And that worked?"

Attacus let out a nervous laugh before adding, "I also implied that if he didn't stop fighting he would be doomed to an eternity in the Void when he died."

Luceel's look changed from disbelief to admiration.

"Clever," she said, after a time.

"And you? What did you say to your merchant?"

Luceel looked around them, once more checking to see if anyone nearby was listening. When she turned to face him again, she had an odd mixture of shame and pride.

"I told him that I was a daughter of House Voraine, and that if he didn't move out of the way I would ensure that he never got another trading contract for the rest of his life..."

Well, that explained the look of pride, but where did the shame come in?

"Ah, well that's not so ba-

"I also threatened to smack him over the head in front of all of his employees..."

Ah.

There it was.

<>

A short time later, they were crossing over the Great Bridge. Standing on the intricate stonework, it became even more apparent that the entire structure was an engineering marvel. It had been constructed by Prion Divos Archet, the 23rd Prion, and many in the Church speculated that it had been his Holy Order.

Thinking about the bridge's construction led to him thinking about the power of Holy Orders. A few words on a parchment had led to a bridge that spanned the widest God Scar in Vuria. Even more impressive was that the feat had been accomplished in less than ten years.

And now, because of one Prion's actions almost a thousand years ago, he was now easily crossing the God Scar which would have stumped his ancestors.

If a single Holy Order could have such an effect, then what could his do? The last Holy Order, borne by the Executor of Imran's Will... everyone was expecting great things from him.

Looking up, he observed the city rising before him. Somewhere inside, Silas was waiting for him.

And soon... Attacus would be forced to kill his brother, and break his mother's heart.

He could only hope that by doing so, he would ultimately be helping both the Church and the kingdom.

At that time... he hoped that Imran had been right in choosing him.

Because if he had chosen wrong... this could end with a lot more than a single death...

# Chapter 5: Pyre

Holy Order 1202: Create a place honouring the nobility in Pyre, let none of low birth enter it.

Prion Loka Lokal

<>

Noon, Flariday, 21 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Encircled by a fifty pace high wall and bordered by the deepest God Scar in Vuria, Pyre was an imposing sight.

During times of war, many an invading army had made it through countless battles, fighting into Vuria's heartland, only to lose hope at the sight of the impregnable city. It had never fallen. It had never been breached.

And everyone inside hoped that this would never change.

But the nations surrounding Vuria thought differently. The Barthan Empire, located Dawnward, watched Vuria with hungry eyes, looking for any sign of weakness. The alliance between Rey-Amat, Son-Amat and Lut-Amat, located Northward, continued to press up against the border. Lusaine, once a steadfast ally, had closed off all communication after the rebellion led by Commander Asher had succeeded in overthrowing King Relix.

However, looking at the swarm of people flowing into the city, Attacus could not help but feel at ease. This was not a place preparing for war.

But what if Vuria was to suddenly lose its king?

Attacus tried not to think about the chaos that would ensue.

"So, we've finally made it to Pyre," he said, standing beside Luceel.

She too was staring at the city in awe. From what he had gathered from her parents, she had grown up on the estate, and had only ventured to the capital a handful of times. She was a stranger here... although in a sense, he was as well.

"Yes... we have," she said, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Um...do you know where you're headed next?"

Although in reality it had only amounted to two and a half days of travelling together, his time with Luceel had felt far longer. He had witnessed a new side to her... well, several new sides... and it had caused him to re-evaluate what he thought he knew about her.

She was still mean, and haughty, and self-confident bordering on arrogant, but she was so much more than that.

She was a daughter. And a student. And a teacher. And... for a while when it had seemed possible... a friend.

But this is where their journey together ended. Luceel would go her own way, and most likely complete her Holy Order without breaking a sweat. After that? Perhaps she would return to Origin, and start lecturing the Pre-Prions on everything that they did not know. Or perhaps she would take up her family's mantle, and mingle with high society as an heir to House Voraines wealth and power.

Or perhaps she would meet someone in the city, and marry them, bearing a great many children to him.

That thought, strangely enough, bothered him most of all.

"Yes," she eventually replied.

"Um... can you tell me where? Not that it matters to me, I just want you to be safe... there are parts of Pyre that aren't exactly friendly to people of your... status."

Luceel responded with a cold stare, although there was also a hint of warmth in her eyes.

"I don't need you to worry about me, I can take care of myself just fine. If anything, you should tell me where you are headed, so that I can make sure you don't cause a scandal which could hurt the Church's reputation."

Well... it couldn't hurt to tell her the truth, could it?

"I'm heading towards the palace. I need to speak with the king."

That got a reaction out of her. Raising one eyebrow, she replied, "How... fortunate for you. I am heading towards the palace as well. I... need to speak with some of the nobles... about something."

"I see! I guess Imran really wants us to be together, don't you think?"

"How did you- she began, with a panicked expression, but after stopping to catch her breath, she restarted, "You must be a true idiot if you think that. Imran knew all and saw all, but even he would not be so cruel as to force me to spend one minute longer in your company than absolutely necessary."

"Sorry," Attacus mumbled, feeling hurt, "I didn't mean to imply that-

"Attacus Lore, the Skullchild himself! Could it really be you?!?" came a loud, boisterous voice. For a moment Attacus panicked, thinking that Silas had somehow found him already. He wasn't ready for that reunion... not yet.

Silas, however, had never called him by that nickname. In fact, there was only one person who had.

Turning around, Attacus confirmed his theory. Standing a few paces away, dressed in an obnoxious amount of silk layers, was his old friend, Philharmon Dolbey.

"Philharmon!" he exclaimed, as the former court musician came closer. In the ten years since he had seen him last, little had changed about the man... well, except for an expanding waistline and a few more chins.

"My goodness, and who is this beauty beside you? Surely you did not run off and find a wife, you old street rat!"

Before Attacus could explain, Luceel announced, in a voice colder than ice, "I am Prion Luceel Voraine, unmarried and unbound, and you will apologize for that grievous insult."

Philharmon, who had spent years dealing with drunk nobles at his bar, did not even bat an eye.

"A thousand pardons, Prion, I meant no disrespect. I was merely caught up in the exuberance of meeting my old friend here."

"Old friend?" Luceel asked, with a questioning gaze.

"Well... more like parasite, but we do go a ways back. Attacus here used to come and beg for scraps from my eatery. Always asked for extra, even when I gave him plenty. Used to say that it was for his family, although I knew that he didn't have one. But I humoured him, and he would always thank me and tell me that that would be the last time I saw him. But, like clockwork, he would be back the next week, moaning about how hungry his mother and brother were."

Luceel turned her gaze towards Attacus. There was pity in there, along with a hint of shame.

It wasn't a look he enjoyed receiving, least of all from her.

"So, Philharmon, how have you been doing?" he said, trying to change the subject.

Philharmon must have understood, for he dropped a small nod and said, "Business has been booming, thank you for asking. With all the people arriving for the Festival of Flame, it has been practically raining coin. I've gotten so busy that I've had to start turning people away from the bar."

Philharmon stopped for a moment, evidently entertaining a thought which had just popped into his head. A few seconds later, he exclaimed, "That's it! Why don't the two of you come in for lunch? I would love to catch up with you, and learn more about your-

"Colleague," Luceel snapped.

"Right, your colleague," he finished, smoothly.

Without waiting for a reply, he started walking away, gesturing for them to follow him.

Attacus knew that he couldn't waste too much time, but if it meant putting off his reunion with Silas for even a minute longer...

Following Luceel, who had returned to her trademark grimace, he turned down a narrow street, leading away from the palace.

And away from Silas.

<>

Luceel was laughing. It wasn't a good sign.

As soon as they had sat down at the table, Philharmon had started regaling her with stories from Attacus' childhood.

Such as the time the royal guard had caught him stealing a loaf of bread, and had spanked him in the city's centre, in front of a large crowd.

Or the time he had vowed to climb to the bottom of the God Scar in one day, and had become stuck after only twenty paces, necessitating the guard coming down to save him.

Or the other time in which he had been mistaken for a servant, and had had to spend the whole day following a noble's son around, carrying his things.

Naturally, it was at this point in which Luceel interjected and told the story of his first day in Origin.

This brought laughter to both sides of the table.

Wiping away a tear caused by laughing too hard, Luceel chuckled and said, "I always knew that Attacus was an idiot, but apparently I underestimated just how much of an idiot he was!"

Attacus wanted to defend himself, but couldn't find the right time to cut in. If they knew that he had been stealing bread because Edda had been injured and could not work, perhaps their laughter would have ceased.

Or perhaps if he told them that the only reason he wanted to climb to the bottom of the God Scars was because he wanted to fetch Silas' prized Katang stone; which he had dropped over the edge by mistake, and he had been moping around for days.

As for the servant incident... he had no excuse.

Apparently, to all nobles, he simply looked like a servant.

But in the end, he let them have their fun.

He had learnt from a young age that by not arguing with people, especially the people living in Slumtown who were by nature angry with the world, he could keep both himself and his family safe. So he had grown up trying his best not to offend those around him. Perhaps that was why Luceel had irked him when he had begun his training. To his knowledge, he had done nothing to cause her to dislike him.

Well, nothing that he could think of, at any rate.

"Now, enough about the Skullchild! I want to hear more about you, Prion Luceel! Tell me, did you always want to join the Church?"

Luceel's smile instantly vanished.

"There is no greater service than to that of our God," she replied, after a brief pause.

Attacus noted internally that she had not answered Philharmon's question, but wisely decided not to point this out.

"Ah, yes... the Eternal Flame... You know, I used to be a believer myself, but then, one night, I hosted a party from Rawk. They shared with me their views, and we ended up speaking all night. By dawn, I had found a new faith."

Rawk? One of the Southward nations. Attacus knew little of their culture, but he had learned which religion they followed.

"You worship the Hexacracy?" Luceel said, in a cold tone.

It had long been known that in the towns and villages on the borders, some had taken on the faiths of their neighbouring nations. However, Pyre had always been seen as a stronghold of the Church, and a bastion of faith. Like the city around them, the iron tight grip of the Church had never been breached.

Or so they had thought.

"I do. Is that a problem?"

Luceel said nothing for a moment. After breathing in deeply, she said, "The Church is not going to punish you for turning away from Priarch. For as the Last Parabil tells us, in the end, all nations and all false Gods shall return to him, and become one with him once more. So your worship of Priarch's prodigal children, while misaligned, will not condemn you to the Void."

"Ah, many thanks, but unlike you, we do not worship the sun. We believe that your precious Priarch gave his life to create the Six, and that afterwards, he disappeared from existence. My Gods wait for me in the Void, ready to welcome me home in death, just as they watch over me in life. So, my soul isn't up for saving, but thanks all the same."

"Um... I think it's time for us to go, don't you think, Luceel?" Attacus asked, hoping to end the uncomfortable atmosphere which had settled over the table.

From laughing to staring daggers at one another in seconds... such was the power of religious discussion...

"Very well," Luceel said, standing up. Without waiting for him, she marched out of the bar, silently fuming.

"Women, eh?" Philharmon said, with a grin.

Attacus could not agree more...

<>

Leaving Philharmon's bar, the Minced Minstrel, they returned to the city's main concourse. Running from the front gate to the palace, the Royal Road showcased the wealth of the city in every storefront and mansion. Everywhere Attacus looked, he saw signs of luxury. Nobles rode around in gilded carriages, drawn by horses that looked like they had been pulled from paintings. Men in fancy clothes walked with a dozen people following, their humble garments marking them as servants.

However, Attacus also saw the other side of society. Beggars, dressed in rags, lined the street, crying out for alms. Washerwomen, carrying bundles of wet linen, wove between the masses. And children, faces dirty and hands hidden, ran amongst them all.

He had once heard that Vuria's second name was the Land of Divides. Originally he had thought that this referred to the God Scars which crisscrossed the kingdom, but now it took on a new meaning.

The divide between rich and poor. Between nobility and peasantry. Between the haves and the have-nots.

He had grown up as one of the latter. Luceel had born into the former.

But only Silas had crossed from one to the other.

<>

Approaching their destination, they found a large gathering of people in the Royal Plaza, a circular area just before the palace. After inquiring, they learnt that the group had come to protest against Silas's special guest, who was supposed to arrive soon. However, they received several different descriptions of the man... or woman, who was causing such discord.

Some said that he was an emissary from Nome, the tiny nation which lay within Vuria and which had been asking for more land to be given to them in recent years. Others said that she was a princess from Etaine, here to marry Silas and thus bind the two nations together.

One man even claimed that it was a Kindred, the Son-Amatian equivalent of a Prion, who had travelled to Vuria to officially convert Silas, and by extent the kingdom, to the Church of the First Son.

Although that last rumour was the least likely of all.

"Well, what should we do now?" Attacus asked, staring at the large crowd. From the looks of things, it would be at least a few hours before they dispersed.

"How about that?" Luceel asked in a warm tone, pointing towards an ornately decorated building on the Dawnward side of the plaza.

"What is it?" he asked, surprised by her uncharacteristic eagerness.

"The Hall of Nobles. I went there once, as a child, although I couldn't stay long. We could use it to while away the time?"

Seeing no better alternative, and not desiring to return to Philharmon's bar, he agreed.

Leading the way, Luceel started pushing her way through the crowd.

<>

"Stop right there, peasant," the guard barked, levelling his spear towards Attacus' distinctly undefended neck.

"I am Prion Attacus Lore," Attacus exclaimed, thoroughly confused, "And I wish to enter the Hall of Nobles."

The guard, a hulking brute of a man, sneered and said, "Prion or not, unless you've got blue blood I can't let you in. Only nobles allowed in the Hall of Nobles, understand?"

"How do you know I'm not a noble?" Attacus tried, regretting the fact that he had become separated from Luceel due to the crowd's jostling.

The guard laughed, low and guttural, before saying, "It's my job to know. Now back away, before I let out some of your blood... just to confirm." He wore a nasty grin which irked Attacus.

But a childhood spent keeping his head down and avoiding people just like the guard had left him without any methods of recourse. All he could do was walk away, and hope to find Luceel in the crowd.

"He's with me," Luceel said, appearing suddenly at his side. She looked out of breath, as if she had been frantically pushing her way through a rowdy crowd.

Which she had been, of course.

"And who are you?" the guard asked, grin widening slightly.

"I am Prion Luceel, but you may refer to me as Lady Voraine."

The grin disappeared instantly.

"Do you have any proof?" he asked, looking less confident by the second.

In response, Luceel reached into the recesses of her robes, pulling out a small object after a few seconds of searching. It was a white ring, with a small green gemstone at its apex.

"The Noble Mark..." the guard whispered, looking on in awe.

A moment later, he dropped to the floor, spear clattering against the cobbles.

"I beg your forgiveness, Lady Voraine! I did not know that this servant was in your employ!"

Again, really?

"I will forgive you, but in the future, you should be kinder to all who come before you," she said, before giving Attacus a strange look, "Appearances can be deceiving, after all..." she finished, stepping past the prone guard.

Attacus followed after her, wondering if anyone would ever take him seriously.

<>

King Alcern Holkin, Silas' father, towered over Attacus. Beside him was a woman. Queen Hanna Holkin, her plaque read.

Edda should have been up there.

But nobody wanted to see a statue of a peasant, especially one from Slumtown, in a place which celebrated the noblest nobles. The Hall stretched out to either side of him. Dozens of statues, standing on tall plinths, surrounded him.

Kings, queens, lords and ladies, all judging him, a commoner, for intruding into their special place.

It made him shiver.

"After the then king of Vuria, King Cole, visited Prophet Imran and demanded his loyalty, riots broke out all over the kingdom. King Cole, hoping to make use of the Prophet's gift to foresee what his enemies would do, refused to let Imran remain independent. He eventually ordered his soldiers to capture the Prophet, and they dragged him to the Royal Plaza. There, in front of the entire city, King Cole planned to force Imran to serve him," their guide said, standing beside Luceel.

She, unlike him, was having the time of her life. Her smile, having left in the bar, had returned with interest. She gazed from one statue to the next, enraptured by what she saw.

"However, in a strange chain of events, King Cole was killed in an accident on his way to the plaza. Many of the people in attendance believed that Prophet Imran had used his foresight to kill the king."

Attacus shuddered, imagining the scene all too easily. If only he possessed Imran's foresight... maybe he could carry out his Holy Order without ever seeing Silas' face.

"They immediately moved to crown Imran as their new king, as King Cole had no heirs. However, Imran refused the crown, stating that his path lay away from the throne. Instead, he chose a young man from the audience, Holvar Holkin, declaring that as long as a Holkin descendant sat the throne, Vuria would prosper. King Holvar's rule is often cited as the most successful in the history of the kingdom, and his line would inherit the throne for another thousand years."

"Until Silas, the Whoreborn, came along," a noble whispered from nearby.

Attacus felt the anger rise inside him, but he crushed it without restraint. It would do him no good to start a fight... although the man did deserve at least a smack on the head.

"As thanks for the throne, King Holvar gifted Imran with a vast plot of land, which lay between the Urnic and Elcaric God Scars. In time, Imran used this land to build Origin, and the Church and crown were forevermore entwined," the guide concluded.

Attacus wondered if that unity would survive the murder of the king at the hands of a Prion.

Somehow he doubted it.

<>

A few minutes later, in a move that he would never have foreseen, Luceel took him by the arm and led him to the end of the Hall. It was there that the earliest monarchs and their attending nobility stood proudly, watching the history that they had helped shape unfold.

He passed by several statues, which apparently bore the likeness of great men like Lord Sebeth Beliere; the power couple of Queen Elyss Lora and King Harven Holkin; and the boy king, Raegar Holkin, who had taken the throne at the tender age of twelve.

King Cole, a tyrant and a bully, if their guide was to believed, had a smaller statue than those around him. He did not look like a cruel man... but as Luceel had pointed out, looks could be deceiving.

Standing to his right was King Holvar Holkin, the first of his line. He looked young, and unsure, as if the sculptor had been present the moment that Imran had pointed him out of the crowd and changed his destiny.

How many more destinies had been changed by the Prophet? How many lives had been permanently altered by his Holy Orders, either directly or indirectly?

Ten thousand Orders... What had he been trying to accomplish, by directing so many to follow his will? Had he even had a plan, or had he been trying to simply follow the future he had foreseen?

...Or alter it?

For the first time, he understood the enormity of his task. He was the last one. The last piece in Imran's great puzzle. Whatever he did, or didn't do, would surely be within the Prophet's predictions.

He felt like a leaf, floating down a storming river. He could see where the river had come from, and if he tried hard enough, he could see where it was going.

But he could not change its course.

Only Imran, the source of the storm, had that power.

"This is my oldest ancestor, Lady Ceelia Voraine," Luceel said, in a voice filled with awe, as she pointed to a statue nearby. It looked like Luceel. Frighteningly so.

"She was a simple handmaiden in the employ of King Cole, and endured great abuse at his hands. Shortly before Imran was taken to Kynda, she fled the palace with her family, taking a small fortune in gold and jewels... including this ring," Luceel said, brandishing the emerald tipped ring so that it caught the light.

Taking a step forward, she continued, "Outraged, King Cole ordered her execution, and send his royal guards to kill her and her family. Through sheer luck, King Cole died that same day, and, upon hearing the story, King Holvar issued a retraction. Entrusting his fastest runner with the order, he could only hope that it would reach Ceelia in time. The runner, mercifully, reached her just as the guards did. Ceelia was not only forgiven of her crimes, but given land in reparations for all the abuse she had suffered at the hands of King Cole. She ended up marrying the runner who had raced through the night to save her life, and House Voraine was born."

"Why are you telling me this?" Attacus asked.

Luceel looked down at the ring in her hand, cradling it as if it were a newborn babe.

"My ancestor was a lowborn servant and a thief who only escaped with her life because of Prophet Imran's actions. We have never forgotten this. While you are in the city, you will no doubt meet nobles whose views of those beneath them are... harsh. I just wanted you to know that... I am not like them. The reason my family lives so far from the capital is because we don't want to be associated with the so-called nobles who infest it."

Attacus didn't know what to say, but he knew that he had to say something.

"Thank you, for... not being like them. You really are unique, did you know that?"

He had meant it to be a statement of fact, but it nevertheless caused a small blush to rise to his cheeks.

And Luceel's as well, if his eyes did not lie to him.

<>

When they left the Hall of Nobles, they saw that the great crowd had dispersed. It was only three hours until the Fading Hour, and no doubt the people had to return home and prepare for the coming night.

However, there were still a few men and women working in the plaza. The men, dressed in workman's leathers, carried great bundles of wood from carts stationed near the plaza's exit. The women were laying out large sheets of parchment and cutting them into hand-width sized strips.

"Excuse me," Attacus said to the nearest worker, "What are you preparing for?"

The woman didn't even look up from her task, but still replied, "The Festival of Flame, obviously. King Silas decreed that this year is going to be the biggest one we've ever held. So, we have nine days to prepare everything, and even then we're cutting it close. Not to mention the Rekindling that's about to take place at the Urn."

Rekindling, the name for the ritual in which the deceased members of one's family were honoured and a wreath was lit in remembrance; was something that Attacus knew well.

Every year on the day of their death, for the past twenty years, he had burned a wreath to Rekindle the memory of his parents. Thankfully, he only had to remember one date...

When he had lived in Slumtown, he would spend weeks gathering the necessary twigs and twine. Once he started living in Origin, however, the process became remarkably easier.

"May I ask who is being Rekindled?" he asked, curious as to which noble was to be honoured.

The woman finally raised her head to look at him, although it was not a friendly look.

"Have you been living under a rock this past year? This is the first year that we'll Rekindle the Crown Mother, Edda Fyrnorn."

# Chapter 6: Reunion

Holy Order 9705: Convince the king to hire a maid from Slumtown as a sign of goodwill

Prion Amorr Cupido

<>

Afternoon, Flariday, 21 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Time had stopped for Attacus.

Every thought which flew through his mind was coated in darkness.

Edda was dead.

He had lost another mother.

He had arrived a year too late to see her...

And then, the darkest thought arrived.

At least Edda wouldn't have to see him murder her son.

He hated himself for thinking it, and he hated himself for feeling relieved at the same time.

"Attacus?" Luceel asked, a rare note of concern in her voice.

He tried to return to the world. It was... difficult.

"Did you know her? Edda, I mean."

He heard himself say, "Yeah... you could say that," but it sounded muffled to his ears.

A part of him, a small, hope-filled part, had thought about reuniting with Edda and Silas after his training was complete. That part of him had pictured their reunion hundreds of times, changing the details slightly with every revision. He had seen Edda's look of joy as her lost son returned to her, and Silas' brotherly grin as he welcomed his sibling home. He had seen the look of pride in Edda's eyes, when he told her that he had become a Prion. He had seen the look of relief, when he announced that he was going to stay in Pyre with them, so that they could be a family once more...

But now he would never see that scene.

He would never see Edda again.

And he had been practically ordered to drive a knife through Silas' heart when he saw him again.

Attacus felt like crying, but he had long learnt that it was a wasted effort.

No good ever came from shedding tears. He had found that out on the day his parents had died.

"I suppose she did live in Slumtown before Silas was revealed to be the heir to the throne," he heard Luceel say. It sounded like she was talking to herself.

"She did. And then she left."

If only he had known then that that was their final goodbye... maybe he would have been able to say all the things he had kept inside his heart.

Like how proud he was of her, for working to support two children.

Or how grateful he was that she had decided to raise him.

Or how he had come to love her like a true mother.

But now she would never know.

"Are you alright?" Luceel asked, concerned.

"No... but I will be..." he muttered, feeling disoriented. He felt Luceel tugging on his arm, and he allowed himself to be pulled along.

<>

When he finally came to his senses, he found himself sitting in the shade of one of the buildings lining the plaza. Luceel had fetched a mug of cold water from somewhere and was standing over him, looking anxious.

Taking a sip, he felt the cool liquid flow through him, washing away the shock of Edda's death.

"If you're feeling ill, we can always find a place to stay and visit the palace tomorrow?" she said, in a rare moment of compassion.

"No... I don't want to keep you from your mission..." he mumbled.

"My mission can wait. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you... before you complete your Holy Order... of course," she said, in a wavering tone.

For a few seconds, he had fancied that Luceel cared more about him than the Church. But she was a Prion first, and a person second, and carrying out her Holy Order... and ensuring that he did as well, would always be her top priority.

"I'll be fine... Just a bit of shock, that's all..."

Luceel took a seat beside him, giving him a strange look as she did so.

"She really meant a lot to you, didn't she?"

Attacus nodded. The words sounded right, but they didn't capture the full depth of just how much Edda had changed his life.

"She was like a mother to me," he said, in a quiet voice.

"I see..."

And then, Luceel did something which he would never thought possible... she placed her hand on his own.

"I'm sorry for your loss..."

Attacus nodded once more, not trusting his words.

And then the moment ended, and Luceel withdrew her hand.

However, the warmth of her touch lingered for a while longer...

<>

Half an hour later, they left the soothing shade and resumed their journey towards the palace. It loomed large over the plaza, taking up the entire Northward quadrant. It was clear that it had been expanded and renovated several times since its construction, due to the different styles of ornamentation on display. Tall towers flanked each wing, and a large dome in the centre denoted the location of the throne room. It was there that they would find the king.

Thankfully, all it took to get inside was a brandish of Luceel's Noble Mark. However, that was where their good fortune ended.

"Forgive me, Lady Voraine, but I cannot allow you inside the throne room. The king is holding court with the Old Blood, and they are not to be disturbed until they have finished their business," the guard, a polite young man, said.

"Old Blood?" Attacus asked, looking to Luceel.

"A name given to the oldest noble Houses in Vuria. They wanted to include House Voraine, but my parents staunchly refused," Luceel replied, looking proud.

"What are they meeting about?" Attacus asked, turning back to the guard.

"The same thing rich people always meet about, how to get more money out of the poor," the guard replied, sounding somewhat glum.

"Do you know how long they will be?" Luceel asked.

The guard looked over his shoulder, towards the wide set of doors which led to the throne room. They were standing in the antechamber, a waiting area for all looking to approach the throne. Off to the side of the room, through a gilded door, Attacus spied a massive dining hall, easily twice the size of the Voraine's.

"Well, in the past, these meetings would have been over quickly. The Old Blood fought with the king, but more often than not, he would win them over in the end. However, in recent months they have grown more and more bold, and have started to win more arguments than not."

Leaning in close, the guard whispered, "If you ask me, I think that losing the Crown Mother so suddenly really affected the king. If the gossip around here is to be believed, he hasn't smiled once since that day. I'm sure that the Old Blood are taking advantage of his depression to push their agenda..."

"Sounds like the king has a lot on his plate," Luceel commented.

"I'd say so. Between the Old Blood, the Rekindling, the Festival of Flame and the commotion over his special guest, King Silas has his work cut out for him. Personally, I just hope that nothing else comes along to disturb his work," the guard replied, looking worried.

Attacus tried to ignore the stabs of guilt to his heart.

"If you would take a seat, I will call you when the meeting is over?" the guard said, gesturing to a set of chairs nearby.

That sat without comment. Hopefully this wouldn't take long.

<>

One hour later, Luceel had reached the end of her rope.

"I am a daughter of House Voraine, and I do not deserve to be treated like this! I come from the oldest blood there is, and yet these pretenders think that they can take up my time?!? This will not stand!"

Attacus had given up trying to soothe her rage. After countless attempts, he had finally learnt better.

"That does it!" she announced, suddenly standing. Attacus, unsure of what she had in mind, stood as well. If he needed to run away for any reason, it would be easier if he was already on his feet.

She moved across the antechamber faster than Attacus would have thought possible. The guard, not paying attention, had no time to react.

Should he follow her and risk punishment? Or stay where he was and possibly never see Silas?

Attacus made a decision.

He leapt after her, pushing past the guard.

Luceel was just ahead of him, placing both hands on the heavy wooden doors.

She pushed, and they swung open with surprising ease, throwing her off balance. She careened off to the side, leaving Attacus a slave to his own momentum. He raced through the opening, his feet deaf to his desperate pleas to stop.

When he finally slowed down, he noticed that there was a very large crowd of people staring at him.

Old men in the finest clothes money could buy. Old women wearing far too many pieces of jewellery. All of them, however, bore the same expression: a mix of shock and outrage.

Oddly, there was one man who stood out, as if he did not belong. He was dressed in rumpled red robes, and wore no accoutrements aside from a terrified expression.

No, wait... that was his reflection in the mirror.

"Who in the Void are you?" one of the nearest nobles asked, recoiling, as if Attacus' mere presence was causing him physical harm.

"Attacus?" someone said.

But not in his voice.

"ATTACUS!" again, someone had said his name, louder this time.

The crowd, which had formed a wall before him, suddenly began to part, making way for someone on the outside.

And then a man stepped through the gap. He was clothed in the finest garments, wore a crown made of pure gold, and bore a black and red ring which was surely his Noble Mark.

Silas Fyrnorn, the king of Vuria, stood before him.

<>

He was finally face to face with his friend, his king, his brother...

His target.

After all this time...

It was only then that Attacus realized that he had no idea what to say. He had pictured their reunion often enough, but it had never gone like this.

How did one even address a king?

Your majesty? Your eminence? Your kingship?

His mind, however, had drawn a blank.

In the meantime, Silas had come closer, wearing an expression of shock. He looked... older.

Not just in the physical sense, which Attacus had anticipated, but in the mental. There was a sharpness to his eyes that he had not had in Slumtown, and wrinkles that would have made Prion Rodan envious.

Silas was looking at him. He needed to say something. Or should he bow first? Or apologize?

While his mind was busy trying to come up with the right words, his heart spoke for him.

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother," he whispered. The hurt, still fresh, found its way into his words, lending them weight.

" _Our_ mother," Silas replied, stepping forward and pulling Attacus into a brotherly embrace.

He had not forgotten his promise. That was all Attacus needed to know.

However... a part of him... a dark part which had been born in Slumtown out of necessity, whispered in his ear. He still had the Tama knife in his robes. He could have the blade out and buried in Silas' chest before anyone could react.

His deed would be done. His Holy Order completed. Imran would be proud.

Instead, he reached up with both hands and returned his brother's embrace.

He could not kill Silas... at least not yet.

<>

After a few seconds, they separated, and Attacus once more became aware of the situation. The entire court was staring at him. No doubt they were wondering who he was, and why he was being treated so fondly, for an interloper.

"Forgive me, Attacus, but I must conclude this matter. If you could just wait a moment, we can continue this reunion?"

Attacus nodded. He had gotten lucky with his words before, but he wasn't taking any more chances.

Turning, he saw the guard from earlier poking his head through the door. Most likely he had witnessed their exchange and was wondering if he would lose his job if he tried to arrest a close friend of the king. Attacus saw Silas make a shooing motion towards the door, and the guard retreated a moment later, pulling it shut behind him.

Moving as quickly as he could, while still looking dignified, he retreated to the back wall of the throne room, where he found Luceel, slack jawed.

"Did- Did you just hug the king?!?" she whispered, looking more confused than he had ever seen her.

Attacus savoured the moment. It wasn't often that he got to see Luceel so out of it.

"Well, what did you expect? We are brothers after all."

"WHAT?!?" she shrieked, loud enough for the other nobles to take notice. She quickly bowed in appeasement, before turning back to Attacus.

"After my parents died, Edda Fyrnorn raised me. I grew up with Silas, and when we found out that he was the heir to the throne, he and Edda moved to the palace. I was found by a Prion and brought to Origin to begin my training."

"Why did you never tell me this?" she said, sounding outraged.

"You never asked."

In truth, he had tried to tell his fellow Pre-Prions on multiple occasions. He had believed that if they knew that he was friends with the king, perhaps they would treat him a bit better... as opposed to making him carry their luggage.

But every time he had tried to tell them, they had mocked him for his Slumtown delusions. He was too scrawny, too filthy, too illiterate, to be related in any way to the king of Vuria.

So he had eventually just stopped trying.

While Luceel seemingly tried to process this radical shift to her worldview, things were happening in the room.

"Before we were interrupted, we were getting ready to vote," a man announced, from the centre of the room.

He was not the gaudiest noble, nor the most attractive, but he had an air of superiority that few others in the room could match. Every movement, every word, carried with it a mountain's worth of confidence.

Whoever he was, he was important.

"I hear you, Lord Beliere," Silas replied, from his throne. It was a thing of beauty, golden and gleaming. It stood on a small dais, which had the effect of making Silas at least a hand-width taller than everyone else in the room.

Something told Attacus that this effect was no accident.

"Then we shall proceed with the vote," Lord Beliere announced, gazing around the room with his slate grey eyes. His black hair, tinged with grey, combined with his above average height, only added to his imposing aura.

"All those for raising taxes on the lower classes by ten percent, raise your arm."

Immediately, several hands were thrust into the air.

Silas' hand, however, was not among them.

Attacus saw Silas doing a brief count, before nodding to Lord Beliere.

"All those who would keep the tax rate at its current state, despite the threat it possesses to our kingdom's treasury, please raise your hand."

Thankfully, a large number of hands rose up. Although they did not rise as quickly, nor did their owner's look as confident. Attacus saw several nobles glance towards Silas, looking uncomfortable.

The last hand to rise was Silas'.

"Thank you, Lords and Ladies, for voting," Silas said, standing up.

"With one more vote against than for, I find this matter settled. We will not increase any taxes this day. And with that, I close this court. I wish you all a peaceful repose," Silas announced, as he began making his way down the stairs that led up to the dais.

"This is a mistake, your majesty," Lord Beliere said, planting himself in Silas' path, "With the financial strain that the Festival of Flame has placed on our coffers, in addition to the cost of the Rekindling procession, we cannot afford to let things end like this."

Silas looked the man square in the eyes. Attacus had seen that look plenty of times as a child, often when Silas had come to rescue him from a pack of bullies. It was not a pleasant look.

Lord Beliere, to his credit, did not flinch.

"The lower classes are struggling enough as it is, Lord Beliere. If we tax them any harder, we might end up with a revolt on our hands."

"Any civil disobedience can be put down by the royal guard. I would even be willing to lend my own men, should the need arise."

"I will not allow my guards to turn their blades against the very people that they are supposed to protect. This matter has ended. If you would like to call for another vote, you know where to find me," Silas said, stepping past the man.

He was almost to the door, and Attacus, when Lord Beliere turned and called out, "Very well, your majesty, I will rest the matter for now. However, I hope that you do not forget who has contributed the most to the treasury. It would be a shame if my gold could no longer find its way into your pockets..."

Silas, to _his_ credit, ignored the provocation.

"Now, where were we?" he began, but he was suddenly interrupted by the polite guard bursting through the doors.

"Your majesty!" he called, almost crashing into Silas in his haste. Moving forward, he began whispering frantically into the king's ear.

A few seconds later, Silas straightened and sighed. "That idiot, I told him to come tomorrow..."

Turning to Attacus, he smiled an apologetic grin and said, "Please forgive me, Attacus, but I must attend to an urgent matter. If you can come to the palace tomorrow morning, we can have a proper reunion?"

Attacus could only nod. Things were happening too quickly for him to follow. He had felt out of place in Origin and even more so at the Voraine Estate, but here he felt truly out of his depth.

"Thank you, brother. I promise we will talk soon," Silas said, clapping Attacus on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.

And then he was gone, following the guard out of the room.

As the doors closed, Attacus heard him exclaim, "What do you mean, they only have seven days in a week? What do they do with the other three?!?"

<>

A few minutes later, they were standing outside the palace, looking equally lost.

Luceel still hadn't said anything. That was a worrying sign.

As Attacus opened his mouth to reassure her that nothing had really changed, a familiar voice called out.

"Attacus, I believe? And the young Lady Voraine, if I'm not mistaken?" Lord Beliere said, striding towards them.

"Lord Beliere," Luceel bowed.

"Please, call me Arthus," he said, in a comfortable manner.

He wore a smile that touched his eyes, a far cry from his earlier demeanour. As he came closer, another noble called out to him. He looked like all the others, that is to say rich, arrogant and confident in the knowledge that he was better than those around him.

Attacus recognized him as one of the men who had voted in Lord Beliere's favour.

"Lord Beliere, I am sorry that the meeting did not go according to plan. I did not anticipate Lady Yunis and Lord Volker voting in the king's favour. Please, tell me that you will do something about Silas..." he said, trailing off as he took in Attacus and Luceel.

"Don't worry, old friend, I will take care of the king. I'm sure that in a few days, after he has had his time to mourn and his time to celebrate, he will change his mind."

The noble bowed in Arthus' direction, saying, "Thank you, Lord Beliere. I hope that your... persuasions... go well."

"As do I, Lord Golban, as do I. The future of our kingdom depends on it, as you well know."

Lord Golban bowed once more, before turning and walking away.

"Now, where was I?" Arthus said, returning to Attacus and Luceel.

"I believe you were about to ask us to speak to the king on your behalf," Luceel said, finally breaking her self-imposed vow of silence.

Arthus' expression fell for a moment, but he quickly recovered his composure. Apparently, it was a common feature of the nobility.

"Worry not, Lady Voraine, I will not ask you play middleman. Instead, I merely wished to ask you and your companion to dinner. I am curious to hear about how House Voraine is doing, and of course, I want to know more about this man whom the king calls 'brother'."

Luceel looked at Attacus. Attacus looked at Arthus. Arthus looked at Luceel.

Seeing no polite way to refuse, Attacus said, "It would be an honour to dine with you, Lord Beliere, although I cannot speak for Lu- Lady Voraine."

Luceel gave him another look, but if it was meant to convey some hidden message, he did not pick it up.

Eventually she sighed and said, "I will join you, Lord Beliere."

"Please, as I said, call me Arthus..."

He led the way, moving further from the palace with every step.

Every step was one more step away from Silas.

From his friend. From his family. From his brother.

From his future victim.

# Chapter 7: Lords and Ladies

Holy Order 7877: Dig below Mount Erif and use what you find there to start a House

Prion Sebeth Beliere

<>

Evening, Flariday, 21 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

The journey to the Beliere household was thankfully short. It was a large building, looking more ornate than all of its neighbours combined. However, even from a distance, it lacked the warmth that Attacus had associated with Luceel's familial home.

"Welcome, to my humble lodgings," Arthus said, gesturing to the impressive building with one outstretched hand.

"It's marvellous," Attacus said, trying to be polite.

"You are too kind, Prion Attacus! But no, this is simply a residence for when I am in the city on business. My true home, the Beliere Estate, lies at the base of Mount Erif.

"You built your home on a volcano?" Luceel asked, in a subtly non-friendly tone.

"A dead volcano," Arthus replied, smile dropping a knuckle-width.

"How do you know?" Luceel asked.

"Mount Erif has not spewed its fire since the time of Vuria's founding, according to the royal records. I am sure that it was a mighty beast, once, but its time has come and gone. All that is left is the treasure horde within," Arthus said, reclaiming his confidence as he led them inside.

Sighing, Attacus followed him. Something told him that this was going to be a long night.

<>

"Welcome home, master," was the greeting that they received as they walked through the door.

Standing in the entrance hall was a young woman, perhaps a few years older than Attacus, wearing the attire of a handmaid.

"Thank you, Ellah," Arthus said, handing her his excess articles of clothing. She quickly disappeared under a bundle consisting of at least one scarf, an overcoat, a hat, walking boots and a cane.

"Are these guests for the manor? Or new servants for the staff?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled.

From her tone, Attacus surmised that she was expecting the latter.

"They are guests, Ellah. Standing before you is the youngest daughter of Lord Voraine, Luceel. Next to her is Prion Attacus-

"Lore," Attacus provided.

"Attacus Lore. They are our guests and are to be treated as such. See to it."

"Yes, master," Ellah said, trying to bow and carry her load at the same time.

As she departed the room, Attacus caught a glimpse of a gleaming object, hanging from a peg on the wall nearby.

It looked like a crown, made of solid gold, but it was unfinished. The general shape was there, but it had obviously not been seen to by a proper goldsmith.

Noticing his stare, Arthus gestured to it and said, "The Noble Mark of House Beliere. Originally it was a lump of gold ore, supposedly the first one ever mined from Mount Erif. Ten years ago, I had thought to give it a more... attractive shape, but things changed, and I abandoned my dream. Perhaps in the future, I will find it in me to finish it..." He wore a wistful look, and seemed entranced by the unfinished crown.

"It's very... unique?" Attacus ventured.

Arthus, surprisingly, let out a small chuckle. Attacus had not thought the man capable of such a feat, given what he had witnessed so far.

"You are kind, and very polite, Attacus. Can I attribute that to your time spent in Origin... or Slumtown?"

How did he...

"There are only two reasons why King Silas would treat a stranger so fondly. Either you are a close confidant or you are an old friend whom he has not seen in some time. Since I have never seen you before this day, and I make it my business to know everyone in Silas' court, I can only surmise that you knew him before his unexpected...ascension... to the crown."

Well, what harm was there in telling the truth?

"I grew up with Silas... with the king. When he went to the palace, I went to Origin. We had not seen each other since."

"I see..." Arthus said, sounding oddly contemplative.

"Master, dinner is served," Ellah announced, suddenly reappearing.

"Thank you, Ellah," Arthus replied, showing a flash of annoyance.

As they moved towards the dining room, Arthus walked besides Attacus and whispered, "When you have time, I would like to continue this conversation. So much of our king is a mystery to us, and I believe it would help our relationship if I knew more about him..."

Attacus nodded, feeling strangely guilty.

But the only guilt in his heart should have been the plan to murder his brother.

What then, was this?

<>

They entered a dining room that would not lose to House Voraine. Everywhere he looked, he saw symbols of great wealth. Gold rimmed plates lined the table. Paintings with golden frames hung above exquisite sculptures of past kings. Attacus saw the bust of King Alcern, Silas' father. There was an empty plinth beside it.

Silas' plinth.

Standing opposite him was a bevy of servants, all primed to serve.

As he moved closer, he noticed something strange about them.

They were all young, pretty, and female.

And not a single one was smiling.

As they found their places, the servants leapt into action, fetching pitchers of water and carrying trays of steaming food to the table.

They all worked with frightening efficiency.

It unnerved him.

Greatly.

When they were finally seated, Arthus raised his arms and said, "Priarch be blessed for gathering us together for this meal! It seems like in these dark times, Priarch will always send a light to his faithful!"

Attacus nodded, but only out of respect to Priarch.

A servant came forward carrying a bottle of wine, offering to it Luceel.

Having seen her indulge herself before, Attacus was surprised when she turned it down. Arthus, however, motioned for the servant to fill his glass.

Shaking his head, he tried to focus on his own meal.

<>

"I remember a time when being a noble meant something," Arthus said, slurring his words slightly. Attacus had never seen him with his glass empty.

"A man... or woman," he continued, glancing towards Luceel, who looked decidedly unhappy, "Who was born into nobility... was a glorious thing indeed. Raised on the finest food, taught by the most learned minds, and possessing a unique capacity for leading others... that was what it once meant to be a noble. King Alcern, may he live forever in the Eternal Flame, was just such a man. I knew him, and I fought with him, as only brothers of the cloth can. We were both marked at birth for greatness. He, the only son of a king, and me, the only son of House Beliere. From the moment we took our first breaths, everyone knew that we would accomplish great things together!"

Ellah came forward, attempting to take the empty wine glass from his hand. However, he shooed her away, motioning for the girl holding the bottle to come forward.

"The king of Vuria and the richest man in the kingdom... At the time, I thought that nothing could stand in our way... But then he changed. I did not know it at the time, but he had started lending his ear... and his bed, to a handmaid."

"Edda," Attacus said, unable to stop himself.

Arthus nodded. "Edda changed him, but not for the better. He became afraid of taking risks, of upsetting the people, of showing force. Our enemies grew more bold, and the nobles became cowards in return. For nineteen years I watched as my friend slowly deteriorated, and, although it was a great loss, I can only think of his death as a good thing."

"How so?" Luceel asked, with an ice-cold tone.

"He died with his dignity intact. He passed from this world before he could make a mistake that his successor could not undo."

"Silas," Attacus whispered.

Arthus looked at him. There was a long pause before he said, "Yes... Silas. When I first heard the news that Alcern had fathered a child in secret, I was livid. I could not believe his irresponsibility, leaving the fate of the kingdom in the hands of a... child."

"King Alcern had no other heirs?" Attacus asked.

"No. Hanna Holkin was the perfect wife in every regard except one. She bore him no children... but I never could have imagined that he would turn to Edda for an heir. Had he not, I would have taken up the crown, and perhaps we would not be in this mess..."

Attacus tried and failed to keep the surprise from his voice as he said, "You were in line for the throne?"

"Yes," Arthus replied, once more looking wistful. "With Alcern dying and Hanna long since cremated, the throne stood empty. The other nobles, the ones they call the Old Blood, met in secret and decided upon an heir. I was to be king, but that all changed when Alcern let his secret leak on his deathbed."

"You sound like you resent Silas," Luceel said.

Again, Arthus paused for a time before answering.

"At first, I did resent him. However, upon meeting him for the first time, I hoped that I could become, if not king, then a close friend of his. I dreamed of using my knowledge to help guide him, to show him how to wear the mantle of leadership. But alas, he was headstrong, and he would not hear my words. And now, with the death of Edda, he too has begun to change. Like father, like son, I suppose."

He took another long sip of wine. As he reached for the bottle once more, Ellah laid her hand upon his wrist.

"Master," she said, pointedly.

Sighing, he withdrew his arm. A moment later, he stood, and the servants quickly came forward to clear the table.

"I think that that is enough talk about the crown," he said, motioning for them to rise as well.

"If you would humour for a while longer, there is something I wish to show you."

He was already half-way out of the room when Attacus finally stood. He looked to Luceel, but she simply shrugged and followed their host.

Sighing once more, Attacus did the same.

<>

Leaving the dining room, Arthus led them up a grand staircase to the highest floor. From the landing he led them through one empty room after another, before finally exiting onto a small balcony.

From their position they could see over most of the buildings in Pyre. Only the palace was taller.

Turning, he gestured Dawnward, where Priarch's remnant would be appearing in a few hours.

On the horizon, visible only because of the deep shadow it cast across the land, was Mount Erif. It was the tallest mountain in Vuria, and, if reports from the other nations were to be believed, the Flamelands as well.

"Five great-paces high and filled with riches, Mount Erif is as much a symbol of Vuria as the Church or the Crown."

"It certainly is impressive," Attacus said.

"Yes, it is," Arthus replied, "And it remained as nothing more than a symbol for centuries, until my ancestor changed everything. Just over two hundred years ago, Prion Sebeth Beliere, the first of my line, came to Mount Erif, shortly after leaving Origin. Armed with nothing more than a pickaxe and an unbreakable will, he started to dig around the mountain. The locals, a group of farmers, laughed at him. They told him that the mountain was dead, and that he would find nothing more than rocks for his troubles. However, even after countless failures, Sebeth did not stop digging. He dug until his hands bled and his back cracked. And then, a year later, he finally found something."

"Gold," Attacus whispered, finally piecing everything together.

"Yes," Arthus said, "And lots of it. With the gold he found he was able to bring in more workers, and soon, he was the richest man in the kingdom. Those farmers who had mocked him? He put them to work in the mine, and bought their farms, turning it into the great estate that I now call home."

"And thus House Beliere came into existence," Luceel stated, looking bored. Given her upbringing, she had most likely heard this story before.

"Yes. All from the actions of a single man. So I ask you, do you believe that a single person... no, a single moment, can change history? And if you were the one to make that decision, even if it was not a kind one, could you do it? Could you do something wrong, in order to make everything right?"

Did he know? Had he figured it out? No... that wasn't possible.

"I... don't know," Attacus said, speaking truthfully. In his head he knew that he needed to kill Silas, but in his heart...

"I do," Arthus replied, his eyes losing all trace of levity. His drunkenness had evaporated like the morning dew, leaving only rock hard certainty.

Silence fell between the three of them.

It was only broken a few minutes later, when Ellah came to fetch them.

<>

She led them to their rooms, which were on the third floor and were situated back to back. Luceel bade Arthus a peaceful repose in a monotone, before entering her room and shutting the door.

Attacus barely had enough time to change into his sleepwear before there was a knock on the door. For a brief, heart-fluttering moment, he thought that it was Luceel. But she hadn't partaken of any wine, and it was unlikely that she would come for him, even if she had.

Instead, it was Ellah once more. She wore a tired expression, no doubt from her daily toils. Edda used to wear the same expression when she came home after a day spent washing whatever she could get her hands on. However, unlike Ellah, she would always find her smile upon seeing her sons.

They would sit on the floor, for furniture was a luxury that was not for the likes of them, and they would talk about... everything. Edda would tell them stories of her days in the palace, and moan about the neighbours who never had any linen that needed washing.

Silas would talk about how he had seen a nobleman abusing a servant, and what he would do if he was just a little bit older, and a little bit stronger. He would come home every day covered in bruises, no doubt received from bullies whom he had interrupted during their daily hunts. Attacus had known even then that he was proud of every single one. It was a mark of justice, Silas would say, even as Edda berated him for being so careless.

And Attacus... had said nothing. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he just loved to listen. To Edda. To Silas.

To a family... to _his_ family.

And that, for him, had been enough.

"Master Attacus?" Ellah repeated, giving him a strange look.

"Sorry, my mind wandered for a bit... How can I help you, Ellah?"

She bowed once, most likely out of habit, before saying, "Master Arthus would like to speak with you in the parlour, if you are able?"

In truth, he was beyond tired, and all he wanted was to feel his head hit the pillow. But Arthus had let them into his home, fed them and provided lodging... it would be rude to turn him down.

"Please, lead the way."

"Yes, Master Attacus."

"Just Attacus... please."

She paused for a moment, once more giving him a look which he did not quite understand.

"As you wish... Attacus..." she finally said, exiting the room.

He followed her, unsure of where his feet would lead him.

<>

The room they eventually entered was no less magnificent than any other room in the manor. However, a certain air of sterility hung overhead. It did not feel like a room that was used very often.

Arthus was already inside, sitting in what looked like a very comfortable chair by a roaring fire.

Vuria never got particularly cold, but the fire was a welcome reprieve from the nightly chill all the same.

"Thank you for indulging me, Attacus," Arthus said, gesturing for Attacus to take a seat nearby. Attacus did so, choosing a stool close to the fire. The heat washed over him, stripping him of his fatigue. He had not realized how tired he had been, since leaving Origin.

Perhaps the constant stress of what Imran wanted him to do was sapping his strength...

He wouldn't be surprised...

"You may leave us, Ellah."

"Yes, master," Ellah said, departing the room.

Immediately, the room felt a few degrees colder.

For a while, nothing further was said. They simply sat, lit by the slowly dying flame, as the night slowly wore on.

After what seemed like an age, Arthus looked up and said, "May I speak freely, Attacus?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. I am sure you are wondering why I asked you to come here?"

Attacus nodded.

"I felt that of everyone in this city, you would understand what I am about to say best. You have known Silas longer than anyone else, and therefore you know _him_ better than anyone else. However, what _I_ know is that he is struggling under the weight of the crown..."

Attacus thought back to how tired Silas had looked.

"He is young, and as the youth so often believe, he thinks that he can handle everything by himself. But that is the folly of all young people, and so I can hold no grudge against him. However, true wisdom comes with being able to rely on the people around you. It means taking a look at yourself, identifying your failings and asking those around you for aid. Silas, for all his virtues, still possesses the great vice of stubbornness."

Again, Attacus thought back, this time to his childhood. Silas had never been one to concede anything easily, especially if he was in the wrong.

"I love this kingdom, and I want to see it prosper," Arthus said, speaking in a low tone, "But I fear that Silas' inexperience and unwillingness will lead it to ruin... if nothing is done. I want to help him, but he has identified me as an enemy, and refuses to even consider anything I have to say as valid. I have been in a position of power since I took my first steps, and I was raised to rule. If he would let me, I would gladly offer my wisdom. Perhaps together... we could make something great."

"Has it really been that bad?" Attacus asked. A part of him still believed that Silas could do no wrong.

Arthus sighed, before continuing, "It's understandable that you wouldn't believe me, after all, no-one likes to hear an uncomfortable truth. But what if I told you that, after a spy from Dogain was discovered stealing military secrets, Silas chose to pardon him, instead of sending him to the gallows? That very action, I believe, did more damage than any secrets the spy could have taken. In one move, Silas showed weakness to our enemies, who already stand on the borders holding swords pointed at our people."

"It sounds like he showed leniency," Attacus said.

"Leniency is the death of strength, Attacus. No, this cowardly act will only inspire our enemies to act with more impunity, safe in the knowledge that their deceptions will go unpunished. And if it was not enough to show kindness to our enemies, Silas has also shown harshness to our friends."

"How so?"

"He stripped the titles of several of the nobility, based on nothing more than idle gossip and speculation. By doing so he has undermined one of the pillars of this kingdom, and allowed his upbringing to come into light. Many of the nobility see his actions as nothing more than a child trying to get revenge for his past circumstances. They distance themselves from him more and more, and thus leave the crown bereft of their wealth, influence and wisdom. I must confess that I too thought about leaving Pyre... but I wanted to believe that he could change..."

Attacus said nothing. In his mind, a handful of dark thoughts were forming. Looking at it objectively, choosing a young man from Slumtown to lead the most powerful nation in the Flamelands did seem a bit irresponsible...

Compared to some noble who had spent his entire childhood learning everything from politics to military theory... Silas had spent his formative years amongst the dredges of society. Did that really qualify him to lead an entire kingdom?

"I can see from your expression that you understand what I am telling you. And if showing weakness to our enemies and harshness to our friends was not enough, he has also been bleeding our treasury dry."

Arthus' voice took on a bitter tone as he explained, "His latest proposal was the creation of more than a hundred homes within the city. Not meant for the hardest workers or the most successful people, no, but former residents of Slumtown and others who have been too lazy to find work. When I asked him how these people would pay for these homes, he told me that he would give them jobs. Those jobs should go to those who are most suited for them... not a beggar who couldn't come by honest money if he tried!"

Arthus looked at him then, and his expression changed. He seemed... worn, as if all the tiredness he had gathered in his lifetime was suddenly hitting him all at once.

With a great sigh, he leaned forward, staring into Attacus' eyes.

"Please, Attacus, help me. I don't want to see the throne... and the kingdom, fall because of such a preventable mistake."

"What can I do?" Attacus asked. He knew next to nothing about court politics, and hadn't even seen Silas in a decade.

"Talk to him. He trusts you, so use that trust to try and get him to see reason. Tell him that I am here to help him, not harm him, and that if we can work together... maybe we can fix this mess we're in..."

Attacus stood, feeling uncomfortable. He was torn, internally, by his desire to help Arthus and his desire to defend Silas.

"I... I will try," Attacus said, eventually.

"Thank you, Attacus... thank you," Arthus said, a relieved smile spreading across his weary features.

Excusing himself, Attacus left the parlour, heart and mind full of doubt. If Arthus knew what he intended to do... he wondered how their conversation would have gone.

Undoubtedly, he would have been devastated...

<>

Attacus lay in bed, unable to sleep. So much had happened. He had met Silas, but he still didn't know if the man he called 'brother' had changed or not. If Arthus was to be believed, then Silas was taking Vuria down a dark path... and, if nothing was done, the people would end up suffering...

Was this what Imran had wanted him to fix? Was this what Priarch had wanted him to change? Was this what his Holy Order was for?

A single life, in exchange for all the lives of the kingdom?

Could he do it? Well, it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter... but if his motive was pure, then perhaps Silas could one day forgive him, when they met again in Priarch's eternal embrace...

As he lay there, struggling with his inner thoughts, he heard something. It sounded like a woman... crying?

"Luceel?" he whispered into the darkness.

Silence was his only response.

And then...

"Attacus?" came the response, muffled from the wall that divided them.

"Are you... alright?" he ventured, expecting either no response or an angry one.

However, the voice that responded did not sound angry. If anything, it sounded... sad.

"I'm... fine. Just having trouble falling asleep..."

"Me too."

"I see..."

"I keep thinking about Prophet Imran... and our Holy Orders..."

"Me too," she said, surprising him.

"I'm wondering why he chose me, and if he made the right choice. I guess I don't know why he didn't choose someone smarter, or stronger, or just... better."

"I'm sure he chose you for a reason," she replied.

"Thank you... I suppose we don't have much of a say, in the end. Prophet Imran chose us to carry out his will, and through him, Priarch guides us. No matter what our Holy Order is... no matter how terrible it might seem, we still have to complete it..."

"I agree... We can't know how our Holy Orders will help the world, but we have to trust in them all the same..."

"I suppose Imran knew what he was doing, in the end. Thank you Luceel... I think I'll be able to sleep after all," he said, feeling slightly relieved. It was amazing how much she could put his mind at ease with just a few words. As opposed to Arthus, who made him feel unsure, Luceel radiated sureness.

"Me too," she said, ending the conversation.

However, a moment later, she added, "Good night, Attacus."

With a smile on his face, he replied, "Good night, Luceel."

A heartbeat later, he allowed sleep to claim him, as he finally put an end to the longest day of his life...

# Chapter 8: The First Son

Holy Order 2071: Destroy the Council of Faith

Prion Qumare Slovek

<>

Morning, Kinday, 22 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Attacus dreamt of killing the king.

He dreamt that he confronted Silas in the throne room, sword in hand. He dreamt of plunging the blade into Silas' heart, as every Prion in the kingdom cheered.

He dreamt that Imran himself kneeled on the floor, praising his name. He dreamt of a parade made in his honour which lasted forty days and forty nights.

And then he dreamt of Edda. He dreamt that she was still alive, and that she was crying over Silas' lifeless body, blaming the son she should never have trusted...

It was a miracle that he did not wake up screaming.

<>

As he made his way down to breakfast, he heard the front door slam shut. Upon inquiring with a servant, he learnt that Lord Beliere had been called to the palace to deal with an urgent matter.

Without being told anything further, Attacus was ushered out onto a lower balcony, overlooking the city. Luceel was already seated at the table, looking slightly happier than she had the night before.

Ellah, dressed in ordinary clothes, sat opposite her. It was a strange sight, seeing the two of them so close together. With her dirty blonde hair and light green eyes, Ellah could have been Luceel's sister, or at least a close cousin. And yet their stations could not have been more different.

One, a servant of God, the other, a servant of someone who probably thought he was God.

"Please, be seated Attacus," Ellah said, gesturing to the empty chair which lay between the two women.

He did so without complaint, enjoying the growing warmth of the Rising Hour.

"Lady Luceel has been telling me about your journey, and I am finding it rather fascinating. Did you really fail to harvest even a single Tama fruit?"

He glanced towards Luceel, but her face was like stone.

"If that is what Prion Luceel says, then I am sure there is no reason to doubt her words..." he said, after a moment's consideration.

He had no pride to speak of, and his reputation was next to non-existent. He could understand Luceel wanting to protect hers, however.

"I guess gardening doesn't come easy to people from Slumtown... I would know, I've tried several times to start a vegetable garden... but it's never really worked out," she said, with a grin.

It was the first time he had seen her smile, he realized.

And then he realized something else.

"Wait, you're from Slumtown too?" he exclaimed.

"Born and bred," she replied, helping herself to another piece of honeyed bread.

"I never saw you there. Where did you live?"

"Remember Old Man Crogan? I lived in his basement while my mother tended his...shop."

Old Man Crogan, a terrible man by anyone's measure. He had found vulnerable women and forced them to work for him for barely any pay while taking liberties with their bodies. Almost all of Slumtown had celebrated when one of the women finally snapped and suffocated him in his sleep.

"You're Rellia Consors' daughter, aren't you?" he asked, putting one and one together.

He could still remember the day that Rellia had been dragged away by the guard for Crogan's murder. She hadn't struggled or fought... she had just pleaded that someone look after her daughter.

"I am. It seems that Crogan had friends amongst the nobility. He would often rent out the women who worked for him to the nobles in exchange for favours. After she was executed, I learnt the reason why she had finally snapped... apparently he wanted to use me as well..."

"Sorry..." Attacus whispered. He didn't know what else to say.

"It was a long time ago... and I was lucky, in the end. Arthus showed up later that month, looking for Crogan. He told me that he was investigating the nobles who were using Crogan's services, and he had come to put a stop to it. When he found out what had happened, he took me in... although he wasn't fast enough to stop them from executing my mom..."

"Sorry," Attacus repeated.

"But that's all changed now. With a lowborn king on the throne, we finally have someone up there who knows the people, and their struggles. If I ever get the chance to meet King Silas, I just want to tell him... thank you, for everything he's done for people like me..."

"You might just get that chance, Ellah. After all, Attacus here, despite it being the unlikeliest thing I've ever heard, is actually the king's brother," Luceel said, sporting a grin of her own.

Ellah's face instantly transformed from a face of adoration to a mask of disbelief.

"Is that true?" she said, leaning in closer.

"It is," Attacus replied, sighing. It wasn't exactly something that he wanted to go around telling people. If word got out that there was a direct line to the king-

And then he remembered his late night conversation with Arthus.

"Promise me that you won't tell a soul," he added, a moment later.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, looking happier by the second. "But tell me... is he really as good looking as they say?"

Attacus floundered. He looked over at Luceel, who shrugged and said, "He's alright, if you like that kind of thing."

Ellah smiled, as if she had received the answer that she had been looking for. Luceel caught Attacus' gaze and looked away.

She looked... guilty?

But why?

They spent the rest of the meal in silence. Attacus, not for the first time, regretted not learning more about woman from his mother while he still could.

<>

A short while later, after bidding farewell to Ellah and the rest of the staff, they left the manor. As they had walked out the door, she had told them that the king would most likely be busy for a while longer, if Arthus' tone had indicated anything.

When asked about what they could do to pass the time, she suggested that they visit the Faith Memorial, although she had not elaborated further on what it memorialized.

Heading Dawnward, they travelled down Pyre's backstreets, passing through morning markets, community gatherings and empty parks.

It was... peaceful, and for a time, Attacus was able to forget his mission. Even Luceel visibly relaxed, as she spoke about the city and its wonders.

Everywhere they wandered, they saw signs of preparation. Homes were being decorated with colourful red and yellow painted symbols, designed to mimic the great fire which would soon stand in the centre of the city. Chandlers hung great rows of candles out to cool, seamstresses sewed ceremonial dresses and garments, and parchment makers stretched out great hides over wooden racks, all in preparation of the year end feast.

As he walked, Attacus thought back to his early years. In Slumtown, candles, clothes and calves had been in short supply, so their Festival of Flame had always been a rather pitiful affair. He and Silas would gather together a few branches of wood, celebrating each time a stick or twig was found mostly dry. Edda would beg for scraps of parchment and leftover ink, fashioning makeshift quills from pieces of junk.

And then, at the Sinner's Hour on the last day of the year, they would all write down their sins and throw them into the fire, burning away the darkness in their hearts and freeing their minds to start the new year clean.

Every year, he had written down the same sin.

Every year, he had asked for forgiveness.

Every year, he had mourned the death of his parents, and regretted his role in their demise.

<>

They had almost reached the city's Dawnward wall when the Faith Memorial came into view. It rose from a wide plinth of stone and metal, roughly twenty paces across.

It was made from multiple metals joined together, but so seamlessly that Attacus could not tell where one began and the next ended. At first, the memorial looked like nothing more than a misshapen spire of metal, but as he approached, its intricate details emerged. The spire was made from four base prominences which twisted round one another as they ascended, creating a spiralling monument roughly thirty paces high.

Moving closer still, Attacus saw that figures had been etched into the memorial, depicting the six children of Priarch and various holy symbols relating to their worship.

But why would they be here, in the heartland of the Church?

"Dedicated to the tragic loss of life during the Council of Faith, in which all religions gathered together in an effort to promote unity and understanding. May such a tragedy never occur again, and may the men and women of the cloth sow peace, not violence," Luceel read, staring at a small plaque at the memorial's base.

"As if they really think that a heap of metal is enough to undo the damage that was done," a voice called out, in an accent that Attacus couldn't place.

A moment later, a man emerged from the other side of the spire, wearing clothes that immediately marked him as a foreigner.

He wore a simple garment consisting of a piece of green cloth wrapped around his waist, covering his legs but leaving his tanned chest open. On his head he wore another piece of cloth, which fell in such a way that it covered half of his face, revealing one black eye and a mop of red hair.

"You Vurians all think alike. You think that if you just throw some money at a problem, it'll disappear forever. But Son-Amat has not forgotten what you did to our Kindreds, and it will take more than a pointy memorial to convince us that you have learnt your lesson."

"You are from Son-Amat?" Attacus asked.

"Obviously," the stranger replied, "I am Son-Semmet the Second, the firstborn son of Semmet I and a Kindred of the Church of the First Son."

Luceel suddenly stepped forward, eyeing Son-Semmet up and down.

"You are the king's special guest?" she said, leaving Attacus mystified.

Son-Semmet, however, ignored her. Turning back to Attacus, he said, "If you would please command your woman to stand back, I would be happy to continue our conversation."

"Son-Semmet, this is Prion Luceel Voraine, the 9999th Prion of the Church of Priarch. You will show her the respect she deserves," Attacus said, with a surprisingly level tone. Since when did he get angry on Luceel's behalf?

Son-Semmet gave Luceel another once-over before saying, "In the Church of the First Son, women are only good for two things: childbearing and childrearing. Your woman does not look to be with child, nor do I see one nearby under her care. Therefore, her value is non-existent. Please, command her to stand back so that we men may speak in peace."

Attacus expected Luceel to hit him. Or worse.

Defying his every expectation, she instead took three steps back.

When she spoke, her tone was level, yet her hands were clenched tightly beside her.

"Son-Semmet, you are a guest in this land, so I will overlook your cultural mistake," she said, before turning to walk away. However, just before she left the clearing, she turned and said, in a voice colder than ice, "I am sure that there will not be a second time."

And then she was gone.

Son-Semmet simply shook his head, saying, "Amat only knows how far that one would have gone as a man... Perhaps she might have even been my equal..."

"Why are you here, Son-Semmet?" Attacus asked, trying to remain civil. In his heart, he wanted to chase after Luceel, but he knew that it was his duty to learn more about Silas' special guest.

"I was invited by your king, of course," Son-Semmet said, turning his gaze back to the memorial, "Although I don't see what he hopes to accomplish. My people have hated yours since the Council of Faith, and I don't see that changing any time soon."

The Council of Faith had been, as his history teacher had taught him, a disaster. Meant to be a meeting place for the various religions of the Flamelands, it had instead turned into a bloodbath. In 207AC, the leaders of the Church of the First Son, the Hexacracy, the Lusetan Faith and the Church of the Priarch had come together for the first time since their founding. They had wanted to put aside their differences and bolster their similarities, and perhaps end the religious intolerance that went beyond borders. However, a Prion named Qumare Slovek had attacked the Council, wielding sword and flame. He had killed indiscriminately, slaying both his fellow Prions and the members of the other religions until none were left standing.

When the Council lay in ashes, he surrendered himself, offering no resistance. He was taken and quartered, with a piece given to each religion as a sign of goodwill. Only by claiming that Qumare had killed members of the Church of the Priarch as well as the others was the Church able to maintain a distance from the so-called rogue Prion.

In the eight centuries that followed, men and women had tried to reconvene the Council, but never with any success.

"Do you know what the Mad Prion's last words were, before they dismembered him?" Son-Semmet said, refocusing his attention on Attacus.

Attacus shook his head. The Church had tried to distance itself from Qumare, including insinuating that he wasn't even a Prion, just a madman who claimed to be one. Although his name was recorded in the Hall of Prions, alongside his brethren...

"My guidance has ended," Son-Semmet said, spitting, "Now isn't that what one of you says when you complete your so-called Holy Order?"

"It is," Attacus replied, defensively.

"So what if the Mad Prion hadn't been so mad after all? What if he was just following the order of some crazy prophet who wrote down a bunch of nonsensical instructions? What then, Prion?"

"Prion Qumare Slovek was a traitor to the Church and a madman. Prophet Imran would never ask a Prion to kill in his name. You are mistaken, Son-Semmet, on every count."

But in his heart, Attacus knew the truth. No Prion had ever failed to complete their Holy Order. If Imran had ordered Qumare to destroy the Council of Faith, he would have, without hesitation or mercy.

And compared to an entire Council... at least Imran had only asked him to take a single life...

Even if it was the life of his brother.

"Perhaps," Son-Semmet replied, "But I did not travel all this way to be insulted by non-believers. I came here because your king begged me too, and I will listen to him before I leave this strange, woman-dominated kingdom."

And then he too, was gone.

<>

Attacus found Luceel a few streets away, surrounded by a group of children. She had a smile on her face as she told them the Parabil of the Stubborn Son, no doubt spurred on by Son-Semmet's words.

"Once there was a man and his children," she said, gesturing with her arms as she did so, "The man was a famous sculptor, and his sculptures were desired across the land. Being so busy making the sculptures, he had his children deliver them to their recipients. However, after a time, it came to the man's attention that one of his sons, the oldest, was passing off his father's works as his own."

Luceel truly had a talent for teaching, Attacus thought, as he watched the enraptured faces of the children. They did not miss a single word, nor interrupt the story at any point.

"The man was disheartened, but wanted the boy to admit the truth on his own. When this did not work, the man tried to trick the boy into confessing. First he tried offering him sweet honey and fresh milk, his favourite meal, but the boy did not confess. Losing his patience, the man then sat down with his son and spoke to him, trying to reason with him. But the boy did not confess."

He saw the looks of annoyance and sadness grow in the children's faces. They were feeling what the man felt, so completely were they invested in the story.

"Enraged, the man took a length of wood and beat the boy for many hours. The boy, wanting the pain to end, finally confessed and promised to never lie or claim his father's works as his own again. In this, father and son were reconciled, and the world made sense once more. Thus, the stubborn son was not moved by kindness or reason, but by force."

A little girl, no more than eight, shed a single tear.

"I see your faces, and I know your question. What purpose does this story serve? I tell you, there are those in this world who cannot be moved by kindness or reason, only force. You may have met them in your lifetime, or they might still be to come. Know this, that not every situation can be solved with violence, but nor can they be solved entirely with peace. It is up to each of you to decide when to use which..." Luceel concluded, rising to her feet.

The spell broken, the children began to disperse.

However, the young girl remained.

"Prion Luceel, my daddy said that all the religions in the world are equal, and that we just need to understand one another a little better... Is that true? Is Priarch equal to Amat... and the others?"

Luceel knelt until she was eyelevel with the girl. Speaking softly, she said, "It sounds as though your father is quite... _stubborn_ , don't you agree?"

The little girl's eyes grew wide for a moment, and then she nodded.

"I understand... Thank you, Prion Luceel!" she cried, as she turned and ran off.

Attacus stayed silent as Luceel approached.

He knew why she had chosen that Parabil, as well as its true meaning.

Simply put, it was a reminder. Only the Church, the father, is correct. Worship only Priarch, not his children. And if you encounter someone who does, do not try and appease or reason with them, it is not the way to make them see the errors of their ways.

Force is the only language that they understand.

<>

Leaving the outer district, they slowly made their way back towards the city's heart. Arriving at the Royal Road, they travelled down it once more, noting how busy it was.

Walking beside Luceel, Attacus became aware of the stares that they were receiving. It obviously wasn't because they were Prions, as there were dozens of Prions in the city already.

The only other option was that they were staring at Luceel... and most likely wondering why she was next to a man like him.

Come to think of it, why was she still with him?

"Luceel, I don't mean to pry, but don't you have to meet with the nobles? Unless Lord Beliere was the noble that you were meant to meet?"

She gave him a sidelong glance in response.

"What I mean is... you don't have to come with me to the palace. I'm sure that you have better things to do than hang around with me all day?"

Luceel stopped suddenly, forcing him to drag his heels and come to a halt.

"I go where I please, Attacus, or are you trying to command me to go somewhere else, like that stone-headed Kindred?" There was a nasty edge to her voice, and Attacus suddenly regretted saying anything.

"No! No... I didn't mean it that way..."

"It just so happens that our paths have run parallel thus far," she said, picking up her feet, "I am not happy about it either, but I will be travelling with you for a while longer."

As he caught up to her, she flashed a sarcastic grin and said, "And besides, this way I get to watch you humiliate yourself not just in front of the nobility, but the king as well. Not to mention that I'll need to mitigate the damage done to the Church's reputation."

Attacus wisely said nothing.

Like it or not -and a small part of him did enjoy her company- he would be seeing Luceel for a little while longer.

<>

They entered the palace without conflict. Apparently the news had spread that Attacus was an old friend of the king, and he was not to be detained, lest one wanted to start job hunting.

Walking into the throne room, they quickly transitioned into a world in which chaos was the norm.

Arthus and a few of the nobility stood to one side, holding a stern vigil. Silas sat on the throne, face clouded and hands clenched. Before him was a middle-aged noble, visibly shaking with rage.

Attacus didn't even know where to begin.

"Lord Alister Ferros, for the crimes you have committed, I hereby strip you of your land, your titles, and your crown protection. You are now a commoner, and as such you are beholden to their laws. I am sure that in time you will face their judgement, and will be dealt a just punishment. That is all. Leave us, and never return."

"This is an outrage!" The noble screamed, taking a step towards the throne, "I did nothing wrong! I acted as I should have, and I even showed mercy! And yet you judge me as the perpetrator of some imagined evil, and take away my home! I will not stand for this, and I will not heed the words of some Whoreborn king!"

Silas stood up.

The noble shut up.

"My word is law," Silas said, speaking slowly, "And the law is my word. I have judged you guilty, and guilty you shall remain. Now get out of my sight."

Lord Ferros looked towards his fellow nobles, but all of them averted their gaze.

All of them, except Arthus.

He looked from Silas to Lord Ferros, seemingly weighing his options.

A moment later, he shook his head. No help would come from him.

Lord Ferros, upon seeing this, let out a wordless scream. He suddenly leapt forward, reaching towards Silas with murder in his eyes.

Attacus froze. Half of him wanted to save his brother.

The other half, the darker half, wanted this to happen. Let someone else kill Silas. His Holy Order would be complete, and he would have no blood on his hands.

It was almost too perfect.

A heartbeat later, Silas caught Lord Ferros by his own momentum and sent him crashing to the floor. The guards were on him a moment later, hauling him to his feet. He held his right arm at an awkward angle, and there were tears in his eyes.

"You've broken my arm!" he cried.

Silas, chest heaving, took a moment to compose himself. When he finally spoke, it was with an emotionless tone.

"From what I heard, you did much worse to your servant. Beating a man half to death because he stole a loaf of bread to feed his starving daughter... you are a disgrace to your former station."

Gesturing to his guards, he said, "Take him away, and make sure he doesn't hurt himself again on the way down to the cells."

Lord Ferros was still screaming when they took him.

"Your time is coming to an end, Whoreborn! Very soon, you will be dead at my feet, and this kingdom will rejoice! Very soon, you will be reunited with that whore mother of yours! Very soon, you will-

Silence reclaimed the throne room.

A few seconds later, Silas returned to the throne. Placing his head in his hands, he commanded, "Leave us."

Arthus took a step towards him, saying, "Your majesty, perhaps if I could persuade you to show some lenien-

"OUT, ALL OF YOU!" Silas screamed, rattling the chandeliers above him.

The nobles left. Some looked afraid. Some looked angry.

Only Arthus was smiling.

<>

"Forgive me, Attacus, for showing you something so unsightly," Silas said, gesturing Attacus forward.

"It must be hard, being king," Attacus said, trying to sound sincere.

"It is. Sometimes I think that it's even harder than trying to survive Slumtown..."

"You obviously don't remember Slumtown very well then," Attacus said, with a nervous laugh.

"No... not as well as I should. I think that the more time I spent within these walls, the more I forget what it was like outside them. I had forgotten my roots... until you came along."

"Your majesty," Luceel interjected, dropping into a formal curtsy.

"Lady Voraine... or is it Prion Luceel?"

"Just Luceel is fine, my king," she replied, smoothly.

"Very well. Rise, Luceel, and be at ease."

She straightened, but did not lose her air of formality.

"I must thank you for brining my brother to me," Silas said, lowering his head a knuckle-width.

"I am a servant of Priarch," she replied, smiling graciously, "It is through his providence that I am here. I am happy to be of service to both my God and my king."

Silas said nothing more, leading to an uncomfortable silence that lasted for a few seconds.

"It is good to see you again," Attacus said, sensing a lull in the conversation.

"And you, my brother," Silas replied with a smile, every bit the king. If Attacus had not watched him cry for three days straight after he lost his favourite Katang stone, he would have sworn that Silas had been born with a kingly disposition.

"I wanted to ask... about Edda..."

In truth, there were dozens of things he wanted to ask about. But at that moment, nothing else came close.

Silas' smile immediately vanished. In an instant, he was a child once more.

A child who had just lost his mother.

With effort, Silas spoke, saying, "It came suddenly, her illness. For nine years, she was happy, healthy and hearty. She lived me with in the palace, but she did not spend all her time lounging around and eating Tama milk pudding, as some of the noblewomen tend to do. Instead she worked just as hard, if not harder, as when she lived in Slumtown. She helped me negotiate with the nobles, taught me the intricacies of the court politics, and gave me the confidence to enact my policies. Truly, without her, I would never have made it this far."

Attacus felt a great sense of pride well up in his heart. She might not have been his mother by birth, but she had still taught him all that a mother should. To hear that she had not only survived her return to Pyre, but prospered, brought him a great flood of relief.

"And then, just when things were going well, she started to cough. At first I thought that she had simply caught a minor illness... but she never got any better. Her cough became worse, she began to lose weight, and her mood swung with every passing hour. In desperation, I gathered together the best doctors from across the kingdom. But it wasn't enough. The doctors told me that she had Weeping Sickness, so named because once someone contracted it, all their family could do was weep."

Attacus felt the tears form in his eyes, but he did not wipe them away. He didn't care if Luceel berated him for crying in front of her or the king.

After all, was not a son allowed to weep for his mother?

"She passed a few weeks after that. It was only recently that I learnt that in Son-Amat, they have developed a cure for Weeping Sickness. If our nations had been on better terms... if there wasn't so much hostility between us..."

"Son-Semmet," Attacus whispered, coming to a realization.

Silas looked up sharply.

"So you have met him... Even though I told him to remain in the palace, for his own safety, it appears that my words have no hold over him."

"I do not trust him, nor that Church of his," Luceel said, her earlier anger briefly reappearing.

"I know. But it must be this way... for all our sakes," Silas said, with a heavy tone.

However, it felt like there was more that was left unsaid. Had he really asked a Kindred to travel all the way from Son-Amat to talk politics? Why not an envoy, or their leaders?

Why involve the Church at all?

"Thank you, for telling me... about mother. I'm glad that you were with her when she passed..."

Again, there were unspoken words.

I should have been there.

He wanted to say it.

He needed to say it.

But he couldn't.

Not without hating the Church, Imran and the last ten years of his life.

While he was struggling with his words, one of the guards they had seen in the foyer entered the room. Moving swiftly, he came towards the dais. Upon reaching it, he leaned down and whispered something into Silas' ear.

"Forgive me, Attacus, but my special guest is demanding an audience with me. Something about an arrogant woman he met in the city who needs to learn her place?" he said, giving Luceel a playful smirk.

She did not return it.

"While I deal with him, perhaps you would like to visit our old home? I think you would be surprised to see how much things have changed."

Attacus nodded. He had been meaning to visit Slumtown, and this just gave him the excuse to do so.

Silas reached into his white shirt and drew forth a heavy looking silver key hanging on a leather cord. Passing it to Attacus he said, "This is the key to the Lower Bridge Gate. It is the only one we have, so I would appreciate it if you didn't lose it."

"I won't, trust me," Attacus said, pocketing the key.

"I know... and I do..." Silas replied, with a smile.

And it was that trust, that unwavering belief that his brother would never hurt him, that burned in Attacus' chest as they left the throne room.

Very soon, he would have to abuse that trust.

Very soon, he would have to shatter Silas' belief that Attacus was a good person and a good brother.

Very soon, he would have to kill the king...

# Chapter 9: Living in Shadow

Holy Order 6479: Gather together the unclean of Pyre and build a place for them to live

Prion Gable Threshent

<>

Afternoon, Kinday, 22 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

They followed a guard out of the throne room, turning right at the antechamber and entering a massive dining hall which looked like it could host all of Aliark Village and still have room left over. Servants bustled to and fro, going about their duties.

Unlike at the Beliere manor, they were all smiling.

As they worked, they sang, keeping the jovial tune going even as new servants entered and old ones left the room.

After listening to a few of the words, Attacus stopped in his tracks. A smile appeared on his face, and he started humming along with the tune.

Luceel gave him an incredulous look.

"You know the servant's song?"

Attacus nodded, breaking the tune to say, "It's called _Roses in Bloom_... Edda used to sing it to us, to help us fall asleep. It was her song..."

"I see... I'm guessing that the servants must have overheard her singing it to him while she was... still with us. It certainly is catchy..." Luceel said, before surprising him by joining in.

She hummed with perfect pitch, naturally.

Attacus joined her, a moment later.

Most likely, she thought that it was a simple song about gardening. But he, and only he, knew the truth.

It was a story.

It told the tale of a young woman who, while wandering through a forest, came upon a bed of wild roses. As she was admiring them, she spotted a wildfire burning in the distance. Knowing that the flames would soon reach the roses, she thought about leaving them. However, having been entranced by their beauty and innocence, she risked her life to save them. Digging them up, roots and all, she carried them out of the forest. One by one, she gently ferried the plants to a safe place. Upon returning for the last one, she saw that the flames had already reached the bed. Without hesitation, she thrust her hands into the flames, burning her arms badly. She pulled the rose out, still intact, and carried it far from the fire. When she brought it to the others, she was met with jeers from a group of woodcutters who had witnessed her sacrifice. They derided her, not only for risking her life for a bunch of flowers, but for injuring herself to save something that was not even hers to begin with.

Attacus smiled, as he recalled the final part of the story.

The woman, covered in soot, exhausted and badly burnt, had simply looked at the woodcutters and said, 'Can I not enjoy the beauty of a rose, even if I did not plant it myself?'

As a child, he had not understood. He had thought that it was just a silly story about a silly woman.

But he understood now.

Edda was the woman.

The fire was death.

And he... was the rose.

<>

Leaving the dining hall, they made their way down, towards the kitchens. They had entered the belly of the palace, where all the real work -at least, according to those who worked there- happened.

They were soon enveloped in clouds of steam and wafts of aroma. All around them, chefs prepared mouth-watering dishes and exquisitely crafted desserts. Attacus saw a mound of Tama fruits against a wall, and recalled his brief tenure as a hired hand.

If it were only possible... he would have liked to try that again.

After leaving the kitchens, they headed deeper still, entering a series of twisting passageways and storerooms. They encountered fewer and fewer servants, and slowly the sounds of the bustling kitchens faded away.

The guard, having collected a lantern along the way, led them through the murky gloom.

"This passage hasn't been used since before King Silas' time," he said, gesturing with the light towards the signs of disuse.

"Well, that is what we're told to say, at any rate," he continued, a moment later, "In truth, I know that the king often uses this tunnel to slip out of the palace undetected. Most of the guards think that he uses it to get some alone time, or possibly to meet up with a young sweetheart or two. But I know the truth. He uses it to visit his home."

"Slumtown," Attacus said, staying close to the light.

"I think it helps him remember his roots, and reminds him that underneath all that gold and fine fabric, he's no better than you or me..."

"It sounds like you have great love for your king," Luceel said, standing unusually close to Attacus.

It wasn't... unpleasant...

"I do. We all do," the guard said, beaming with pride, "After generations of highborn kings, we finally have one who understands the plight of the peasantry. They might call him Whoreborn or outsider, but at the heart of it, Silas is a king of the people. And while that might not win him much affection from the nobility, he is beloved by those of us who didn't sleep in gilded cribs."

Attacus felt a stab of guilt, but he forced it down. He had to steel his heart, if he was to ruin the lives of so many.

<>

Eventually, they reached the end of the passageway. It terminated in a large wooden door.

"Here we are, the Lower Bridge Gate," the guard said, gesturing towards the heavy-looking door.

"When Pyre was built, this was used as an emergency escape in times of strife. The king and his family could escape the conflict above unseen, and emerge in a desolate part of the kingdom before moving to a safe place. Thankfully, it has never been used in such a manner."

The guard pointed towards a small keyhole in the door, and then stepped back.

Attacus stepped forward and inserted the key Silas had given him. It was a perfect fit.

Turning the key, he felt the lock give way. A moment later, heaving with all his might, he dragged the door open.

They were immediately assaulted by a gust of wind, along with a lance of sunlight. When his eyes finally adjusted, Attacus saw that they were standing at one side of the Pyric God Scar. Directly below him was a long drop into darkness. The only thing preventing this was a rope bridge stretching across the chasm.

It looked... worn.

Measuring roughly 500 paces across, it was a tribute to the master bridge builders who had opened Vuria up to settlers all those centuries ago.

"I must leave you here, however, I must ask you to return the key to me. I have strict instructions not to let it leave the city. Worry not, I will wait for you here, keeping the gate open, until you return," the guard said, stepping back.

"Thank you, for your guidance," Attacus said, stepping forward.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the rickety bridge. It had lasted all these years without incident.

Surely it could last one more day?

Another step forward.

And then something incredible occurred.

Luceel grabbed hold of his arm. It was a tight grip, and judging from her expression, she wasn't going to let go anytime soon.

Not that he really minded having her hands on him...

However, he felt that he couldn't just let this pass without comment.

"What's wrong, is Luceelie afraid of heights?" he joked.

"Shut. Up," she replied, voice trembling slightly, "Heights I can manage just fine... Its depths that are the problem..."

Her expression dared him to comment further.

Yet she did not let go all the same.

Chuckling to himself, he took another step forward.

A moment later, she did the same.

"If you're scared, you can always wait he-

The look on her face killed his last word. She had her pride, far more of it than the average person, and she would not let something like this stop her.

It was admirable, in a way.

"Very well. Hold on tight, I think I spotted a few loose planks up ahead."

She tightened her grip.

With a small smile, he picked up his pace, leading her across the bridge.

<>

Just under twenty minutes later, they reached the other side. Before them lay Slumtown...

Or, more accurately, the ruins of Slumtown.

Not a single building remained intact. Although, given the state of the shantytown when he left, the difference was only slight.

"You grew up here?" Luceel asked, eyes wide.

She still hadn't let go of his robe.

Not that he was in any hurry to point this out.

"Yes, but it didn't look like this. Slumtown was never the prettiest of places, but this... is a ruin. Someone purposefully destroyed the buildings and removed the people... but who?"

"Perhaps the king would know more?"

"Perhaps," Attacus said, taking a step forward towards his hometown.

Despite the harshness of his childhood and the general feeling of danger and disrepair Slumtown had always conveyed, it pained him to see it like this. It was as if someone had simply erased a part of him they had found distasteful.

"This was once the Repugnant Road, made in mockery of the Royal Road," he said, gesturing to the scattered cobblestones which had once made up the path which had crossed the breadth of Slumtown.

"I see..." Luceel said, standing beside him. She wore a strange look on her face, although for a change, Attacus recognized the emotion.

It was an expression he had seen often as a child, when those from the city would grace Slumtown with their presence for one reason or another.

It was a look of shock, mixed in with a handful of disgust and a drop of pity.

The rich noblemen and women from up above, who had never suffered or struggled with anything, had suddenly been confronted with a world that could not be more different than their own.

A world where men beat children out of boredom, where life was cheap and living was expensive, and where to survive into adulthood was a luxury, not a standard.

As they struggled to reconcile this world with their own, they would do one of three things.

They would ignore it, abuse it, or try to change it.

Sadly, the last type of people were the most pitiful, ironically. For they would return, again and again, and try to make things better. But after countless failures, they would come to the same conclusion the residents themselves had stumbled upon years earlier.

There was no way to save Slumtown.

"I... I owe you an apology, Attacus," she said, her pity turning to guilt, "I knew that you were from Slumtown... but I didn't really understand what that meant. For many things, but especially the day we met... I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, Luceel. Life here wasn't all bad, and if I hadn't grown up here, then I never would have met Silas or Edda. This is my past... but it's not my future."

She said nothing in reply. Moving onwards, he found his feet had plotted a course home.

<>

They arrived at his old house, which in truth was barely more than a shack, less than thirty minutes later. Strangely, it was the only one still standing in the area.

As if someone had intentionally preserved it.

Coming closer, he was hit by a wave of nostalgia. The street where he would walk, carrying what little he had managed to scrounge for food. The mound of garbage where he had played Katang with Silas, on that fateful day when his entire world had changed.

And the signpost bearing his family name, marking where his original house had once stood. His parents and Edda had been neighbours and friends, struggling together under the same sun.

"Lore," Luceel read, staring at the carved wooden post.

"This is where I was born, and where I spent the first five years of my life. I don't remember much about it... or them... except for an almost constant feeling of hunger."

"What happened to them, your birth parents?" asked Luceel, moving closer to him.

Attacus took a deep breath. When last had he spoken of them? Five years? Ten? It wasn't something he enjoyed talking about it.

"My mother's name was Riitze, and my father was called Nuadha. They lived here, in relative happiness, for most of their lives. My mother, born with a weak body, tended to the house, while my father spent his days taking any job that he could find. He mostly worked at the Royal Mill, on the other side of Pyre. He, unlike my mother, was stout of frame and strong of body. He could lift more than any other man he knew, and was always called upon for the most strenuous tasks. It was not an easy life, but it _was_ a life."

With one finger, he began to trace the letters cut into the signpost.

"And then, my mother fell pregnant. Edda told me that they were happy, but also afraid. They were worried about raising a child, when they could barely afford to feed themselves. In order to raise some extra coin, my father started working harder. It was on Ashrise, when mother was a few months pregnant, that everything fell apart. There was an accident at the Royal Mill, and Nuadha was badly injured. He lost his right arm, and spent months recovering. By the time he was back on his feet, he found that no one wanted to hire a cripple."

Attacus felt the tears swell in his eyes, but he blinked them back.

"Nuadha didn't give up. He tried everything to make money, taking on every job, no matter how degrading. Like this, he managed to keep his family fed for five years. But slowly, the money started to run out. With a growing child and a dearth of available jobs, he could do nothing but slowly starve. Edda helped as much as she could, but she was also struggling to keep herself and Silas fed. I only learnt later that my parents had been giving me almost all of the food we had, whilst keeping a tiny amount for themselves. Eventually, their bodies began to fail, and they started to waste away, becoming Skullkin."

"That's what you told my father, right? But what does it mean?"

"It means that they were so thin, their bones would show through, making them look more like living skeletons than actual people. They were kindred to the dead, not the living, hence the name."

"I... see..."

"After not hearing from my parents for a few days, Edda grew worried and went to them. She found them dead, cradling me in their final embrace. According to her, I refused to leave them, clinging to their corpses with all my might. It was only when Silas, himself a child, came and took my hand that I left that place. It was then that I received the name, Skullchild, the living boy who lay with the dead. The shack was lit on fire, my parents still inside, since no one could afford to summon a Prion to carry out a proper cremation. All that remains is this signpost, a symbol of what once was."

Attacus felt something he had never felt before. Luceel had placed her arm around his shoulders, and had drawn him close to her. He was crying openly, and shaking with every breath, and yet she did not draw away.

Had he ever truly mourned them, as he did now?

Had he ever told someone the whole story, as he had just done?

No.

Luceel was the first. And for that he was eternally grateful.

<>

A few minutes later, the tears stopped. He drew away from Luceel, reluctantly, and said, "That was the day that I lost my family, and the day that I gained a new one. A brother, where I had had none before. A mother, who had not borne me in her womb, but who loved me all the same. For the love they showed me... there will never be enough gratitude..."

A fresh wave of guilt hit him then, as he once more realized what Imran had asked him to do. 'Kill the King' Imran had written, but it wasn't just any old king.

It was his brother, and the last member of his family still alive.

It was a cruel task... even for a Prophet.

"We don't always get what we want, but sometimes it turns out to be exactly what we need," Luceel said, staring into the distance.

Attacus had no reply. There was a part of him, a big part, who wanted to tell her about his Holy Order. If he had someone to talk to, to explain what he was meant to do, he would surely have an easier time with all of this. But it was forbidden, and ten years of hearing how his soul would be condemned to the Void if he so much as uttered the first word of his Holy Order kept his mouth tight.

"We can't choose where we came from, but we can always choose where we're going," came a voice that Attacus could recognize easily.

Silas, the King of Vuria, strode towards them, flanked by his royal guard. Unlike the kindly man who had attended to them outside the throne room, these men looked ready to fight at a moment's notice. Each held a spear and buckler, with a sword strapped across their broad backs.

From the looks in their eyes it was clear that they were not afraid to kill.

"I wanted to come alone, but my advisors insisted that I bring them along. Something about heightened tensions due to my recent activity?"

"What happened here?" Attacus asked, gesturing to the ruins around them.

Silas stepped forward, watched closely by his guards. He placed a hand on the Lore signpost, before turning to stare at his old home.

"It was one of my first official acts as king. I ordered the abandonment of Slumtown and the resettling of its residents."

"Why?"

"Because Slumtown could not be saved, as I'm sure you know. There was simply too much deep seated darkness here to try and fix it. It took a lot of effort, but Edda and I were able to secure funding from the treasury to move the people and destroy the buildings so that they would not attract wandering vagrants. Obviously, the amount we were allocated could only go so far, hence the ruins."

He walked towards his old home, living in the shadow of his new one.

"Of course, I couldn't let them tear down this place. It is a link to a simpler time. A reminder that just like you, I'm not a noble. I am just a man, trying to help those who cannot help themselves. If I ever lose sight of that... then I will be truly lost..."

Attacus looked at the ruins around him, and the solitary home which stood out amongst the rubble. Silas was right, of course, but that still did not take away the longing in his heart to see the Slumtown he had grown up with.

It was accompanied by a darker thought. Now that almost all trace of his childhood had been removed, how would people in the future view him?

Would they even remember Attacus, the Skullchild?

Would he be instead known as Attacus, the Prion?

Or... most likely... Attacus, the Kingslayer.

<>

They walked with Silas back towards the city. It was almost the Fading Hour, and Attacus was reminded that they didn't have a place to stay the night.

He could always stay with Arthus again, but for some reason, he didn't feel particularly eager to do so.

When he brought up the topic with Silas, enquiring if there were any inns in the city that might still have room, he was immediately reprimanded.

"No brother of mine shall spend the night in some inn, not when there are plenty of empty rooms in the palace! For as long as you are here, you are a guest of the crown, and you will be treated as such. The Lady Voraine, of course, is extended the same offer, if she so chooses."

"Thank you, your majesty, it would be an honour to be your guest," Luceel smoothly replied, dropping into a half-curtsy even as she walked.

"As Prion Luceel said, we would be happy to stay in the palace," Attacus added, attempting a bow and tripping over his own feet.

No one laughed... out loud.

<>

By the time they had reached the palace, the Eternal Flame had disappeared from the sky. Upon passing through the heavyset Lower Bridge Gate, Silas reclaimed the one and only key from the helpful guard.

As they made their way to the upper levels of the palace, where the guest rooms were located, several members of the royal guard split off and returned to their posts. The palace had close to a hundred royal guards at any one time, splayed out amongst its twisting corridors, lofty balconies and quiet antechambers. Any attacker attempting a frontal assault would be met with overwhelming force and little mercy.

It was such an effective system that not a single king or queen had been grievously injured or killed by an outside force since the palace's construction.

And, judging from their steely-eyed stares, the royal guard intended to maintain that custom.

Eventually, only Silas remained of their royal retinue.

The rooms that he led them to were, in a sense, beyond description.

The room at the Voraine Estate had been homely and understated.

The room at the Beliere Manor had been gaudy and overly decorated.

But this room... was perfect.

A large canopied bed. A balcony overlooking the Royal Plaza. A bathroom which could have housed Edda's house with room to spare.

It was more than he deserved.

"It has been a rather long day, I'm afraid to say," exclaimed Silas, as he took a seat on one of the room's comfortable chairs.

"I suppose it is a busy time, with the festival in a few days' time," Attacus said, taking a chair opposite from Silas.

"Not only that. Tomorrow we travel to the Urn for mother's Rekindling. It is hard to think that it has already been a year since she passed..." Silas said, looking more worn-out than Attacus had ever seen him. Gone was the regal king who ruled with surety and confidence.

Before him sat a man who was in need of a hot meal, warm bath and a good night's rest.

Something told him, however, that Silas had most probably been neglecting the latter.

"I am sure that she would have been proud to see how much you've done since then," Attacus said, trying not to think about what Arthus had told him about Silas' failings.

"I wonder..." Silas said, looking contemplative. A moment later, he looked up and said, "Attacus, I had been waiting for a good time to ask, but I might as well do it now... Would you do me the honour of coming with us tomorrow, and lighting the Rekindling wreath?"

Attacus sat back, stunned. Lighting the wreath was the focal part of the ceremony, meant to be carried out by the closest living relative. In that moment, as the flame was transferred between the living and the dead, a bond of life was formed, symbolizing just how much the living missed the dead, and how they were still a part of their lives.

It was not a task to be taken lightly... or passed on to a non-relative.

"I... don't think I'm worthy..."

"Please... Attacus... it's what she would have wanted... I had nine years with her before you joined us, and nine years after you left. At the very least, you should have this moment with her..."

Attacus was at a loss for words.

Could he really do it? Light the wreath of the woman who had raised him, loved him, and cared for him?

Before he took the life of her only son?

Meekly, he nodded.

"Thank you!" Silas exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Attacus, however, did not share in his enthusiasm.

"Now, the hour has grown long. I will instruct the kitchens to cook something for dinner, and send it up to you once it is ready. It is a long journey to the Urn, and we must be well rested and well fed before we depart."

"You are too kind, your majesty," Luceel said, finally finding a moment to speak. She had been silent ever since their return from Slumtown, and Attacus had started to worry that something had upset her during her visit.

"And now, I must bid you good night. There are still a few things I need to prepare for tomorrow, and my advisors will come looking if I'm not present. Attacus, Luceel, may the sweetest of dreams hold you enraptured until morn," he said, with a flourish of his arms.

And then he was gone.

Attacus and Luceel sat in silence, each seemingly absorbed in their thoughts. It had been a busy day indeed.

They were still quiet when their dinner arrived, borne on a dozen silver platters carried by six smiling servants.

They exchanged evening pleasantries as they ate, before bidding one another good night.

Attacus lay in bed, struggling to sleep, as he thought about the day's events.

Soon, he would see his mother again...

Somehow, he doubted that their reunion would be a pleasant one...

# Chapter 10: Remembrance

Holy Order 768: Buy a plot of land in the Urn, do not let anyone develop it

Prion Ralla Fyrnorn

<>

Morning, Spariday, 23 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Attacus dreamt of his parents. He dreamt of them slowly growing weaker, thinner and sadder. He dreamt of that fateful night, when they had fallen asleep for the last time. He dreamt of lying between them, feeling their warmth, as it slowly faded.

He woke up with tears in his eyes.

Rising, he washed away the salty residue, along with the remnants of the dream.

After cleansing himself and drawing forth a clean set of robes from his pack, he made his way down to the dining room.

He found Luceel and Silas waiting for him. They sat at the overly large table, making small talk.

Oddly enough, both of them smiled as he entered the room.

"You see? He was always late for our morning classes, causing our teacher to make him stand outside with a bucket of water on his head until he apologized!" Luceel laughed, as she pretended to place an imaginary bucket on her own head.

Silas laughed, long and loud, and exclaimed, "Well at least some things haven't changed! He used to be just as bad when he lived with me! Edda always had us wait for him to wake up before we ate, and our stomachs would be rumbling by the time he opened his eyes!"

Attacus, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, had no comeback.

In truth, there were equally embarrassing things he could say about the both of them, but the thought of humiliating Luceel in front of her king or the king in front of one of his subjects sat poorly with him.

Instead, he moved to sit between them, taking a bowl of piping hot porridge from the centre of the table. As he started eating, he noticed the two of them pick up their own cutlery.

They had waited for him.

Somehow, that thought alone was much warmer than his freshly made meal.

<>

The rest of breakfast had been a non-stop parade of humiliation. Luceel and Silas had dug deep to find the most embarrassing stories to share, while Attacus had borne the mockery in restrained silence.

On one hand, he was glad that the two of them were getting along. On the other, he wished it was over something else...

Eventually, the last dish was cleared away. Silas stood, and gestured to a servant waiting nearby.

"Please, fetch my guests' belongings and have them brought to the carriage. I wish to depart within the hour."

"As you wish, your majesty," she replied, with a smile.

Again, Attacus was struck by just how much of a difference that smile made. She was a servant, a position just above that of a slave, and yet she enjoyed her job. Unlike the servants of Lord Beliere, she was happy to serve...

Leaving the dining room, they exited the palace, accompanied by Silas and his royal guards. They marched beside him, resolute in their duty, unwavering in their loyalty, and stone-faced in their dispositions.

Standing outside the palace, in the Royal Plaza, was a large number of carriages. They ranged from simple to elaborate, and many bore the colours of the most influential noble houses.

"All this, for a simple Rekindling ceremony?" Attacus asked, upon witnessing the spectacle before him.

"To us, it is a ceremony to honour our mother's memory. To them, it is a chance to gain favour with their king. Make no mistake, sincerity is a rare gem around here," Silas replied, looking annoyed.

Attacus saw Arthus break away from the rabble, heading towards Silas with a wide smile on his freshly shaven face.

"Your majesty, we are almost ready to depart. It is a fine day for honouring the Crown Mother, if I do say so myself!" Arthus said, in a friendly tone.

"Thank you, Lord Beliere, your words are noted. Please inform your men that they may begin the procession," Silas replied, matching the noble's tone. However, Attacus could feel the tension beneath their friendly facades.

It was as Arthus had said, there was a gap between the two men. A gap that could widen and sink the entire kingdom, if left unchecked.

However, as Arthus turned to leave, his face suddenly darkened. He spat on the ground between them, cursing, "Voidkin!" as he did so.

Attacus was confused for a second.

And then he saw Son-Semmet.

The Kindred from Son-Amat wore a wide smile on his face, clearly enjoying the chaos he was causing. As he descended the steps from the palace, a great murmur rose amongst the assembled nobles and their entourages.

Clearly, this had not been part of the plan.

"Son-Semmet, I did not think that you would be joining us," Silas said, with a strained voice. It was clear that this was as much a surprise to him as everyone else.

"Well, you did invite me here to discuss religion, so I thought to myself, why not get a first-hand look? The other Prions in the city have avoided me like the plague, and it is a rare treat to witness one of their ceremonies up close. Worry not, young king, I will not interfere with your so-called 'Rekindling'."

Arthus opened his mouth in protest, but something stopped him. Instead, he huffed and returned to his carriage, painted in House Beliere gold and silver.

Silas sighed loudly, before gesturing towards his own carriage, painted black and red.

A few minutes later, Attacus, Silas, Luceel and Son-Semmet were all seated comfortably inside the spacious carriage. Despite the generous distance between them, Attacus felt cramped and uncomfortable. The air was heavy, and he could only hope that one of them would not say something to set off the others...

"I'm surprised to see you here, woman," Son-Semmet said, not even a minute later, "I would have expected you to stay behind and tend to the home, like all the other womenfolk?"

It was going to be a long, long carriage ride...

<>

A few hours later, they stopped to give the horses a rest.

Attacus had never been more grateful to be outside.

The ride had been... tense, so far.

Silas had tried to keep the peace, Attacus had stayed silent, and Luceel and Son-Semmet had traded insults until both of them had grown hoarse.

It had not been a fun trip.

They had stopped in a small village which had suddenly sprung to life upon seeing the king's carriage. Servants had gone to the villagers to acquire food for their masters and feed for the horses. Meanwhile, the nobles had gathered around Silas and Luceel, taking turns trying to impress them with gifts and self-serving tales.

Silas he could understand, but why did the nobles care about Luceel as well? By her own admission her family and the nobility of Pyre weren't on the best of terms.

However, as he tried to find a quiet spot to eat his lunch –a single slice of bread with a few scraps of unidentified meat- he discovered the reason.

"Have you heard the rumours about Lady Voraine?" a servant asked another, as they prepared their masters' meals.

"That she was invited to the capital in order to be courted by the king?" the second servant replied, causing Attacus to spit out a mouthful of meat.

Silas and Luceel? Not possible.

"That's the one! Apparently she was seen leaving the palace with him and a servant! Just imagine, King Silas and Queen Luceel, what a match they'll make!"

Attacus had no doubt that he was the 'servant' in that story.

He tried to imagine Queen Luceel... and failed. It was an unpleasant line of thought.

But then again... why had she come to the capital?

It obviously wasn't just so that she could stay by his side. And he hadn't seen her interacting with any of the other nobility aside from Arthus. Perhaps her Holy Order was to marry the king?

But then why had Imran told him to kill Silas?

"Indeed! The ancient and powerful House Voraine marrying into the royal family! I'm sure that will give King Silas some much needed legitimacy, and hopefully it will quieten those dissident nobles. I'm sure that's why they're crowding around her now... hoping to gain the queen's favour before she takes the crown."

Attacus tossed the rest of his meal to a nearby dog.

He had lost his appetite.

Moving onwards, he sought out a more palatable conversation.

<>

He found Son-Semmet standing at the edge of the village. The man looked deep in thought, but perked up as Attacus approached.

"Ah, fatherless! So you have grown tired of those nobles as well?"

"Something like that," Attacus replied, moving to stand next to the foreigner, "But why do you call me fatherless?"

"Did you not lose your father at a young age? I overheard one of the servants speaking about it," Son-Semmet replied, sounding genuinely empathetic.

"I did."

"Then you are fatherless. In Son-Amat, there are few things worse than losing your father before you are able defeat him and rise to adulthood."

"You fought your own father?" Attacus asked, aghast.

"Every year, on the day of our birth, we are given the opportunity to challenge our fathers. They choose the test, and, using either brawn, intelligence or skill, we must best them. Only once we have done so are we recognized as adults and allowed to leave home and find a wife. I defeated my father, Semmet I, in my twelfth year, the youngest in my village," he said, with a note of pride in his voice.

"So you pity me because I never had the chance to defeat my father?" Attacus asked, catching on.

"Yes, both you and your king are pitiable. It is one thing to lose your father to sickness, but for him to deny your existence entirely... such a thing is unheard of in Son-Amat. And now your king struggles with his duties, a child trying to fill the space of a man."

"He is already a man," Attacus said, defending his brother, "He looked after Edda and I for years..."

"Ah, yes, the Crown Mother. I have heard of her exploits, and, despite her being of the female persuasion I am impressed with what she has accomplished. Perhaps Amat will see fit to transform her spirit into that of a man's, so that she might sit at his side in the afterlife."

Attacus held back the incredulous anger in his voice as he replied, "You don't allow woman to go to the afterlife?"

"We do," Son-Semmet replied, apparently not picking up on his insult, "Who else would serve us in the great beyond?"

"I... see," Attacus said, "Thank you... for sharing your views..."

It was all he could do to keep from striking the man.

So he left instead, leaving the misogynistic foreigner to his strange views.

<>

However, when he returned to the village, a strange sight greeted him. Almost all of the carriages had left, including the one he had arrived in.

"Attacus, over here!" a familiar voice called out, from one of the remaining carriages.

Ellah Consor, dressed in the finest servant attire Attacus had ever seen, gestured from inside the carriage. Seated across from her was Arthus.

"My apologies, Attacus," he said, extending a hand to help Attacus inside, "I asked them to wait for you but they did not heed my words. The king has gone on ahead, lest he not show favouritism to you."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Son-Semmet enter the other carriage. The occupants seemed less than thrilled about their new travelling companion.

Attacus couldn't imagine why.

<>

The mood in the carriage, while lighter than that of Silas', was still heavy.

Ellah kept quiet, only speaking when spoken to.

And Arthus... did the opposite.

"It is decisions like this that make me question the sanity of our young king!" he fumed, gesturing wildly with his arms, "To invite the enemy into our land, our capital, is one thing; but to invite one of their so-called 'Kindred'!"

"Perhaps Silas is simply trying to make an attempt at peace between Vuria and Son-Amat?" Attacus asked.

"Then why not invite a diplomat, or better yet, their ruling Council?"

"I... I don't know..."

Why had Silas invited Son-Semmet?

"I will tell you," Arthus said, seemingly reading his mind, "It is because Silas intends to convert to the Church of the First Son!"

Silas, converting? But that would plunge all of Vuria into chaos...

Ever since the disastrous Council of Faith, no nation had changed its religious beliefs. Individual conversions were rare enough to deem memorable, but by converting, Silas would effectively convert the entire kingdom along with him.

And that would almost certainly destroy the Church of the Priarch...

"I'm sure that Silas would never do that..." Attacus said, but even he doubted his words.

"Then why bring that Kindred all the way here? Why house him in the palace, an honour normally reserved for the most distinguished guests? Why allow him to attend the Crown Mother's Rekindling, one of our most sacred ceremonies?"

Attacus had no answers.

Ellah, surprisingly, did.

"Perhaps his majesty is trying to reconcile the bad blood between the Church of the Priarch and the Church of the First Son? If that was the case, then he would invite one of their members to Vuria, but not one so high up the hierarchy as to cause a panic?"

Arthus said nothing for a moment. And then, with a look of annoyance, he barked, "Ellah, your job is to serve the wine and make my bed, not offer commentary on matters that you are woefully ignorant of, understand?"

Ellah looked taken aback, and for a moment Attacus imagined that she was going to rebuke her lord.

"Forgive me, Master, it is as you say..." she whispered, instead.

Arthus nodded, as if all was right with the world once more, before continuing his rant.

Attacus simply sat and smiled uncomfortably, strangely missing the chaos of his earlier carriage ride...

<>

It was almost the Fading Hour by the time they reached the Urn. It was a small plot of land, overlooking the Urnic God Scar and surrounded by a great host of wildflowers. Several small streams, fed by an underground aquifer, wove between the royal tombs, before falling over the edge of the God Scar.

It was a place of beauty... and death.

Dotted throughout the site were several large braziers, acting as tombstones. Buried beneath them in ceremonial urns made of gold or silver were the ashen remains of former kings and queens. A small army of attendants, living nearby, would make the wreaths out of local wood and flowers and burn them during the Rekindlings of the kings and queens kept within.

In this way, those who had left the world and entered into Priarch's eternal embrace were remembered and honoured, even centuries after the fact.

However, there was a section of the Urn which looked newer than the rest. Roughly a hundred paces beyond the Urn's border was a fenced in area containing a single brazier. It was no mystery as to who it belonged to.

"They call it Mother's Rest," Ellah said, stepping out beside Attacus.

Nearby, the other carriages had already arrived and the servants were busy setting up the grandiose tents that would be their lodgings for the night. They would all return to Pyre in the morning and continue preparing for the Festival of Flame.

"Why is it separate?" Attacus asked, already knowing the answer.

"It was the only way to get the nobles to agree to have it built here. They protested, saying that a former servant and resident of Slumtown had no right to be buried with the kings and queens of old, but Silas was resolute. He fought for weeks for Edda to have a place here, and eventually the nobles agreed, on the condition that she was to be placed in a separate area."

It wasn't right. Just like in the Hall of Nobles, Edda deserved to be counted amongst their number.

"The Rekindling will begin at the Fading Hour, so we still have a bit of time. Is there something that you would like to do?" Ellah asked, wearing a small smile.

Attacus looked at the Urn, and at Mother's Rest. Together, yet separate.

Just like him and, well, everyone else.

She deserved better than this.

"Yes, I'm going to take a walk..." he said, staring thoughtfully at the wildflowers growing nearby.

<>

Attacus found Silas just as Priarch was disappearing from the world. He was standing with Ellah, and he was laughing like an idiot.

Attacus smiled, happy that his brother was enjoying himself for a change.

"Ah, Attacus, there you are!" he said, as Attacus drew closer, "Apparently Ellah here is from Slumtown too!"

"I know," Attacus said, with a chuckle, "She attended to us when we stayed with Lord Beliere."

Silas' smile dropped for a moment, but it quickly returned.

Luceel was standing a few paces away, surrounded by nobles. When she saw him she waved at him and politely excused herself.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, as she drew closer, "I don't think I could handle any more of that fake flattery."

"It sounds like you've had a rough time," Attacus said, laughing.

She looked annoyed for a second, but instead of cursing him she playfully punched him on the shoulder.

Perhaps he was the better of two bad options?

"We were surprised to hear that you asked to ride with Lord Beliere from the village," she said, moving closer still, "We wanted to wait for you, but Arthus insisted that you wanted to speak with him in private and sent us ahead."

"Ah... Well... I guess I just wanted to thank him for his hospitality for the other night," Attacus lied.

Arthus had told everyone that Attacus had asked to ride with him?

Why?

"I see," she said, still looking suspicious.

"Attacus, it's time," Silas said, suddenly appearing at his side. In his hands he held a wreath, made of the finest materials Attacus could think of. Silk wrapped around ivory and fell between pearls of silver and gold.

When he saw Attacus' stare, he added, "I wanted to make it special... for her. She always felt like an outsider, even at the end... But this proves that she belonged there... I hope."

Silas looked uncertain. For a moment, he was the young boy whom Attacus had spent his days following around, rather than the ruler of an entire kingdom.

Attacus gently lifted the wreath out of his hands.

"It's beautiful, Silas. She would have loved it..." he said, before turning and walking towards the lit brazier.

Just before laying the wreath down, he reached into his robes and drew forth a handful of wild roses. It had been a close call, and he had just barely managed to find enough. Carefully, he wove their stems into the wreath.

They had been Edda's favourite, and she had often made imitations out of parchment and discarded cloth to keep in their home.

Behind him, he heard Silas take a breath.

Perhaps he was the only other person there who understood the gesture.

Laying the wreath upon the brazier, he knelt and said, "Priarch, on this day of remembrance, we ask that you convey our thoughts and prayers to Edda Fyrnorn, the Crown Mother. We ask that you connect our hearts, separated by death, and our souls, separated by life. We beseech you to rekindle the fires within us, so that her memory might never fade. We know that Edda's life was not an easy one, but we pray that she continues to experience peace and tranquillity in your presence. May you continue to watch over us, and light the fires in our loved one's hearts when we too must be rekindled..."

Attacus closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, he felt as if Edda's spirit was beside him. He could feel her hand upon his back, soft yet calloused. He could smell her fragrance, the scent of hard work and determination.

He could hear her words, fatigued yet loving.

"Thank you, Attacus..."

It took him a moment to figure out that it was Silas who had spoken.

Opening his eyes, he stood and turned around. The nobles wore faces of stone. The servants wept openly. Luceel looked sorrowful. Ellah looked proud.

And Silas had tears in his eyes.

<>

Slowly, one by one, the nobles and their servants started drifting away. Luceel offered a few words of consolation, before retiring to her tent. She walked with Ellah, speaking softly.

In the end, only Attacus and Silas remained.

They stood, in silence, watching as the flames slowly consumed the wreath.

In that moment, they were not king and subject, nor were they faithful and Prion.

They were simply brothers who missed their mother.

"There is something I've been meaning to tell you, but I haven't found the best moment, until now," Silas said, staring into the flames.

"What is it?" Attacus said, feeling more conflicted than ever.

Since receiving his Holy Order, he had been full of doubt, but a deep-rooted part of him had known that he had to fulfil it. No matter how much he hated it, no matter how much he tried to run from it, Imran's Will would be done.

He would kill the king.

But now...

"Mother's last words, whispered to me moments before she died..." Silas said, sadness creeping into his voice.

Attacus said nothing, not trusting his words.

"I had asked her not to go... To not leave me all alone in a city filled with strangers and schemers. I had told her that I would be lonely, all on my own. But do you know what she said?"

Attacus shook his head.

"You will always have your brother," Silas said, placing a hand on Attacus' shoulder.

Attacus felt the words blow through him, staggering him. He stepped backwards, almost falling.

"Attacus?" Silas asked, sounding concerned.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

Edda, even on her deathbed, had thought of him as her son. Faced with death, she could have comforted her real child one last time.

But her final thoughts had been of him... a child she had raised out of mercy, not obligation.

And he had been planning on killing her trueborn son...

No.

NO!

In his heart, everything he had learnt at Origin, every lesson on how important the Holy Orders were and how they would lead the world to a better place, fought with a single memory: Edda, singing to him as he struggled to fall asleep.

Imran had asked too much of him.

Imran had chosen wrong.

But how could that be? One out of ten thousand? And the last one to receive his guidance? Surely he couldn't be the only abnormality? Surely he couldn't be the only one to fail?

He needed guidance... more guidance.

Most of all, he needed reassurance... that what he had been asked to do was right and necessary.

He needed to go home.

To Origin.

He needed to ask Imran himself what to do.

It was the only way.

# Chapter 11: Imran's Rest

Holy Order 450: Lead your family Northward, create a country and religion that worships Amat

Prion Vestal Numod

<>

Afternoon, Embiday, 25 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Two days later, Attacus caught sight of Origin's distinctive walls. It had been a lonely journey, without Luceel at his side.

He had left at the Rising Hour, slipping out of his tent with only what he could carry. He had asked Silas to apologize on his behalf. Although why he felt it necessary to apologize escaped him.

He hadn't thought that he would miss her this much.

As he had passed by the road leading to the Voraine Estate, Custos the guard had called out to him, asking if the Lady Luceel was well.

According to him, Luceel's parents, Elyss and Semper, had spoken favourably of Attacus after he had left. Apparently he was the first man Luceel had brought home, and she 'could have done worse', whatever that meant.

After updating Custos on Luceel's whereabouts, he had continued onwards, towards his third home.

As he drew nearer, he was hit with a strange feeling. When he had returned to Slumtown, he had felt as though he was coming home. Even though the town had disappeared, it had felt familiar.

Origin, however, felt like a stranger's home. The high walls, formerly protective, now seemed overbearing. The heavyset gate, formerly comforting, now seemed imposing.

Origin had been built like a fort, and it was only now, upon his return, that he saw just how restrictive life there had been. For ten years, he had not been allowed to venture beyond its walls, nor could anyone from the outside world enter.

Were it not for these rules, perhaps Edda and Silas would have been able to visit more often, and he might have even been allowed to stay by Edda's side as she passed.

But that was in the past.

And he had to look to the future.

He had come looking for answers, and would not leave without them.

<>

He passed through the entrance without trouble, his red robes marking him as a full-fledged Prion. Origin, understandably, was abuzz with activity. With their own Festival of Flame nearing, every Pre-Prion had been released from their classes to help with the preparations.

In previous years, a torch would be lit using the Great Flame in Imran's Providence, before being used to ignite the bonfire in the centre of the complex. But with the Great Flame gone...

As he walked, nostalgia washed over him like a wave. He had flashbacks towards his first days, when the other Pre-Prions used to avoid him as though he were plagued. Even years later, things had not improved much. The Pre-Prions in his class had grown to tolerate his existence, but aside from Luceel and her derisive comments, they had not spoken to him much.

He briefly spotted Pre-Prion Fennix Ashram in the distance, carrying a bundle of wood. He thought about calling out to the young man, but seeing him surrounded by his fellow Pre-Prions, chatting and laughing, kept his words close.

Instead, he moved onwards, towards the place his feet wanted him to go.

A few minutes later, he found himself standing in the Garden of Imran.

It felt as though years had passed since he had last sat here, surrounded by the traditional hundred candles.

But in reality, it had only been six days.

In those six days, however, his entire world had changed.

He had left Origin, made friends, tried farming, spent more time with Luceel than in the past ten years, and been reunited with his brother.

Truly, it felt as though he had lived more now than in the last decade. Perhaps this was a gift from Priarch? A few days of life before he was condemned to die for regicide?

Personally, he would like a few more... He would like to work alongside Prion Marken at his farm again. He would like to spend more time with Luceel. He would like to be a part of a family again...

But that wasn't possible.

"Prion Attacus?" called a familiar voice.

He looked up from his musing to find Prion Garnick standing before him. He was carrying a lit candle, no doubt intent on lighting the hundred candles before meditating on some profound matter.

"Prion Garnick, I have returned," he said, suddenly at a loss for words.

Prion Garnick smiled in return, gesturing Attacus to take a seat on a nearby bench.

"Does... does Imran still guide you?" he asked, curiosity in his kind eyes.

"He does... Although I wish he had a little more guidance for me..."

"You are having difficulty with your Holy Order?" Prion Garnick asked, striking straight at the heart of his problems.

"I am... I know that I cannot tell you what he asked of me, but please know that it is no small matter. By my action or inaction, I could change the fate of Vuria... and possibly the Flamelands as well..."

Prion Garnick took a moment to reply. When he did, he tried his best to sound understanding.

"I see. I am sorry to hear that, Prion Attacus. My own Holy Order, while vague in its meaning, was clear in its directive. Although I am not sure what effect I had on the world, I can only assume that it was one that benefitted it in some unseen way."

"But will it really make a difference if I don't complete my Holy Order? I mean, it's only one out of ten thousand... Surely in the past another Prion failed to complete theirs?"

"I am sorry, Prion Attacus, but as you know we keep a record of every Prion who leaves these walls. Some of them took days, others years, and a few even took a lifetime, but all eventually reported that their guidance had ended. And as for the importance of your Holy Order, I feel I must remind you of the Parabil of the Waterbearer."

Attacus knew it by heart, of course, but he let the older Prion speak, out of respect.

Closing his eyes, Prion Garnick recounted, "There was once a man in the desert, standing in a long line of people stretching to either horizon. Peering into the distance, he saw that a bucket of water was being passed down the line, one person to another. However, not a single person partook of the water. As he waited for the water to reach him, he became dehydrated, hot, and eventually anger took hold of him. He was angry at the people who, like him, were suffering, but who did not quench their obvious thirst. Thus, when the bucket finally reached him, he did not pass it on. Despite protests from those on either side of him, he drank deeply from the bucket, before pouring the rest over his head. He had broken the chain, but felt no remorse. A short while later, a man came from one end of the line, complaining that the water had not come and that his house had burnt down, destroying all of his possessions. It was only then that the man realized that by breaking the chain, he had caused unseen chaos at its end. And thus he wept, for his folly and selfishness had caused harm to the world around him."

Attacus knew what the Parabil meant. Failing to complete a Holy Order, even a seemingly unimportant one, would result in an uncertain and possibly chaotic future. No Holy Order was without purpose, and together, they could change the world.

"Thank you, Prion Garnick, for your helpful words," he said, but inwardly, he felt more confused than ever. It had seemed so easy, standing before Edda's brazier, to reject his mission. But as time had passed he had become aware of just how important his Holy Order was, and how it was not something so easily discarded.

"Of course, Prion Attacus. And I hope that once your guidance has ended, you too will return here, and join us in the world that Imran envisioned."

"If I am able," Attacus replied, knowing that he would never be allowed to leave the capital alive, let alone return to Origin, once he had carried out his Holy Order.

<>

Leaving Prion Garnick and the Garden of Imran, he wandered aimlessly, searching for guidance. Eventually, his feet took him to Imran's Providence, where his troubles had begun. As he entered the now dark tower, he was surprised to see another familiar face.

Prion Tyrin Ferros, the 9996th Prion and his former classmate, stood beside the now dead Great Flame. As he saw Attacus, a look of shock, mixed in with joy, took over his features.

"Attacus!" he called out, gesturing Attacus to come closer.

"Greetings Tyrin," he replied, as he drew nearer.

"Imran be praised, I didn't think that you would return so soon!"

"You knew that I was going to return?" Attacus asked, confused.

"Of course! Imran said that-

Tyrin suddenly clamped his hands over his mouth. A moment later, he removed them, looking bashful.

"Forgive me, I cannot say more. Please, follow me," he said, turning towards the dais.

Mystified, Attacus followed him. Together, they ascended the platform, quickly reaching the podium at its centre.

It was here, on that fateful morning, that Attacus had received his Holy Order. Surely he was already done with this place?

"It took me a while to find out about this," Tyrin said, kneeling, "I had to go back and read a lot of the older texts from when Origin was built."

Placing his hand upon the lever which had formerly been used to call the Holy Orders down from their lofty homes, he _pushed_. Instead of activating the rail mechanism above, Attacus heard a loud grating beneath him.

A moment later, he felt the dais begin to move to the side. Less than a minute later, it stopped, revealing a sizable hole in the floor. A set of stone steps led downwards, descending into the darkness.

"What is it?" Attacus asked, thoroughly confounded.

"This... is none other than the entrance to Imran's Rest," Tyrin announced, before hopping off the dais and grabbing a lit torch from the wall.

Handing it to Attacus, he said, "And now, my guidance has ended. Good luck!"

Seeing no alternative, Attacus took the torch and started down the stairs, towards the darkness.

<>

The steps continued for quite some time, taking him deeper below the earth. The world around him was pitch-black, illuminated only by the tiny flame in his hand.

And then he saw the glow.

It grew as he approached the bottom of the stairs. Eventually, he came to a landing, and saw where the light came from.

Fires. Dozens of them.

He had entered into a cavernous space, larger than the throne room in Pyre, if his rough estimates were correct. A metal pipe lay against the outer wall of the staircase housing, leading down into the depths. However, a segment of the pipe had been knocked loose, most likely by a falling rock. Moving closer, he saw a flame inside the lower pipe end, most likely fed by some source far below. Its journey skyward had been interrupted by the broken pipe.

Seeing no harm in doing so, he reached out and manipulated the broken section back into place. It wasn't a perfect fix, but a few seconds later he felt the upper section of the pipe start to heat up.

As he turned to continue his journey, his foot dislodged a small piece of the strange black rock which seemed to line the entire cavern. Reaching down, he picked up the chunk, noting that it dirtied his hand as he did so. Feeling it in his hands, he had a sudden flash of recollection.

As a young man, he had once snuck into Origin's kitchens, seeking a place of refuge from Luceel's teasing. Before he had been found and punished, he had stumbled upon a storeroom filled with identical black rocks. He remembered that he had dirtied his yellow Pre-Prion robes, and had been forced to wash both his own and those of his entire class as punishment.

In his hands, he held a lump of coal.

It was then, that everything came together in his mind. The strange metal pipe. The underground cavern filled with coal. The flame which never died and which never needed to be fed.

The Great Flame had been fed by the massive underground coal seam underneath Origin.

It changed little, but unravelling one of Imran's mysticisms brought him a nugget of pride all the same.

<>

A few minutes later, he came to his destination. Perched on a small overhang overlooking a sea of flame, he found Imran's resting place. Just like the man himself, it was simple and humble in design. A stone sarcophagus, covered in symbols and etchings, lay beneath an open wooden pavilion.

That was all. No gold. No silver. No reliefs depicting his great achievements or showing his influence. Here, in a world of darkness and flame, his Prophet rested until the end times.

Moving closer, he felt destiny pressing him forward. Like a gust of wind filling the sails of a fishing boat, he was pushed closer. He did not resist.

He couldn't.

As he came closer, he saw something that shocked him. The sarcophagus was built on a bed of coal. One day, and not too far into the future, from the looks of it, it too would be consumed by the fires below.

Why build Imran's Rest here, where it would eventually be consumed by flame?

And then he remembered his lessons. Imran had deliberately chosen to be buried beneath the earth, as opposed to being cremated. Cremation, after all, was reserved for the faithful. Only sinners were to be buried, where they would be kept from Priarch's light and warmth until Judgement Day, whereupon they would be cast out into the Void, forever barred from entering paradise.

Imran, in spite of this, had chosen to have his soul remain in the Flamelands. He had chosen to remain behind, so that he might watch over his faithful, until the time when his guidance was no longer needed.

Unseen and unbeknownst to the world above, his body would soon be cremated and his soul would rise to join Priarch in eternal bliss.

Did that mean that, with the completion of Attacus' Holy Order, Imran saw that his guidance was no longer necessary?

The pressure he had felt since receiving his Holy Order suddenly doubled.

As if it hadn't been high enough already...

<>

Approaching the sarcophagus, he felt destiny stir in the air. Lying before him was the man who had set everything into motion. A simple fisherman who had reshaped a nation and changed the future. A man, who had foreseen all of this.

A man who had foreseen that a thousand years after his death, a king would need to be killed.

By his brother.

As he stood beside the stone tomb, he saw numerous inscriptions cut into the hard material. Most of them were devotions and prayers, most likely made by the faithful. On the top of the casket, in line with Imran's chest, was an epitaph, most likely written by Imran himself before his death.

There are no coincidences. There is only me.

How fitting, Attacus thought.

Now, standing before the tomb of his Prophet, he found himself at a loss. He had come searching for reassurance, but all he had found so far was more doubt.

In desperation, he knelt before the stone casket. He was about to start praying when he saw an inscription just below the lid, written in the same hand as the epitaph.

The answers you seek lie within.

He almost dismissed it as a coincidence, but then he remembered what was written above.

Whispering an apology to Imran's spirit, he stood and tried to pry off the lid. It slid easily, as if it had been made to open with little effort.

Perhaps it had?

A minute later, he had exposed enough of the interior to see the body within. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to see.

Part of him had imagined finding the coffin empty, a new mystery to unravel.

But there it was, Imran's remains, kept safe for a thousand years. His skeleton was... ordinary.

A skull. Arm bones. Feet. There was no divine aura or mysterious radiance.

There was just a dead body, wrapped in a set of fine black robes. They were reserved for Prophets, and even after a thousand years, that distinction belonged only to the man lying before him.

Clutched in his arms, however, was something odd. A roll of parchment, bearing his fish hook seal.

It looked like a Holy Order.

<>

Mouthing another apology, he reached into the casket and gently lifted the parchment from its resting place.

On the outside, written in what he now recognized as Imran's hand, was a sentence which forced him to take a step backwards.

Greetings, Executor of my Will.

He had believed that Imran could foresee the future... but this confirmed it.

With shaking hands, he undid the seal. Unrolling the parchment, he briefly considered that it might be another Holy Order.

Imran had already asked him to kill the king... surely there couldn't be more for him to do?

Moving closer to the torch for illumination, he read.

And lo, there shall come a time when the Executor of my Will shall be filled with doubt and dismay. He shall return to this place, and here, underneath the ground, he shall find the truth.

Know this, Executor, that no other living being has borne witness to these words. They are for you and for you alone. Speak not of them, not to your fellow Prions nor to any layperson.

I, the one known as Prophet Imran, was blessed with the gift of foresight by the Great God Priarch, many years ago. With this power, I was able to grow his Church, and spread his teachings across the land. However, when I used all of my might to peer into the furthest reaches of time, I saw calamity.

A thousand years from this moment, the furthest period I can see with reasonable clarity, the world will stand at a crossroads.

Faith in the Church will have wavered. Our strength, our influence, our role in the world, will have diminished. Priarch will be but an afterthought, a tradition to be maintained rather than a God to be worshipped.

I cannot let this come to pass. I will not let the Church I have made be destroyed. So I sought to change the future. Ten thousand Holy Orders, created using every last measure of my power. Ten thousand Prions, trained to carry out my Will... and you... the one who will see everything come to fruition.

To you, I give the greatest and most important Order. I have asked you to kill your king... your brother. Only you have the power to accomplish this. Only you, having grown up at his side, can carry out this task.

There are no coincidences. There is only me.

**Before the sun rises on the 1001** st **year, you will strike down the King of Vuria.**

This too, I have foreseen.

With his death, you, along with all those that came before you, will safeguard our great Church until the ends of time.

**With the king's death, as reported by the 9999** th **Prion, civil war will erupt in our kingdom. This, sadly, is a necessary evil.**

The peasantry, anger long brewing, will rise up against those who believe themselves above them. The nobles, eager to cement their power, will respond in kind.

They will go to war for many years, tearing each other apart with the ferocity of a wild animal.

When they have finally exhausted themselves, the kingdom shall know ruin. However, our neighbours will not let this opportunity slip by. Spurred on by years of conflict, division and jealousy, they will attack our weakened home.

They shall descend upon our villages and our cities, our men and our women. They shall kill and pillage and burn, sparing only Origin out of the belief that our fortified walls and deep reserves would not be worth the long siege necessary to breach our defences.

After Vuria has been conquered, however, the bloodshed will not end. The attacking nations, unwilling to share the spoils of their conquest, will turn on one another.

Thus the Great War, the Last War, will begin.

The nations will throw their entire military might at one another, desperate to achieve victory. This Great War will wage for decades, destroying the homes and lives of countless men and women.

Every nation shall fight. Every nation shall burn. And in the end, every nation shall be destroyed.

Only once the last soldier has been slain, shall this world know peace once more.

It is at that time that I have foreseen our reawakening. The Prions of Origin, guided by the Parabils, will venture forth into the world once more. They will be a beacon of stability and reason in a world gone mad, offering aid and comfort to the survivors, now without nation or home.

And lo, it shall come to pass that they will be stripped of their sovereignty, their pride, and their foolish religions. All shall come to know Priarch's light, and the Church shall know dominion over all men. Thus the Flamelands shall become the Church, and the Church shall become the Flamelands. The Church will endure and grow, forever.

All of this, because of the death of single king.

All of this, because of you, the Executor of my Will.

And lo, it shall come to pass, that my Will shall be done.

<>

Attacus sat in shock for what seemed like a very long time. He read the parchment again, and then again once more.

It was all too much.

Prophet Imran wanted him to start the greatest war the Flamelands had ever known?

All in order to ensure that the Church would survive and prosper?

But Imran had foreseen everything. Even this moment.

Did he actually have a choice?

Did he have a say in the matter of his destiny?

No.

He was a pawn, just like all of the other Prions. They too had followed Imran's Will, carrying out their Holy Orders without ever questioning what they were creating through their actions.

If only they had known...

Slowly, he rose to his feet. Taking the parchment, he returned it to its owner. He stared at Imran's remains for a moment, wishing that his Prophet had chosen someone else.

Anyone else.

But as Imran had said, it had to be him.

Only he could get close enough to Silas to kill him.

Only he, the king's brother, had that opportunity.

With a bit of effort, he slid the sarcophagus' lid closed. Stepping back, he saw how close the flames were to eroding the supports which held the casket in place. By his estimates, the fire would reach Imran in five days.

Just in time for the Festival of Flame.

The end of the 1000th year. The deadline Imran had set for him.

The end of King Silas' reign.

There was nothing more for him here.

Picking up his torch, he turned to leave.

He had come seeking answers.

And he had found them. Although looking back, he really wished that he hadn't.

<>

A short while later, he reached the stone steps. He ascended them in silence, wrapped up in his turbulent thoughts.

However, as he neared the top, he became aware of a great chattering above him. Emerging in Imran's Providence, he was surprised to see a great mass of Prions and Pre-Prions standing nearby.

They were staring at the Great Flame, which burned strong and true.

Because of him.

Had Imran foreseen this too?

Of course he had, he reminded himself a moment later.

"The Executor of Imran's Will has returned!" one of the Prions announced, pointing at him. As one, the crowd turned, regarding him with looks of shock and awe.

Several of the younger Pre-Prions even dropped to their knees and started to pray.

Like he was some sort of Prophet.

But he was no Prophet. He was a murderer-to-be.

"Prion Attacus, did your journey bear fruit?" asked Pre-Prion Fennix Ashram, standing nearby. He was looking at Attacus as if he expecting him to start glowing at any moment.

"It was... instructive..." he said.

The crowd immediately returned to murmuring. He caught snippets of their conversation.

The words 'Prophet' and 'Executor' were mentioned a lot.

Once again, he was reminded of just how much he hated that title.

It really did sound too much like 'executioner', which was far too close to the mark.

Reaching the podium, he pulled the lever out of its socket. There was another loud noise beneath him, although this one sounded... heavier. As the dais slid back into place, eliciting yet more murmuring from the crowd, something told him that the dais would not move again.

Whatever mechanism had caused it to shift had most likely been once off.

Imran would remain undisturbed, until the flames finally claimed him.

"Should we prepare a room for you, Prion Attacus?" Tyrin asked from nearby. He looked proud, as if he was sharing in Attacus' attention.

"No. I must return to Pyre with haste. There is something I must do... something that will change this world..."

He didn't mean to sound arrogant or prophetic, but apparently that is how they heard his words. At the edge of his hearing, he heard a Prion asking one of his elders if he should fetch a set of black robes.

Shaking his head, he stepped down from the dais. Leaving the reignited Great Flame and the assembled Prions behind, he made for the gates.

In five days, he would attend the Festival of Flame.

In five days, the year would come to an end.

In five days... he would kill the king.

# Chapter 12: Kindling

Holy Order 9402: Ensure that the rebellion in Lusaine succeeds

Prion Tempa Lutze

<>

Noon, Betriday, 27 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Two days later, he stood before the entrance to Pyre, still filled with conviction.

Knowing that he was going to kill Silas in three days had, strangely enough, left him at peace. He no longer had to worry about the future. He no longer had to stress about whether he was doing the right thing.

The future that Imran had foreseen would come to pass, there was no changing that.

All he could do until then was enjoy the time he had left.

Even though he had no real options, at that moment, he felt like the freest man in the world.

Without aim or destination, he allowed his feet to carry him into the city. When he had left, Pyre had been like a spark, energetic but not yet ablaze. Now, it felt like a raging inferno.

Everywhere he looked, people were preparing for the Festival of Flame. The Great Bridge was filled with people, all heading in one direction. Merchants arrived in great caravans, eager to peddle their wares to the visitors to the city. Nobles paraded themselves around in outfits that would have put peacocks to shame. Servants dashed to and fro, always moving, never resting for even a moment.

Venturing deeper inside the city, he found himself walking down the Royal Road. Every shop stood with its doors open wide, attempting to lure travellers with loose purse strings in with wafting aromas and brightly coloured garments for sale.

Weaving between the throngs of people were children, playing only as children could.

For a moment, Attacus imagined what life would have been like if he, Silas and Luceel had grown up in the city together. Would they have played side by side? Would they ever have felt hunger or known the pain of a stranger's fists? Would they have grown up together, bound by bonds of friendship and perhaps even love?

But that was not his reality, and imagining it in more detail would only bring him pain.

Instead, he lifted his gaze, towards the palace which dominated the skyline.

Even though he could have spent the next three days avoiding his destiny, it seemed as though his feet had other ideas.

<>

As he reached the Royal Plaza, he was greeted not by Silas or Luceel, but by Arthus.

The nobleman smiled as he saw him, and gestured him forward. He was surrounded by a small army of servants, although Attacus did not count Ellah amongst their number.

"Welcome back, Attacus!" Arthus exclaimed, as he drew near, "You had us worried with your sudden disappearance after the Rekindling."

"Forgive me, Lord Beliere, there was a matter that I urgently needed to attend to."

"Of course, I understand!" Arthus said, shooing away his servants as he did so.

"How have things been in the city in my absence?"

"Chaotic, although I doubt that that has anything to do with you. Silas had proclaimed that this is to be the biggest and best Festival of Flame in recorded history, and we have been running ragged in order to carry out his vision. My belief, however, is that he is using this Festival as a means to impress that Kindred of his. Why, I would not be surprised if he declares that he intends to convert during the year's end banquet."

It didn't matter what Silas intended to do, not really. By the time Priarch rose on the new millennium, there would be one less monarch in the world.

But that was not what he told Arthus, naturally.

"I am sure that that is not the case," he said, instead.

"Perhaps, but I would be at ease if I knew for certain. This is the problem I find myself facing more and more these days. The king's mind, and his actions, are beyond my understanding. I wish we could be on better terms... that he could trust me... and that, is why I need your help," Arthus said, laying a hand on Attacus' shoulder.

"You want me to convince the king to trust you? Forgive me, Lord Beliere, but I do not think that will be possible. Silas has been stubborn ever since we were children, and I have never been great at changing his mind about anything."

"Worry not, Attacus, I am not asking you to do such a thing. I merely want you to procure an item for me."

"An item?"

"Yes. I need you to obtain the Lower Bridge Gate key from Silas, and give it to me."

"Why?"

Arthus leant in close, until his mouth was just a few knuckle-widths from Attacus' ear.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked, looking around conspiratorially.

If he only knew.

"Yes," Attacus said.

"I have commissioned a statue of Edda to be made of the purest gold I possess. It will be ready on the day of the Festival, and I intend to unveil it before Silas. After that, it will be moved to the Noble Hall, where it will be placed alongside King Alcern himself. I am hoping that Silas will see it as the gesture of goodwill that I intend it to be. With any luck, this will be a step towards us coming to a mutual understanding... and eventually, friendship."

Attacus nodded. It made sense.

"But why do you need the Lower Bridge Gate key? Could you not simply bring the statue in through the front entrance?"

"I could... but that would ruin the surprise," Arthus said, with a mischievous smile, "With the Festival around the corner, they have increased security around the palace. Every item is inspected and announced to the king. So... would you help me? I believe that only you can persuade Silas to part with the key, if only for a few days..."

Again, someone was asking an impossible task that _only he_ could accomplish.

At least this one wouldn't involve any bloodshed.

After a moment of thought, he said, "I will try, Lord Beliere."

"Thank you, Attacus! I am looking forward to seeing the look on Silas' face as we unveil our surprise!"

Attacus nodded to him, before moving to disentangle himself from their conversation. As he walked away, he saw Arthus approaching a group of nobles -the same group who had been present during his reunion with Silas- and exclaim, "Gentlemen, we will proceed according to plan!"

He saw several looks of relief spring up on the faces of the Old Blood.

Clearly, they were also anxious about the upcoming festivities...

<>

As he walked through the palace doors he was greeted by yet another familiar face.

However, upon seeing him, this one did not break into a smile.

Instead, it contorted into a nasty grimace.

"Attacus, where did you go?" Luceel screamed, quickly closing the distance between them. For a brief moment he thought about fleeing, but she was too fast.

As she came close, however, he saw that her anger, while tremendous, was not the only expression on her face.

Alongside it, he saw a mixture of relief and joy.

But why would Luceel be happy to see him?

Before he could explain himself, she had brought him into a tight embrace.

"I was worried about you, you idiot! I thought that you had gone and gotten yourself robbed, or eaten, or robbed and then eaten!"

He had heard that absence made the heart grow fonder... but he had only been gone for a few days...

"Sorry... I had to return to Origin. I won't leave again..." he said, speaking truthfully.

At that moment, Luceel seemed to come to her senses. She quickly let him go, almost shoving him away in her haste. She took a moment to smooth out her robes and fix her hair before meekly replying, "You better not..."

And then the moment passed, and she was her old self.

"I mean, if anything had happened to you, do you know how embarrassed I'd be? I mean, a Prion of the Church of the Priarch getting himself lost or eaten! Can you imagine the shame?"

"I was fine," he said, rather annoyed with how little she thought of him, "I had no trouble on my journey."

"Good," she huffed, before turning to walk away.

However, she stopped after a few steps.

"Well, are you coming or not?" she asked, a light blush rising to her cheeks.

Confused at the strangeness of womenfolk, he nevertheless followed after her, a smile on his face.

<>

A few minutes later, they entered the throne room. Attacus had expected to find it abuzz, but instead found that it only contained two occupants.

Silas... and Ellah.

Raising an eyebrow, he made a subtle gesture towards the servant of another lord.

Silas received the gesture and immediately sighed in response.

"She is just helping to coordinate the Festival preparations, Attacus. Nothing more."

Attacus simply smiled in response.

And then he remembered that he was going to kill his brother in a few days, and that whatever flirting Silas was partaking of had not future because of him.

His smile immediately vanished.

"How are the preparations going?" he asked.

Immediately the temperature in the room dropped.

"Not well, I'm afraid," Silas said, sighing heavily, "There is still much to be done, and I find myself short staffed these days. Perhaps I threw out one too many nobles..."

He chuckled at his own joke, but there was little levity there.

"Can we help?" asked Luceel, including his participation as if it were the norm.

"Of course!" Ellah said, grabbing Silas' arm with glee.

Silas did not draw away.

"Luceel, you were trained in the finer arts in your childhood, correct?"

Luceel nodded.

"I need you to speak with the parchment merchants and get them to agree to supply double the amount of parchment we last agreed on. My guards at the city gates have informed me that more people than we had expected have entered the city, and it will be a disaster if we don't have enough parchment to document their sins."

"It shall be done, your majesty," she replied, dropping a small curtsy.

Turning to Attacus, Silas continued, "And you, brother, shall be in charge of procuring extra food for the Festival. Speak to Philharmon at the Minced Minstrel. He is my liaison with the city's chefs and will point you in the right direction."

"I'll do my best, Silas," he said, meaning every word.

"Now then, Ellah and I must meet with the nobles about lending their carriages to help carry the aforementioned goods, a conversation that I doubt I will enjoy. You have the full might and resources of the throne behind you, so go forth, and let us make this a Festival of Flame that no one will ever forget!"

They both bowed to him, before turning to leave.

As he walked away, Attacus could not help but agree with his brother.

This would be a Festival that no one would ever forget... but not in the way he was intending...

<>

He found Philharmon lounging around outside his eatery, looking seemingly at peace despite the chaos that surrounded him.

Strangely enough, Luceel had tried to come with him, despite receiving her own task. When he had politely yet firmly explained that he would be fine on her own, she had stalked away, looking strangely displeased.

Somehow he doubted he would ever understand the women around him.

As he drew nearer to Philharmon, his old friend opened his eyes and sat up. He wore a large smile and several layers of over embellished silk.

"Skullchild! So this city hasn't swallowed you whole after all!"

"Not yet, Philharmon," he replied, knowing full well that that might change in three days' time.

"I see... And that beauty of yours? Is she no longer with you? And if she isn't... is she in need of some... companionship?"

Attacus sighed. Philharmon had been married five times in the short time he had known him. Each time, he had professed to have found his other half, and each time he had... until the next beauty had crossed his path.

"She is still around, but I wouldn't approach her. She can be quite... scary."

"Ah, my young lad, sometimes I find that the scarier the better! But I will not lay a hand on a woman that you desire, so worry no more."

Attacus felt the blush rise in his cheeks.

"I- I don't desire her!" he stammered, stepping backwards. "And besides... even if I did... she doesn't like me in that way!"

"If you say so, lad," Philharmon replied, with a glint in his eye, "Although that just means that I have lost my touch. From what I saw, she does not dislike you as much as you think she does..."

Attacus tried to shake the image of Luceel hugging him tightly from his mind.

I would do him no good in the long run... and it would only cause him pain if he allowed himself to think of something that could come to fruition.

Forget loving a man of lower status or stature... what woman in her right mind would love a murderer?

"So, lad, what brings you to my fine establishment?" Philharmon said, a heartbeat later, thankfully changing the topic.

"Ah, of course! I am here on behalf of the king. He needs more food for the Festival."

Philharmon's eyes opened wide. He clearly had not been expecting that.

"The king, you say? My, my, you certainly are full of surprises. Although if my memory serves me correctly you did once tell me that Silas was your brother... I guess I should have believed you..."

"Well, can you help me?"

Philharmon stroked one of his chins for a moment, looking thoughtful. A moment later, he nodded and said, "I will send one of my boys over to the palace kitchens to find out exactly how much they need. If I can't provide everything myself, I will ask a few of the other eateries that would meet the king's standards."

"Thank you, Philharmon, for everything."

"My pleasure, Attacus. Personally, I'm just happy that I don't have to give you scraps for a change."

Attacus smiled, and turned to leave. However, before his tenth step Philharmon called after him.

"And lad, remember what I said about that beauty of yours! Try and snatch her up before she falls for some noble twat's honeyed words, you hear!"

Attacus did not reply, but left with a smile on his face all the same.

<>

The next day, Attacus found himself in the company of the Prions of Pyre. He should have felt at home.

He didn't.

After completing his first task for Silas, he had been given another: speak with the Prions in the city and convince them to act as guides for those who had never participated in the Festival before.

They hadn't taken to the suggestion warmly.

However, help had arrived in the form of Prion Tempa Lutze, an elder Prion who had been present during his Holy Order ceremony.

In his ten years in Origin, he had spoken perhaps a handful of words to the wizened Prion, but he had nevertheless always been treated with kindness and patience.

"Fellow Prions, I beseech you to listen to Prion Attacus! Is it not our role to guide all who we come across, just as Prophet Imran once did?" Prion Lutze proclaimed, standing beside Attacus.

A few of the younger Prions nodded in agreement.

"And have we not often spoken about how few young people come to us for guidance and wisdom? Is this not then a chance to show the kingdom that we are both approachable and helpful?"

More of the Prions nodded. Even a few with grey hairs.

"I tell you this, that if we throw away this opportunity to connect with the people, we throw away the values that Priarch himself represents!"

Every Prion was nodding. There was no dissent.

Attacus stared at Prion Lutze in amazement. With just a few words, he had managed to get them to see his point of view. It might not have been as obvious as a skill with a sword or a way with coin, but it was an impressive skill nonetheless.

A few minutes later, the Prions began to leave the meeting. They had all agreed to help any in need during the Festival.

However, Prion Lutze did not leave. Instead, he beckoned Attacus closer, towards a quiet part of the room.

"Prion Attacus... he who bears the weight of destiny upon his shoulders..." Prion Lutze intoned, staring into the distance, "But is he strong enough to shoulder that burden, I wonder?"

"I don't understand, Prion Lutze..."

Prion Lutze looked at him, deeply, seeming to stare at something within Attacus.

"A question, Prion Attacus, one that we should ask every Prion before they receive their Holy Order. What is the purpose of the Church of the Priarch?"

It was an easy question.

"The purpose of the Church is to serve Priarch, spread his teachings and ensure people do not become sinners destined for the Void."

"Correct. Another question. What is the purpose of the Holy Orders?"

It should have been an easy question. Especially since Attacus had heard the true answer from the man who had created them.

"They exist to carry out Prophet Imran's Will, to guide us in our duties, and to ensure that the future is curated to best serve the Church's interests."

Prion Lutze raised an eyebrow. It was not the normal answer. Well, Attacus had replaced 'World's' with 'Church's', after all.

"Correct. Probably more correct than anything else I've ever been told. Now, final question... which of those two purposes are more important?"

Attacus opened his mouth to answer, and found that he had none. No one had ever asked that question before.

No one should have.

"No answer? I have asked that question to every Prion I have ever come across. Some said that our duty is first and foremost to the Church, others that our Holy Orders should always take priority, even at the expense of the Church. In my opinion it is a flawed question, because it ignores an important purpose. Let me ask then, what is the purpose of Attacus Lore?"

Attacus said nothing for a long time.

No one had ever asked that either.

"To serve the Church?" he ventured.

"Wrong."

"To serve Priarch?"

"Also wrong."

"To carry out my Holy Order?" he tried, running out of options.

"That, lad, is the most wrong you have been yet. But I can see that you do not understand the question. Let me phrase it another way. If you strip away the 'Prion' from Prion Attacus Lore, what are you left with?"

"A Slumtown rat..."

"That was what you were. But you have changed, have you not?"

"A brother to the king..."

"That is what you are. But you have a future, have you not?"

It was then that the memory of Longwhistle Farm surfaced. The first time he had felt truly happy with what he had done. The first time he had accomplished something, using his own strength and skill. The first time he had felt that he belonged somewhere...

"A farmer..."

"Correct. I know that all the other Prions rattle on about Imran this and Priarch that, but never forget that those things are not what define you. You are a Prion, yes, but it is not your only path. Do you understand?"

Attacus felt confused. And doubtful. And, just for a moment, hopeful.

He nodded.

"Good. Now go, and never forget... you are a person first... and a Prion second."

Prion Lutze, seemingly having said all he wanted to say, bowed and walked away.

Attacus, however, could not move from his spot. His heart and mind were in turmoil, as his decade long devotion to the Church fought against the last few minutes of his life.

It was a close match.

<>

After spending the remainder of the day in a daze, he had eventually returned to the palace. He had eaten in silence, letting the conversation between Luceel, Ellah and Silas wash over him without dipping his toes in.

He politely excused himself, and retired to his room.

That night, his eyes did not close until Priarch rose over the horizon.

<>

Attacus turned and stared at the Lower Bridge behind him.

It swayed gently in the breeze, never settling for longer than a minute.

After completing his tasks for the day, which for a change he had performed alongside Luceel, he had received a message from Silas.

Come to the place where everything changed.

And so he had journeyed here, to the ruins of Slumtown.

To the place where everything had changed. To the place where their paths had first diverged.

One went to the throne, the other to the Church.

Perhaps it would have been better for everyone involved if that had been where their stories had ended.

Shaking away his dark thoughts, he walked onward, towards the place where his story had begun.

<>

He found Silas in an otherwise unremarkable corner of Slumtown. Most of the garbage heaps which had once populated the area had been removed, but Attacus still found it without any trouble.

It was the place he had lost both his brother and his mother, after all.

On that day, ten years ago, they had been here, playing a game of Katang.

And then the royal guard had come... and they had taken everything that Attacus had held dear.

Silas stood atop a remaining garbage mound, looking more like a Slumtown rat than the king of an entire country.

It was refreshing, in a way. It was good to know that if he stripped away the pomp and grandeur, Silas was still a human underneath it all.

A human he was planning on killing.

"Thanks for coming, Attacus. I wanted to speak with you, away from the politics and power-plays in the palace."

"I understand," Attacus replied, moving closer, "What would you like to speak about?"

Silas leapt from the garbage heap, landing a few paces from Attacus. Now that he was closer, Attacus could see that he was holding several small items in his hands.

Ten Katang stones. Perfectly polished.

Five for each of them.

"Seriously?" Attacus asked, bewildered. He hadn't played since Silas had left. He had tried to teach the game to the other Pre-Prions, but they hadn't considered it 'appropriate' for the servants of Priarch.

"Seriously," Silas said, handing him five of the stones. Turning, he gestured to a spot nearby, where Attacus quickly found the tell-tale glimmer of the bronze target.

It was close to the Fading Hour, so their light was limited.

This would not be a long game.

Taking a coin out of his pocket, Silas flipped it into the air.

"Flame," Attacus called, as it reached its zenith.

A heartbeat later, the coin landed on Silas' outstretched palm.

It had come up Flameside, meaning that he had won both the toss and the right to go first.

He was glad he hadn't called 'Void'.

<>

Attacus threw first, sending the polished stone flying straight towards the target ten paces away.

It struck true, letting out the tell-tale _katang_ sound.

A moment later, Silas matched his throw, seemingly without any difficulty.

"Do you think I am a good king, Attacus?" Silas asked, as Attacus was busy sizing up the twenty pace target.

Attacus thought for a moment, before answering, "I think that you are doing your best."

"You sound just like mother."

"I'll take that as a compliment. She was a wise woman," Attacus said, before throwing his second stone.

A moment later, he heard the target go _katang_.

"She was indeed... much wiser than I'll ever hope to be. Truthfully, I worry that my lack of wisdom will be this kingdom's undoing..."

Silas threw his second stone, only taking a moment to gauge the distance.

It too, struck true.

"Then why not look to those who have gathered around you? Use their wisdom and experience to bolster your own. A kingdom is not a single man, after all."

"You refer to Ellah?" Silas said, a small smile sprouting on his face, "She is remarkable in many aspects, but I fear that the nobles would not accept her as an advisor to the throne, not with her... humble... background."

Attacus smiled to himself as he lined up his next throw.

Silas' first thoughts had been of Ellah...

A moment later, he threw the stone. It was a close shot, and hit the outer edge of the target. However, it still produced the _katang_ necessary for it to count, albeit softened.

"If you are worried about what the nobility will think, then why not use one of their number? Lord Beliere, for example, has a reputation for wisdom and a cunning temperament."

Silas, surprisingly, spat on the dusty ground.

He too, took aim.

As he threw, he said, "Lord Beliere, you say? Do you know what his first words were to me, as I sat upon the throne for the first time? He said, 'it should have been me'... No, I cannot trust in that man's words or his intentions..."

Another _katang_ signified a successful throw.

They had each thrown three times and struck thrice.

"Perhaps he has changed since then? After all, when he met you, he had just had the throne taken from him by an unknown kid from Slumtown. I think you can forgive him for being a little upset..."

It left a bad taste in his mouth, speaking about Arthus in this way. But he had made a promise to try and mend the frayed relationship between king and subject.

"I suppose..." Silas replied, looking uncertain.

Attacus lined up his next throw. The target was forty paces away. It would not be an easy shot.

"I think that the core of my worry is that I don't know if my actions are having any effect on the world," Silas said, sighing heavily, "I try to make the right decisions that will benefit the kingdom, I try to forge peace and prevent war, I try to keep the different classes from killing one another... but am I actually doing anything at all?"

Attacus lowered his arm.

"Have you ever heard the Parabil of the Farmer and the Ant?"

Silas shook his head.

"There was once a humble farmer who, during Sowlen, found that all of his servants had abandoned him. With Fert approaching, he despaired in the fact that he would not be able to plant his crops in time and thus lose his way of life. However, a passing ant took pity on him and said that it would carry a single seed to the planting ground. Humouring the ant, the farmer opened his seed bag and gave the ant a single seed. After this, he was called away for a time, and, after he was free once more, he went to check on the ant. Walking to the planting ground, he had little hope, reasoning that a single ant carrying a single seed would not be sufficient to plant all of his crops. However, as he reached the planting ground, he saw a strange sight. Thousands of ants had gathered at the behest of their comrade. Each ant still held a single seed, but together, they were enough to sow the entire crop. The farmer rejoiced, and, having learnt his lesson, cried out, 'For when one is insufficient, many will do!'"

As Silas processed what he had heard, Attacus threw his fourth stone. It just barely clipped the edge of the target, producing a feeble _katang_ sound.

But it was enough to count.

The Parabil, he knew, was not about kingship. It was instead meant to illustrate that the Holy Orders on their own had little effect on the world. However, when ten thousand of them were used, it was enough to change the world.

Just as Prophet Imran had intended, as Attacus now knew.

"I think I understand..." Silas said, raising his arm.

The stone flew true. Attacus had always hated that unnerving level of accuracy.

"I am just a man, not a God. I cannot change this world on my own, and it would be the height of arrogance to think that I could. However, If I am able to utilize the people around me... I might just have a chance. Thank you, Attacus, for making me see this."

Attacus nodded, preparing to throw his final stone. The target was barely more than a glimmer in the distance. He had never managed to hit the final target, and the poor light of the Fading Hour wasn't helping in the slightest.

Well, at least if Silas missed as well it would simply be a draw, and he wouldn't be forced to be a servant again.

Although even if Silas had won, he couldn't exactly claim his usual prize anyway.

He was already a king, after all.

"You know, I had originally wanted you to win," Silas said, the moment Attacus threw.

What?

The shock of his words was enough to change his stone's trajectory, and it flew high and wide over the target.

It hit the dirt with a sad little _thud_.

"Why?" Attacus asked, mystified. Silas had never let him win, not even once.

"I had thought, in a childish manner, that if you won I could give you the throne. Even for a day, it would have been... liberating... to not have to bear that heavy burden. But you have opened my eyes... and they shall not close again. The throne is only a burden if you see it as one. It can be many things, and I choose to see it as an opportunity. I can use it to better the lives of not only my citizens, but of everyone in the world. That is my dream."

Attacus didn't know what to say.

A small part of him, a spiteful, childish part, whispered, "That won't come true if all you can manage is a draw against your brother..."

Silas laughed, looking confident.

And then he did something unexpected.

He passed the stone to his left hand.

"I never forgot the promise we made that day, brother. I have kept practicing, and I can finally match the boast I made, all those years ago."

Before Attacus had a chance to speak, Silas threw.

The stone sailed straight and true.

_Katang_.

The match was over. His king... no, his brother, had won.

<>

A short while later, they arrived at the Lower Bridge Gate.

"It might not have been the most beautiful place, or the safest, but Slumtown taught us better than any teacher, and made us stronger than any soldier," Silas said, turning back to look in the direction of their former home.

"It did more than that. It brought us together, and made us a family," Attacus said, joining his brother.

"It did, didn't it...?" Silas said, looking contemplative.

At that moment, Attacus recalled his mission. It was now or never.

"Brother, I would like to return to it soon. If it's possible, would you mind if I held onto the key, at least for a little while?"

Silas didn't even hesitate. He handed the Lower Bridge Gate key over without a word.

When it landed in Attacus' hand, it felt heavy. Was this the weight of dishonesty?

"That key used to have a different purpose, you know," Silas said, looking at the small piece of metal with a smile on his face, "When mother was still a maid in the palace, King Alcern gave her this key. It was both a sign of his trust, and a secret kept between them. With this, Edda could visit her king, her lover, even if every other path had been barred. Without this key... I wouldn't even exist..."

Attacus closed his hand over the key, feeling suddenly protective of it.

It was a link, between Edda, Silas, and now, him.

Somehow, that thought warmed him to his core.

He felt happy, but it was a happiness that could not last.

For tomorrow was the Festival of Flame.

Tomorrow, Imran's deadline would arrive.

Tomorrow... he would kill the king.

# Chapter 13: The Festival of Flame

Holy Order 9909: Seek out a child from the slums who has lost his mother twice. Make him a Prion.

Prion Uther Pathos

<>

Afternoon, Ashday, 30 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

Attacus stood on his balcony, looking out over the Royal Plaza. The Festival was now fully underway. In the centre of the Plaza, a massive bonfire lit up the encroaching darkness.

It was the Fading Hour. Attacus wondered if Silas would live to see its opposite.

The next few hours, however, were his own.

He was free to enjoy the festival until the Sinner's Hour, midnight, whereupon he would join Silas and the nobility for a great feast to mark the end of the year.

In his inner pocket, resting comfortably against his chest, was the Tama knife.

Taking a deep breath, he left the balcony, intent on enjoying the last few hours of his life.

<>

He felt the heat rolling off the bonfire as he came closer. Even though Vuria never experienced the colder temperatures of the northern nations, some nights still possessed a slight chill.

In the face of the towering inferno before him, however, he felt comfortably warm.

Looking around, he saw that their hard work had borne fruit.

They had worked the fields, and now they could enjoy the harvest.

There was plenty of food, and Philharmon had even dusted off his old lute and was singing _The Kingdred Song_ , an ancient song about two royal brothers who had worked together to save the kingdom.

Even though they were works of fiction, Attacus envied them.

Moving closer to the fire, he saw a young boy nervously approach the flame. He was holding a rolled up parchment in his hands. He looked around, clearly uncertain on how to proceed.

Attacus took a step towards him, but Prion Lutze appeared from the shadows and reached him first.

"Have you written your sins upon the parchment?" Prion Lutze asked the child.

The small boy nodded.

"Good. Now, cast them into the flames. Let Priarch's light cleanse you of your past misdeeds and allow you to begin the year free from sin."

The small boy took a few steps towards the fire, before throwing the parchment into the inferno.

It was quickly enveloped and destroyed.

"And thus we are saved!" Prion Lutze called out.

Attacus noted that the same scene was being carried out across the plaza.

The Prions of Pyre had kept their word.

<>

He approached the fire with parchment in hand.

He had written three words in shaky script. Three words, and yet the sin that they represented could not be heavier. It weighted on his soul, slowing his steps.

Every other person who had burnt their parchments had come away looking happier.

He doubted that he would be the same.

Raising his arm, he tightened his fist, scrunching up the sin-bearing parchment.

And then he threw.

It sailed through the air unburdened, seeming to mock him with its lightness.

And then the fire claimed it.

And it was gone.

He might have destroyed the words, but he could not destroy the hurt in his heart.

Turning away, he felt the weight on his shoulders grow heavier.

He would never forget the words he had written... for the rest of his life.

Which, by his calculations, could now be measured in days, if not hours.

Behind him, the parchment, and the sinful words, disappeared from the world.

Forgive me, Edda

<>

"Forgive me, mother," he heard from nearby, causing him to turn in shock.

Had someone found his parchment? No... he had seen it burn... right?

Rounding the fire, he found Luceel, still holding on to her parchment.

Her eyes were closed, and her face bore signs of recent tears.

"Forgive me, mother," she repeated, "But I cannot follow your will. I cannot be like my sisters. I cannot be the daughter you wanted me to be..."

As he came closer, she opened her eyes. Instead of tears, however, he saw her tell-tale steely determination.

She threw her parchment into the fire, before turning to face him.

"Well met, Prion Attacus Lore," she said, a small smile lighting up her beautiful face.

"Well met, Prion Luceel Voraine," he replied, feeling a mirrored version of her smile form on his face.

Strangely, at that moment, he felt his burden lighten, ever so slightly.

"You have been busy, these past few days," she said, coming closer.

Instead of her crimson robes, she was wearing an elegant green and white dress.

Impressively, it managed to accentuate her figure even more than her natural poise allowed for.

He noticed that she was wearing her Noble Mark on her left ring finger.

Noticing his gaze, she sighed and said, "Mother insisted. She's brought the entire family for the great feast tonight, and told me to make myself look pretty for any nobles that might be interested."

"Oh... That's... nice?" Attacus said, trying to maintain his smile.

It was harder than he would have thought.

"No, it's not," Luceel sighed, moving to stand beside him, "I intend to tell mother tonight that I will not marry any man she picks out for me. I will not be like my sisters... and I will not allow her to control my fate any longer..."

"I see..." he said, feeling strangely relieved.

There was a silence between them, and yet it did not feel uncomfortable. Attacus was surprisingly happy to just be near her, without saying a word.

How things had changed, since he had first met her...

"So... have you made any plans for tonight?" she suddenly asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

He shook his head.

"Silas told me to be at the feast before the Sinner's Hour, but the time before that is my own."

"I see..." she replied, looking... relieved?

"And you?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

In reply, she gestured over to the Dawnward side of the plaza. There, someone had set up a massive array of small candles on the cobbled floor.

From a distance, it looked like a sea of flame.

"I had wanted to attempt the Dance of a Thousand Candles... yet I find myself lacking a partner... So, what do you say?" she said, offering her slender hand to him.

He said nothing for a long time.

He had never been particularly gifted, physically.

His dancing skills, naturally, were bordering on abysmal.

Add in open flames and a horde of onlookers, and he could not imagine a worse stage to embarrass himself on.

And yet... seeing her hand outstretched in his direction, something changed inside him.

If he truly did only have a short time left to live... then why not spend it trying something new.

"Lead the way," he replied, taking her hand.

<>

They found Philharmon, lute in hand, resting at the edge of the demarcated dance region. However, as he saw them come closer, he sprang to his feet.

"Praise be to The Six!" he said, as they walked towards him, "I was mostly joking lad, but I never thought that you would heed my words so quickly!"

Attacus was confused for a moment, until he remembered their prior conversation.

Embarrassed, he tried to draw away from Luceel.

However, she did not let go of his hand.

"We wish to partake of the Dance of a Thousand Candles, minstrel. Do you know the song for it?"

Philharmon looked at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

"I know all the songs, Prion Luceel. I know _Embers to Ashes,_ although that was written for older couples... There's also _The First Spark,_ but that is more suitable for children... Tell me what, which song would you care to dance to?"

Luceel didn't even hesitate.

" _Burning Heart_ ," she said, without a trace of embarrassment.

"Ah, the song about forbidden love! An odd choice for the dance, but I can play it all the same. Take up your positions, and let me know when you are ready to begin."

Luceel nodded in a curt fashion, before turning to walk towards the sea of candles.

As Attacus went to follow her, he heard Philharmon whisper behind him.

"Well done, lad..."

<>

Less than a minute later, they stood in the centre of the dance floor. Around them, lit by a legion of servants, were a thousand candles, burning softly in the Fading Hour light.

His heart was pounding, and his legs felt as solid as a Tama milk pudding.

Luceel, standing a few paces away, looked as though she had been dipped into a bucket full of ice. Despite the heat from the candles, Attacus shivered.

She was taking this seriously, even if it was just her way of passing the time.

"Just take a deep breath, and trust in me," Luceel said, extending her left hand, "I won't let you fall."

Heeding her advice, he took the deepest breath of his life. As he exhaled, he stepped forward, taking her hand in his own.

Despite the pounding in his ears, he could vaguely make out Philharmon's song.

It sounded... sad, and yet hopeful at the same time.

Luceel took the lead, mercifully, and after that he had no more time to appreciate the music. Instead, he was whirled around the dance floor, pulled into Luceel's pace much as a leaf is pulled along by a river's current.

They spun, again and again, their movement sending out small gusts of wind that, while not extinguishing the candles around them, sent up a shower of sparks. The embers above and flames below formed into a dreamlike haze, with heat and heart both enriched.

And through it all, he could but feel one thing. His hand, holding Luceel's.

Looking up, he sought out her face. All trace of iciness had melted away, just like the world around them. Surprisingly, she was smiling, and she would let out a small peal of laughter with every completed rotation.

For a while, he was able to forget about Imran, his Holy Order and his terrible betrayal. For a time, he could forget his duty, his rough childhood and his harsh circumstances.

For a brief moment, he could simply be Attacus.

And then the music stopped.

His feet suddenly slowed, and he came to realize just how much time had passed. Enough, certainly, for a large crowd to form around the dance floor.

There were children, and adults, and even a few nobles. They did not laugh. They did not jeer.

They simply stood, held captive by the dance, in total silence.

And then the spell broke, and they started to cheer.

Attacus looked to Luceel, who was panting with exhaustion. It must have been hard on her, dancing for two.

And yet, despite her obvious fatigue, her smile never wavered.

"Praise be to all the Gods!" Philharmon cried, coming closer.

"Thank you, Philharmon, for playing for us," Attacus said.

"No... thank you, lad, for showing me something that I never thought possible..." Philharmon replied.

There were tears in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"You didn't know?" Philharmon asked, surprise evident on his face.

"Know what?"

Philharmon sighed, and then he took Attacus by the shoulder and led him a few paces away.

"The Dance of a Thousand Candles is primarily for couples. The saying goes that for every candle that is snuffed out, the couple will have one year of unhappiness. However... for the lucky few who can complete the dance without extinguishing a single candle... a lifetime of happiness awaits..."

"So?"

"Look behind you, lad."

Attacus did so.

And then he saw the candles.

Not a single one had been snuffed out.

A thousand tongues of flame lay before him.

A lifetime of happiness lay ahead of him.

Too bad he wouldn't be around to enjoy it.

<>

Luceel sat on one of the stone steps leading up to the palace. The hour had grown late, and soon they would need to make their way to the feast inside.

However, neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to move.

Instead, they simply sat in silence, watching the people in the plaza celebrate the end of a millennium.

With no conversation, Attacus was free to dwell on his thoughts.

He wished that they were a little happier.

In a short while, he would have to kill the king. He had tried to put it off, but now the deadline was growing closer. Imran had said that Silas would die before the new millennium began, that meant that his brother only had a few more hours of life...

Attacus hoped that he had not wasted them on things like politics and policies.

Looking over to Luceel, he asked, "Luceel... what would you do if your Holy Order asked you to do something terrible?"

A part of him, a part which was growing smaller by the second, was still seeking reassurance. It wanted someone... anyone, to tell him that he was doing the right thing. He wanted someone to tell him that by causing Imran's Great War he would be doing more than simply helping the Church to rule over the Flamelands forever...

She looked at him, and, strangely, she laughed.

"It did tell me to do something terrible. Something that I would have never thought possible... and even now I struggle to accept it."

She moved closer to him. There was less than a pace between them.

"At first, I didn't understand why Imran had chosen me for this terrible task. I wanted to run from it, to hide from it... but now... I see why he chose me."

She moved closer still.

"I used to think that it was terrible... but now, I'm happy that I was chosen..."

There was a small smile on her face. In that moment, Attacus thought that she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life.

And he cursed himself for his fate. If this had been part of Imran's plan as well, then his Prophet truly was reprehensible...

"I'm happy to hear that, Luceel," he said, trying to sound sincere. In that moment, however, he wished with all his heart that they could have traded Holy Orders. Surely, whatever Imran had asked of her paled in comparison with regicide...

"I'm sure that your parents are proud of you, no matter what you do."

He had meant it as a compliment, but the moment she heard his words her smile faded. She looked down, towards her slippered feet, and sighed.

"Can I tell you a secret, Attacus?"

"Of course," he replied. He would be the best secret-keeper. After all, it is hard to leak secrets when you're dead.

She looked nervous for a moment, before taking a deep breath and saying, "I- I never wanted to be a Prion. Growing up... I always dreamt of becoming a teacher..."

He honestly did not know what to say.

"I see..." he settled on, eventually.

"I know, I know," she said, giving him a knowing look, "Why did I become a Prion if it wasn't what I wanted? The answer, for this and almost everything else in my life, is because it's what my parents wanted."

"Well, you did say that your family has produced a lot of Prions over the centuries..."

"It was more than that, this time. House Voraine has produced plenty of great Prions, but this time they had a chance to lay claim to something truly special..."

It was at that moment that everything dawned on him.

"The 10000th Prion," he whispered, feeling a numbness in his heart begin to form.

"I was to be the greatest my family had ever produced. The last Prion to receive Imran's guidance..."

"Luceel... I'm so sorry..." he said, placing a hand upon her knee. He had ruined her life, and he hadn't even realised.

It was no wonder that she had hated him.

"You don't have to apologize, Attacus," she said, placing her hand atop his own, "I was young, and angry at my parents for forcing me down a path I did not want. I took solace in the fact that at least as a Prion, I would be something special. And then, when I arrived at Origin, I learnt the truth. I was to be second-last. I had missed the mark by a single number, and just like that, I had brought shame upon my House."

She squeezed his hand, as tears formed in her eyes.

"And then, I met you. You, a street rat from Slumtown, still covered in filth and grime. I could tell at a glance that you hadn't come of your own volition. It wasn't long after that that I learnt what you had stolen from me. You were the reason why my parents would always look at me with disappointment. You were the reason why I had thrown away my dream for nothing. You were the reason why I was stuck in a place I did not want to be in, for ten long years of my life."

She squeezed tighter.

"But that wasn't your fault, Attacus. I was angry at myself, and my fate, and I took it out on you. I only ever saw the man who had stolen my place, not the boy who had just lost his mother and brother. For all the times I mistreated you, hurt you, or dismissed you... I am truly sorry..."

Her tears were falling freely now. She made no attempt to hide them.

Reaching up with his arm, he used his sleeve to wipe away her tears.

It was all he could do for her.

"I'm sorry, too, for my role in this. If I had known... If I had been able to swap with you, I would have done so in a heartbeat. I wish that you could have had the life you wanted... and I hate myself for not being able to give it to you..."

Her tears had stopped. She was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before.

She slowly leaned forward, until her face was a few knuckle-widths away from his...

He closed his eyes, and tried to savour the moment.

He felt her breath against his lips.

He-

"Pardon my interruption, Attacus," came a bemused voice, shattering the moment into a thousand pieces.

His eyes snapped open and his head jerked to the side, seeking the terribly timed trespasser.

Lord Arthus Beliere, head of House Beliere and King of Bad Timing, stood before him.

<>

Luceel had leapt back at least three paces, landing heavily on the stone steps. When she regained her composure, she glared at Arthus with what looked like pure hatred.

A moment later, her expression softened, and she gracefully rose to her feet.

"Lord Beliere, to what do we owe the... pleasure," she said through clenched teeth.

He bowed to her, before replying, "I noticed that the Sinner's Hour was almost upon us, and yet the two of you were nowhere to be found. So, I took it upon myself to seek you out. I apologize if I... interrupted anything..."

"Thank you, for your compassion," Luceel replied, sounding strained, "We were on our way to the feast when we stopped to... fix our attire. As I'm sure you know, dancing takes a heavy toll on both the body and the bodice."

"I see," Arthus replied, in a smooth and controlled manner, "If you would give me a moment with young Attacus here, we can all proceed to the feast."

Luceel nodded.

Turning to Attacus, Arthus knelt down and asked, "Did you have any good fortune with the matter we previously spoke of?"

Attacus hesitated for a moment. He knew that giving Arthus the Lower Bridge Gate key was simply a means to an end, and yet he felt troubled in letting it go.

However, Arthus merely wanted to patch things up with Silas, and to do that, he needed the key.

Carefully, he reached into his pockets, fingers brushing against the Tama knife handle as he did so. He had meant to leave it in his room, but something had made him keep it on him.

A moment later, he pulled out the heavy looking key. He hesitated for another second, before placing it in Arthus' outstretched palm.

"Thank you, Attacus, truly, thank you. I will never forget what you have done for me this day. Now, if you would excuse me, I must open the gate for my men. I am eager to see the look on Silas' face when he sees what I have brought for him!"

With that, Arthus stood and moved away, heading up the stairs.

As he left, Attacus stood as well.

The sense of foreboding had not left him. If anything, it had grown stronger.

But why should it? After all, it was just a key, how much harm could it do?

# Chapter 14: Kill the King

Holy Order 10000: Kill the King

Prion Attacus Lore

<>

Midnight, Ashday, 30 Ashos, 1000AC

<>

By the time Attacus and Luceel arrived, the banquet hall had been filled. Almost every seat bore a noble or a person of great renown. Even Son-Semmet, Silas' special guest, had been given a seat... although the people next to him did not seem especially thrilled at this decision.

It was hardly the place for him.

He moved towards the nearest open space, but a servant, looking nervous, quickly barred his path.

"Prion Attacus Lore, your seat is over there," he said, pointing towards the middle of the oversized table.

He was pointing towards the seat beside Silas.

Before he could object, he was gently yet firmly moved towards his seat. Luceel, softly protesting, was taken to the other side of the table.

As she took her seat, he saw that her entire family had come. Elyss and Semper, beaming with pride, sat beside a pair of couples who, judging from their similar appearance, could only be Luceel's sisters and their partners.

Luceel, however, did not look terribly happy to see them.

A moment later, Attacus took his place at Silas' right hand side.

Arthus sat down a moment later, at his left.

Strangely, he wore a sword at his side. Why?

"You have outdone yourself, your majesty," Arthus said, turning to face his king, "The Festival of Flame has been a rousing success!"

Silas smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Beliere, for your kind words. However, I could not have done it without the hard work of the people in my service."

Arthus nodded, and yet Attacus could not help but notice the tension between them. He could only hope that Arthus' gift would help to mend the strained relationship between them.

Silas looked up, then, and saw that everyone had taken their seats. Standing, he gestured to the servants, who started bringing out a wide variety of delectable dishes.

As they did so, he spoke, saying, "My friends, it is with a hopeful heart that I welcome the end to this turbulent year. We have endured many challenges over the past ten months, and I am proud of how we have overcome them. We have lost loved ones, and reunited with those we thought long gone. And now, as one millennium ends, we look to the future. It is my dream that, in the coming year, we will forge stronger bonds with those around us. I hope to put aside the petty differences that divide us, and create a more united world. I only ask that you lend me your power, wisdom and strength in this great endeavour!"

A great cheer rose up as Silas finished, mostly from the younger nobles and laymen. However, from amongst the nobles that Attacus recognized as the Old Blood, there was not a single smile.

A moment later, Silas returned to his seat, as the people began to eat.

However, Silas did not join them. Instead, he leaned close to Attacus, and whispered, "I had wanted to tell you the truth sooner, but I could not find the words..."

"The truth?" Attacus asked, thoroughly bewildered.

"The real reason why I invited Son-Semmet to visit the capital. Part of it was really about showing him our culture and forging a stronger bond with Son-Amat, but the true purpose of his visit is something altogether different..."

"What is it?" Attacus asked, an old fear rising in his gut. If Silas truly did intend to convert to the Church of the First Son, then his death would not be without merit.

With one hand, he casually reached into his robes, feeling the handle of the Tama knife. It would take but a moment, and all of this would be over.

"A new Council of Faith," Silas said, looking pleased with himself.

Attacus was immediately dumbfounded.

"What?"

"I thought of it a year ago, when Edda died. After learning that she could have been saved if we had been on better terms with our neighbours, I started researching our shared history. I learnt that, up until the Council of Faith, the Flamelands knew relative peace. We did not go to war with one another, but we were not especially friendly either. The Council of Faith, however, was meant to change that. If it had succeeded, our kingdom and the surrounding nations would have been bound by bonds stronger than blood."

"And you seek to try again?"

Silas nodded.

"What makes you think that you will succeed where they failed?"

"Nothing," Silas said, with his trademark confident grin, "But that doesn't mean that I can't try. The world needs this, Attacus, if we are ever to know true peace. I had hoped... that you would help me... With Son-Semmet agreeing to speak to his elders, I needed someone to speak to the Church. Unfortunately, the Prions around here can be a little... stubborn. And then, you came along..."

"So you don't have any intention of converting?"

Silas looked at him blankly.

So, nothing more than a baseless rumour after all...

"So, what do you say? Will you help me bring peace to this world?"

<>

"I... I'm sorry, Silas... but there is something I must do first..."

"Something important?" Silas asked, showing a hint of concern. Attacus wondered if he had any idea what was coming.

"Very."

"Does it have anything to do with your Holy Order?"

Attacus said nothing.

"I see... Well, then it can't be helped. From what I understand, you Prions have to complete those, no matter what."

Silas shifted back slightly.

"But brother, please, if there is anything I can do to help your fulfil your duty, just let me know. I would do anything for family, after all," Silas said, with a smile on his face.

Attacus' hand shook. He clenched the Tama knife handle tightly, fingers growing numb from the force of his grip.

It was now or never.

If he didn't kill Silas now, he would never do it. This was his only chance.

He felt the weight of destiny enclose his hand, tightening his grip. He could almost feel Imran reaching across the eons, moving the blade closer to the light.

It would only take a moment, he told himself.

Draw the blade, swing it as hard as he could, strike his brother- his king, in the breast.

It would only take a second, to kill the king.

He could feel his heart racing. In his mind, everyone was staring at him. Luceel, Arthus, Son-Semmet, and from a place unseen, Edda.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

And then he moved, drawing forth the Tama knife.

However, before the blade had even left his pocket, something happened.

An arrow shaft suddenly materialized above Silas' right breast.

For a few heartbeats, nothing changed.

And then the realization came.

Someone had shot the king.

It was then that the chaos came, and the world turned on its head.

<>

"Wha?" Silas uttered, staring at the arrow shaft sticking out just beneath his right shoulder.

A moment later, the doors leading to the kitchens burst open, and a mass of men poured in, wielding swords and spears. They wore black and had their faces covered with white masks in the shape of skulls.

"Protect the king!" someone screamed, as the vastly outnumbered royal guards struggled to react to the situation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luceel snatch up a sword from a dead guard. He tried to call out to her, but she was suddenly swarmed by the attacking men.

"Your majesty, we have to get out of here!" Arthus screamed, dragging Silas to his feet. Attacus took his other side, and together, they managed to pull him away from the conflict.

Following Arthus' lead, they left the banquet hall. A few of the royal guards tried to follow after them, but they were beset by a number of the black clad attackers.

Attacus had no time to gather his thoughts. All he could do was follow Arthus, while Silas hung limply between them. Worryingly, they were leaving a crimson trail behind them...

"Just hang on, Silas," Attacus muttered, his mind no longer indulging thoughts of murder.

Too much had happened in the last few minutes... Was this still in accordance to Imran's Will? Or had the Prophet been wrong after all...

A moment later, they came to a sudden stop. Looking up for the first time, Attacus found his surroundings worryingly familiar.

They were in the throne room.

<>

Attacus knelt beside Silas, placing his hand on the arrow shaft. He knew that he couldn't withdraw it without causing more damage, yet he wanted to do something to staunch the bleeding.

"Attacus... the Lower Bridge... you have the key... we can use it to escape..." Silas wheezed, looking pale. He was losing a lot of blood, and his eyes were wild and unfocused.

Behind them, Arthus had shut the doors and locked them. However, against their mysterious assailants, a simple door would not last long.

Arthus, to his credit, did not show any fear. He looked calm and composed, and held his sword in a loose, comfortable grip.

"I am afraid that young Attacus no longer possesses the Lower Bridge Gate key, your majesty," Arthus said, turning to face them.

"What? Where is it?" Silas asked, looking confused.

A heartbeat later, Arthus reached into his pocket and withdrew the heavy key. With a casual toss, he threw it towards Silas. The king tried to catch it, but his right arm barely moved. Instead, it cluttered loudly on the marble floor, skidding towards the throne.

"Thank you, Attacus, for bringing that to me. Truly, you have played your part perfectly."

Silas looked at him with a look of horror.

"Attacus... what did you do?" There was pain in his voice, and not just from his injury.

"He did what was necessary," Arthus replied, in his stead, "I always thought that you, a Slumtown street rat, were unfit for the throne. But, I tried to work with you, to make you see reason. If you had just listened to me... maybe it wouldn't have come to this..."

Silas wore a look of betrayal, and who could blame him.

"The men who attacked the feast... they were yours?"

"A few, yes. The rest belong to the Old Blood. Thanks to young Attacus here, they were able to enter the palace undetected via the Lower Bridge. They were my backup plan, you see. I had wanted to end this quickly, and with minimal fuss... but then my archer had to go and miss... I will be sure to punish him once this is done."

"Why... why go this far?"

Arthus took a step towards them, sword pointing at his king.

"I never intended for this, you know. After I realized that your father had grown weak, I sought to eliminate him in a quiet manner. The poison I gave him worked wonderfully, and everything would have worked out fine, if not for his... despicable taste in woman. If not for that whore mother of yours, there would have been no secret heir, and I would have assumed my rightful place on the throne."

"You killed... my father?" Silas wheezed.

"I did what had to be done!" Arthus said, his calm mask dropping for a moment and revealing the repressed anger beneath.

"And my mother... was that your doing as well?"

Arthus shook his head.

"Luck was on my side there, I'm afraid to say. And after that whore was dead, you became more irrational, going and inviting the enemy into our midst. Thanks to that, I was able to convince the last few holdouts of the Old Blood to support my plan. Please know that, you made all of this possible..."

"The people... will never follow you..." Silas said, struggling to draw breath, "A nobleman killing the king... will cause riots amongst the lower classes... All you will bring about... is a civil war that will tear this kingdom apart..."

"Perhaps," Arthus said, taking another step forward, "But then again, a nobleman didn't kill the king... a Prion did."

Arthus turned his gaze on Attacus. He could not turn away. Instead, he took a step towards Arthus. He wasn't sure why.

"Another rogue Prion, just like the one who slaughtered the Council of Faith... I'm sure that's what they'll say... especially once I spread the word. A few Prions might get killed in the ensuing riots, but that is a small price to pay for the crown, don't you agree?"

Attacus thought back to Imran's message. This was all playing out exactly as the Prophet had foreseen. Silas would die, and somehow, Arthus' plot would come to light.

Perhaps that was Luceel's role in all of this?

Arthus took another step towards Silas. There was only a single pace between them.

"Attacus, run..." Silas whispered.

Just like his mother... his last words had been about his brother...

Arthus drew back his sword, preparing to attack. Hatred roared in his eyes, and his face contorted into a rictus of rage.

Attacus felt the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders. Everything the Church had done, every Prion's actions, every Holy Order, had led to this moment. He could almost feel Imran's Will reaching across the centuries that separated them, commanding his feet to remain rooted to the floor.

All he had to do was stand still, and everything would be over. He would complete his Holy Order. He would guarantee the Church's eternal survival. He would do the very thing he had spent the last ten years preparing for.

He looked at Silas, his friend, his king... his brother.

He made his decision.

"Forgive me," Attacus whispered.

<>

And then he moved.

Throwing himself forward, he placed himself between Silas and Arthus, facing his king.

A heartbeat later, he felt cold steel pierce his back, and the rest of the blade soon emerged from his gut.

He tasted blood, and felt a chilling numbness spread from his stomach.

Arthus wrenched the blade free with an angry grunt.

With nothing left to hold him up, Attacus fell.

And Silas caught him.

His vision was growing dim, but he fought back the darkness. There was still something he needed to do, and something he needed to say.

His trembling fingers reached into his robe, searching out the gift he had been given. His hand brushed against the leather wrapped grip, and he drew forth the object, placing it discreetly in Silas' left hand.

His brother looked down, saw what it was, and smiled.

"Fool!" Arthus snarled, "You have changed nothing! I will be king, whether I have to kill one man or a thousand!"

The would-be king moved forward, raising his blood soaked sword. He would not miss again.

Silas, however, did not wait to die. Instead he brought up his left arm, holding in his hand the thing that Attacus had given him.

With a smooth, practiced movement, Silas threw the Tama knife, and it flew straight and true.

A moment later, the blade buried itself in Arthus' left breast, skewering the heart of the traitorous noble.

"No! I... am... your... king..." Arthus said, his expression changing from anger to shock.

And then he fell.

He did not rise again.

"Forgive me... Imran," Attacus wheezed, his vision dimming once more. He couldn't feel anything below his chest, and the ice was already in the back of his throat.

He had broken his vows.

He had betrayed his God.

He had undone a thousand years of planning.

And he had no regrets.

"Attacus, stay with me!" Silas shouted, good hand reaching around to try to staunch the bleeding.

There was still something he had to say, before he died...

"I'm sorry, Silas... I chose family... I chose... you..."

"Attacus!" called a female voice.

With the last of his strength, he raised his head. Somehow, Luceel was there, wearing a torn dress and holding a bloodied sword.

There were tears in her eyes.

And then the darkness swallowed him, and all was still...

# Chapter 15: The Great Prophet

Holy Order 9999: Fall in love with the 10000th Prion and aid him on his journey

Prion Luceel Voraine

<>

Morning, Flariday, 1 Flaros, 1001AC

<>

Attacus floated in the void. Imran, clad in his black robes, stood before him.

He did not look happy.

"What have you done?" his Prophet asked, with a tone colder than ice.

Strangely, Attacus felt no fear. Perhaps he had left it behind, in the land of the living.

"I followed my heart. I chose not to kill. I made my own decisions."

"Then you have doomed the Church to an uncertain future. You have cast us loose on a lake in a boat without sails! This is not what I wanted!"

"No, but it's what you got," Attacus replied, calmly, "You sought to control fate, to alter the flow of history, but it was not yours to change. The Church might fall, or it might prosper. People will live, and people will die. But they will not do so because you ordered it. Whatever happens, it will be according to their will, not yours."

"But how will they know what to do? How will they know how to act? They need instructions!"

"No, all they need to do is-

<>

"I wonder if you'll ever fix that bad habit of sleeping in, Attacus..."

Slowly, like a drowned man rising to the surface, Attacus came to his senses.

The first thought he had was not joy at still being alive or shock at how he had betrayed the Church, as he might have expected.

No, instead it was simple relief.

For the voice which had woken him belonged to his brother.

He had not killed the king.

That alone, was enough.

Even if he would face execution or exile, knowing that Silas was alive would keep his head high until his last day.

Blinking against the harsh light, he opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in the palace infirmary.

Sunlight, streaming in from a nearby window, told him that he had either been asleep for a few hours or a few days.

Turning his head, he found his brother, lying in the bed next to his. His colour had returned somewhat, and he now bore a bandage around his shoulder.

Noticing his gaze, Silas chuckled and said, "I'll be fine. The arrow didn't hit anything important. You, on the other hand, cut it very close. I had my finest physicians working on you throughout the night, and I will be sure to give each and every single one of them a raise once I can."

Attacus tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his abdomen forced him down. Looking down, he found the thick bandage which now encircled his waist.

"What about Arthus, and the Old Blood?" he asked, once the pain had settled down.

"Lord Beliere has departed this world, and is no doubt arriving in the Void as we speak. As for the Old Blood... they will be stripped of their land and titles, and punished appropriately."

Attacus nodded. It was the only way they would learn.

He felt the tears come then, as he realized just how close he had come to killing his brother.

"Silas... I'm so sorry... I put you, and everyone else in danger..."

Silas, instead of showing anger, simply sighed and shook his head.

"It's not your fault, Attacus. Arthus used you to get to me. From what his co-conspirators told me, he never intended to patch things up between us. All of his actions, from hosting you in his manor to travelling with you to the Urn were all to gain your trust, so that you would give him the key when he needed it most."

"What will happen to me?" Attacus asked, taking a deep breath. If Silas wanted his head, he could have it. He owed him that much, at least.

Silas did not respond. Instead, he motioned to a servant to open the window. As it swung open, Attacus heard the chanting from the plaza beyond.

"Attacus! Attacus! Attacus!" came the cry, from what sounded like a group of hundreds.

"They call for my head?" Attacus asked, looking down. It was what he deserved.

Silas, surprisingly, laughed.

"They call for the saviour of the kingdom. They pray for your recovery, and praise your name for what you have done. Because of you, this kingdom shall not know war. There is nothing for you to apologize for, either with ink or blood."

"But... I was almost responsible for killing you..."

"Perhaps," Silas said, still smiling, "But that is not how history will remember it. Instead, the story of brave young Attacus, the Prion who almost sacrificed himself to save the crown will be told. In time... no one will remember the finer details..."

It felt wrong, to be thanked after all he had done, and all he had planned to do. But Silas was right. He wanted to tell Silas the truth, about Prophet Imran's plan, and about his Holy Order, but that would not change things. Just like how the people had come to see him as a hero... so too would he let his brother see him the way he clearly wanted to.

"You honour me, your majesty," he said, as he locked the truth away in his heart forever.

"Your majesty? Come now, Attacus, you of all people shouldn't have to call me that. We are not of blood, but we are brothers all the same. Our positions have changed. Our appearances have changed. Our views have changed. But this I swear will never change. You are my brother, from this breath until my last."

Attacus had no response. Instead, he simply lay back, and wept. For his beloved brother had kept his promises... all of them.

<>

After his bandages were changed and he was fed a small helping of Tama milk pudding, Attacus closed his eyes. However, as he did so, a memory came to him.

A dance, surrounded by fire and sparks, which had awoken something inside of him. Something that he had not been able to indulge, when he had still believed that his time was limited.

"Silas, where's Luceel?" he asked, sounding strangely urgent, "There's something I need to tell her."

Silas, in response, merely chuckled.

"She sat beside you all night, never once leaving your side. It was only after her sisters dragged her away to be bathed and fed that she left."

"I don't deserve her kindness..."

"Women are beyond comprehension, and should be treated as such. Do not question their actions, and you will be spared from a lot of confusion," Silas said, with another chuckle.

A moment later, a servant appeared beside Silas and whispered something in his ear. A smile broke out on his wearied face and he nodded, saying, "Let them in."

The servant opened the door, revealing two women.

Ellah, and Luceel.

They quickly crossed the distance to the beds, flinging themselves around their respective charges.

As Luceel wrapped her arms around him, he found his pain evaporate. Instead, all he could feel was her warmth, melding gently with his own.

To his surprise, there were tears in her eyes.

"My guidance has ended," she whispered.

And then she kissed him.

A while later, but still too quickly for his liking, their lips parted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Attacus saw that Ellah was giving Silas the same treatment. He wondered, for a moment, if the two women had planned it this way.

Truly, they were not a gender that could ever be truly understood.

Smiling to himself, he returned her hug with one of his own.

However, as he did so, she pulled away slightly. He gave her a questioning gaze, and she dropped her head, looking conflicted.

"I know, that we're not supposed to share our Holy Orders with anyone, but before we go any further, you have to know... Mine was to fall in love with you..."

With that single sentence, everything became clear. Her actions since receiving her Holy Order, all that time ago. Her insistence on remaining by his side, even when she had no real reason to do so.

"But I want you to know... that I would have fallen in love with you regardless, Attacus. Even if Imran himself had told me not to... I would have happened anyway... I only hope that you can believe me... and trust in my words..."

He thought about his own Holy Order, and how he had failed to fulfil it. It seemed silly now, thinking that Imran's tasks were irrefutable and infallible. Silas, lying nearby, was living proof of that. So if Luceel said that she would have loved him no matter what, then he could believe that.

Instead of saying that, however, he kissed her again.

It seemed like the simpler method.

<>

Eventually, Luceel and Ellah departed the room. With the Old Blood in jail and the king indisposed, someone had to run the kingdom. From what Luceel had told him, Ellah was taking to the task with surprising ease.

That evening, as the Eternal Flame sought the horizon, they received an unexpected guest: Son-Semmet the Second.

His usual arrogance had disappeared, and he entered with a humble expression. Upon reaching their beds, he dropped to one knee, hand over his heart.

"I must beg your forgiveness, your majesty, for the manner in which I have acted these past few days. I was wrong, in my thinking, that women were only fit for motherhood. I will apologize to all who I have spoken unkindly, of course, but I wanted you to know this as well."

Silas sat up in his bed, looking regal even while recovering in an infirmary.

"You are forgiven, Son-Semmet. But may I ask, what caused you to change your mind?"

Son-Semmet looked over at Attacus, and smiled.

"Prion Luceel Voraine," he said, with a note of awe in his voice, "When those people broke into the banquet hall and attacked, almost everyone fell back in fear and panic. However, Prion Luceel snatched up a sword and charged at the attackers, felling two with one blow. She rallied the surviving guards, and managed to lead them to victory, despite being outnumbered. If not for her bravery... I would surely have perished last night..."

Silas nodded, looking pleased.

"I am glad to hear that, Son-Semmet. And, as to the matter we discussed..."

"I will depart at once for Son-Amat, your majesty. No matter what happens, I will convince the Kindred to partake in your plan. The Church of the First Son will attend the Second Council of Faith, I promise."

"Thank you, Son-Semmet. Go well, and spread peace wherever you walk."

Son-Semmet rose, bowed, and left the room.

As the door closed, Silas slumped down, clearly exhausted after having to maintain his posture. However, despite his fatigue, he wore a smile on his face.

It might not have been in the way that Imran had wanted, but one way or another, Silas would bring peace and unity to the Flamelands...

<>

Their final guest for the day, arriving after their suppers had been taken away, was Elyss Voraine.

She entered with Semper in tow, but it was clear from the outset that she was in charge. He looked red-faced, as if he had been arguing for many an hour.

Attacus had a pretty good idea as to what he had been fighting about.

After curtsying to Silas, Elyss came to sit beside Attacus. Taking his hand, she said nothing, staring at him with the eyes of a mother for several long seconds.

How long had it been, since he had last been looked at in such a way?

Eventually, her composed mask cracked and she let out a smile. A moment later, she hugged him, and in his confusion, he hugged her back.

As they parted, she laughed and said, "When Luceel first brought you to us, I thought that she could have done worse. Now... I see that she couldn't have done better..."

"Thank you, Lady Voraine," he said, with respect.

She laughed again, and replied, "Didn't I tell you to call me Elyss? Or perhaps you would prefer... Mother?"

At the mention of this, Semper's red face changed to white. However, he did not say anything.

Attacus, in response, simply nodded.

He wondered, for a moment, if he was the first man in history to have three different mothers...

<>

That night, he lay awake, listening to the low hum of the palace around him. Even now, there were still tasks to do. The servants, it was said, would rest once they were dead.

Silas, similarly, could not sleep.

Instead, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Even though he had been badly injured the night before, he already looked healthy enough to rule.

"Attacus, are you awake?"

Following his example, Attacus sat over the side of the bed. It was painful to do so, but less painful than it had been that morning.

"I was thinking... of a reward... But I couldn't come up with anything that you don't already have. So, tell me... what do you want, for saving the life of your king?"

Attacus thought for a moment. It was as Silas had said, he already had everything he wanted.

His brother was alive. He had the love of an amazing woman. He had a path laid out for his future that didn't involve killing.

However, there was still something he had to do. Imran had entrusted him with the future of the Church, and he was determined to set it on the right path.

"I want... to go home," he said, a few seconds later.

Silas nodded in understanding.

"I shall lend you my carriage, and we will form a procession lasting all the way from here back to Origin!"

Attacus, however, shook his head.

"Thank you, but I want to end this as it began. Once I am well enough, I will head back on my own, hopefully with Luceel at my side."

Silas nodded again, smiling.

"As you wish, brother. And until then... we will try and improve your atrocious Katang skills!"

Laughing, Attacus threw his pillow at his brother, who quickly countered with his own throw. For a moment, they were children again, and all the troubles and strife of adulthood melted away.

And then the head nurse came into the room and told them to be quiet, and to go to bed.

After that, they found that sleep came easily...

<>

A month later, Attacus removed his bandage and found healed skin. It was still painful to move, but he was no longer confined to his bed. He had been taking regular walks with Silas and Luceel, which had helped to keep his mind off the past.

Eventually, he was ready to depart. Silas, standing hand in hand with Ellah, waved him off from the steps leading to the palace. All trace of the Festival of Flame had disappeared, and life had returned to normal for the citizens of Pyre.

Thankfully, Luceel had agreed to join him on his journey back to Origin. While she had initially said that she was only going with him to make sure he didn't get stabbed again, he knew the truth.

She wanted to be by his side, and he by hers.

He would have it no other way...

<>

Three days later, travelling at a slightly slower pace to account for his injury, they arrived.

He had been expecting a small welcome, if any, but he had not expected to see the entire population of Origin waiting for him.

They cheered as he walked through the heavyset outer gates, throwing rose petals and calling his name. As he reached Imran's Providence, he was surprised to see Prion Rodan, flanked by Prion Lutze and Prion Garnick.

Without saying anything, Prion Rodan came forth, holding something in his wrinkled arms. As he came closer, Attacus saw what it was.

A set of black robes.

"All praise to the Great Prophet!" Prion Garnick shouted. The call was quickly taken up, and soon everyone was repeating the words.

<>

A short while later, after the commotion had died down, Attacus stood beside the Great Flame. It burned strong and true, because of him.

He had thought, for a while, about telling them about Prophet Imran's plan. However, like with Silas, he had decided against it. The world still needed the Church, and the good things it provided.

"Prophet Lore, we were wondering... hoping, really... if you had anything to say to us?" Prion Rodan said, looking anxious.

Attacus knew what his expression truly meant. Without Imran's guidance and the Holy Orders, the Church was without purpose.

However, he intended to change that. No more plots. No more attempts to control destiny. No more Prions wasting their lives on cruel Holy Orders.

He would be different.

"I will write a Holy Order for you to follow," Attacus said, trying to sound like a prophet.

"Just the one?" Prion Garnick asked, looking confused.

"One is all you will need, trust me. It is my decree that every Prion, after completing their training, shall read my Holy Order. It shall not be destroyed, and it shall not be kept secret. Do this, and this kingdom... and perhaps even the Flamelands, shall one day know true peace."

Immediately, the three elder Prions broke out into laughter and cheer. Prion Rodan, after settling down, motioned for a nearby servant to bring parchment and wax.

Using the same podium, where he had received his terrible Holy Order, to press against, Attacus carefully wrote the words that would hopefully change the world. After the ink had dried, he looked around for something to seal the wax with.

Luceel, standing nearby, handed him her Noble Mark. A moment later, it was done.

He handed the rolled up parchment to Prion Rodan, who held it as a father holds his newborn child.

"What now, Prophet Lore?" Prion Garnick asked, "Will you stay here, and teach us your wisdom?"

Attacus shook his head.

"Sorry, but I cannot stay. There is somewhere else I am needed."

"I see..." Prion Garnick said, looking slightly crestfallen.

"Worry not," Attacus said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I must do this, and I must do it alone. Before I can bear the harvest, I must work the fields."

Removing his hand, he turned to leave, accompanied by Luceel.

As he walked away, he heard the elder Prions discussing his words, searching for a deeper meaning to them. He heard them use the word 'wise', which brought out a laugh from within him.

Luceel, walking beside him, merely grinned and said, "I wonder... If they will ever realize that you weren't using a metaphor..."

A moment later, they passed through the outer gate, hand in hand.

Never again to return.

# Epilogue: The Last Order

Holy Order 10001

Prion Fennix Ashram

<>

Morning, 19 Ashos, 1001AC

<>

Prion Fennix Ashram sat in the Garden of Lore, surrounded by a hundred candles, meditating on the future.

Soon, he would receive his Holy Order. Soon, he would be recognized as a full member of the Church. Soon, his ten years of training would end.

Soo-

"Fennix, it's time to go!" called one of the Pre-Prions, standing at the edge of the garden.

Standing, he took a deep breath. He was the first to receive Prophet Lore's Holy Order...

It was an honour, and a burden.

With his Holy Order, Prophet Lore had saved the entire kingdom...

Fennix hoped that he wouldn't be asked to do something so momentous...

<>

A short while later, Fennix stood before the Great Flame. Beside him, nine of his fellow Prions.

Standing a few feet away were a collection of the oldest Prions in Origin.

Prion Rodan, looking older than ever, stood in the middle. He was finally wearing robes of purest blue. Flanking him were Prion Garnick and Prion Lutze, who, as the stories went, had both had memorable interactions with the Prophet himself.

Once everyone had taken their places, Prion Rodan spread his arms wide and proclaimed, "Greetings, my fellow Prions!"

They returned his greeting, although they lacked his enthusiasm. Clearly, he wasn't the only nervous soul present.

"On this day, one year ago, we witnessed the end of Imran's guidance. However, in his magnanimity, he had prepared for this, and organized another to take his place. Thus, a short while later, Prophet Lore appeared before us, ready to take up Imran's heavy mantle. In his infinite wisdom, he gave us a new Holy Order, which we will unveil today. All shall read it, and all shall follow its words, without hesitation."

The Prions, both new and old, nodded. It was why there were there, after all.

"The world is changing, more and more each day. For a thousand years, we stayed the course that Prophet Imran had laid out for us. Now, with the Second Council of Faith approaching, we turn to Prophet Lore to guide us into the future. In a few days, King Silas and Queen Ellah will be visiting us, bringing with them envoys from the Lusetan Faith and the Hexacracy. A year ago, that would have been unthinkable. Now, under Prophet Lore's urging, we will welcome them with open arms, and work together to foster peace between our great nations!"

At this, every Prion in attendance gave a great cheer.

Truly, the world was moving forward to a place of unity. If not for King Silas' wisdom, Queen Ellah's negotiations and Prophet Lore's guidance, then none of this would have been possible.

Once again, Fennix shuddered. He hoped, in the depths of his heart, that Prophet Lore had not asked something too unreasonable of them.

However, at that moment, a memory rose from the depths of his mind, and he recalled the man who had spoken to him on that fateful day. He hadn't been a Prophet then, and he had barely been a Prion, but he had been a Person who had cared about a Pre-Prion's worries and had taken away his doubts.

Whatever Prophet Lore... no, whatever Attacus had asked of him, he knew that he would be able to do it.

No matter how difficult or scary it was.

"And now, the honour of being the first to read the Holy Order falls to one amongst us. Prion Fennix Ashram, step forth, and receive the Prophet's guidance!" Prion Rodan called out, gesturing for Fennix to come forward.

He moved towards the raised dais, feeling confident. There, sitting on the podium, was the roll of parchment that would determine his way forward.

He felt the weight of destiny on his shoulders, pushing him forward.

It felt... comforting.

With trembling hands, he reached out towards the parchment.

Taking great care, he broke the seal, and began to unravel the last Holy Order ever written.

As his eyes saw the words, he could not help but let out a laugh.

Attacus had not asked the impossible, after all.

For there, written in ink but earned with blood, were the words...

BE GOOD

# About the Author

Hayden Pearton is an independent author, physiotherapist and all-round good guy. He is humble beyond compare, and if you can believe that, you can believe anything. He started writing when he was eighteen and hasn't stopped since. Be Good is his fifth work, and his first standalone novel.

His other works are:

The Chronicles of New Eden 1: Awakening

The Chronicles of New Eden 2: Sunrise Sapling

And

Koinophobia: A Collection of Technical Poetry

Autophobia: A Collection of Novelized Poetry

For more information, visit my blog at https://newedenchronicles.wordpress.com

Follow me on Twitter: <https://twitter.com/hayden_pearton>

Favourite me at Smashwords: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/HaydenPearton>

Read my Smashwords Interview: <https://www.smashwords.com/interview/HaydenPearton>

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Thanks for reading!

