Candlelight flickered dimly as the young man hunched over his desk, quill dripping ink upon the page. He stared at the words, his brow furrowed.

  I find myself unsure of what else to do. The page read.

  I can feel the weave, the energy of the Gods, like sunlight through a glass. Present and warm, but untouchable. My mentors tell me to keep at my studies, continue to pray, and speak to the Gods. But for how much longer before I find my path?

  The young man set his quill down, watching the words dry. What started as a promising career at the Grand Temple in the capital has turned into a frustrating journey. He could channel the weave of divine magic enough for basic spells: relieving pain, enlightening the troubled, blessing the weak. But several of his peers have already graduated on to study under the clerics or priests, some even choosing to branch out into the martial studies of the paladins. Yet here he was still, a mediocre spellcaster. His Mentors praised his academics, frequently using his research papers and study journals as examples, but the idea of going to the academy of scribes and preachers was not one he relished. He craved adventure, the unknown. He wanted to explore, to learn, and to teach. Those were not the ambitions of scholars and speakers.

  A knock at his door drew his attention. It creaked open, and a monk peeked in.

  “Ruben? I hope I am not interrupting.” The man said.

  Ruben closed his journal.

  “No Keeper, I was just writing. Please, come in.”

  The monk stepped through the threshold and into Ruben’s small room. Ruben cringed as he took note of his mess. Books and papers littered the floor, a small pile of clothes sat on the foot of his small unkempt bed. He was thankful his mentor said nothing.

  “Still struggling with your thoughts?” The monk asked.

  “Ruben looked at his desk, where his journal sat, surrounded by knickknacks he had collected on various personal adventures.

  “Yes, Keeper. I fear I will linger here while my peers move on to greater things. My calling…it eludes me.”

  The man sat in a chair next to Ruben.

  “You are still a young Acolyte, with plenty of time to find your way. You may even leave here to pursue a dedicated study, only to find yourself moving to a different field.” He consoled.

  Ruben nodded, but he was still frowning.

  “I just feel like it should be clearer to me. I can sense the weave strongly, and the Gods answer my prayers, although not with words or imagines like many, more like a feeling. But for whatever reason I find myself unable to channel their divine power as well as others. Am I meant to be a Seer or Sage? But if so, why do I not have visions?”

  Ruben was clearly becoming agitated, throwing his hands into the air and raising his voice. The monk placed a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “You are a very gifted acolyte. Capable of taking in a tremendous amount of information and turning into results. You study harder than any I’ve ever known, and none of the Keepers doubt your devotion. I am sure you will find your place Ruben. Perhaps, you just need a little worldly exposure.”

  Ruben glanced at the monk curiously.

  In the past, Ruben had been reprimanded for his curious and adventurous nature. He questioned his lessons frequently, snuck out of the temple grounds in search of specimens or rumored hidden locations, and was often found in places he wasn’t meant to be.

  The monk's eye twinkled. “I have arranged something special for you, Ruben. A troop of Paladins are embarking on a quest tomorrow. It is believed that an ancient ruin in the mountains may be the location of a holy relic. There has also been an increase of undead in the pass, and the two are likely related. The troop is in need of a scriven, and I have recommended you.”

  Ruben leapt from his seat, knocking it over backwards.

  “I’m going on a holy quest?!” He shouted.

  The monk chuckled. “I figured this would excite you.”

  “But, Keeper I…I’m not a trained Scriven. I’ve only taken the basic scribe courses, and none of the lorekeeper courses.” Ruben’s eyes were wide.

  “Fear not Acolyte. I’ve seen what you do in your free time, and I can assure you, those studies would teach you little. You may not have the official training, but I am confident your abilities are not far off that of a newly minted Scriven.”

  The monk rose from his seat, walking back to the door.

  “You should get some rest now. The Troop is assembling early in the morning, and you wouldn’t want to be late.”

  Ruben nodded vigorously. “Yes of course! Thank you Keeper!”

  The monk departed, leaving Ruben alone with his thoughts. It was already late, and getting a full night's rest would be very difficult now.

  The pink morning sky found Ruben marching behind a column of six Paladins. His packwas lashed to the back of a small mule.

  The Paladins didn’t speak, simply marched ahead. Ruben had to move quickly, being shorter than all of them. Not to mention their fitness being leagues above his. Before too long, he found himself sweating in the morning sun. The troop had progressed down the main road leading to Velmir, then turned off as the road branched to the north, towards the mountains. By midday, they had climbed significantly, and Ruben was able to look down at the sprawling capital. He could see the temple grounds, and identified the tower where his little room sat. The view was beautiful.

  The lead Paladin called a halt at a nice flat spot just off the path. The road was becoming narrow and winding, leading deeper into the mountains. Soon they would approach the pass, where worrying news of undead was coming from.

  Ruben dug some food from his pack, delighted to finally take a break. They had been marching hard for hours, but the paladins didn’t seem exhausted at all.

  “So Inara, he’s our Scriven huh? Seems pretty young.” Remarked one of the paladins to the leader.

  “He isn’t technically a Scriven. Although I’ve been assured he will be just as good, and maybe better in some ways. The monks spoke about him like he was some kind of prodigy.” Inara replied, her eyes following Ruben.

  “Wait so, he’s still just an Acolyte?” The paladin asked in shock.

  Inara nodded, curiosity lighting her eyes.

  “Indeed. But if the Keepers say he’s good, I’m inclined to believe them.”

  The paladin grunted, not sure if he agreed or not.

  Ruben approached, timidly looking between the two.

  “Pardon me, Paladins. I’m going to begin documenting the journey. Can I talk to you about some of the details?”

  The Paladin sitting beside Inara rose, walking off towards the rest of the troop. Inara motioned to his seat.

  “What do you want to know?” She asked.

  Ruben looked down at his journal.

  “Well, for starters, what is the relic we are looking for? I know it’s in the ruins in the mountain pass, but as far as I’ve heard, we don’t know much about them.”

  “Unfortunately you are correct.” She answered. “We don’t know much about them. They are dangerous. The structures have become unstable, with many buildings having collapsed. Then with the rise of undead in the area, not many pilgrims make their way to them anymore. The only reason we are looking for a relic there, is because the Seers have apparently had a vision.”

  Ruben raised his eyebrows. Seers regularly had visions. Their minds were more than conduits to the weave, but more like a floodgate. Divine magic can flow through them at any time, granting them premonitions and visions. Sometimes it can be something simple, like images of Velmir covered in snow, indicating a brutal winter. Other times it is less clear, more like a prophecy.

  “I’m told they saw a room, full of religious items, covered in dust and cobwebs. An altar sat in the center, with an object that radiated divine energy. They heard voices, speaking in the old tongue, and felt the icy chill of the mountain air. Between that and the undead activity, everyone agreed a relic must have become active within the ruins.”

  Ruben hastily scribbled down what she said in his journal. When they returned, his writing would be taken to the Master Scribes, where it would be combed through. The details would then be copied into the archives of holy quests, joining the other countless tales of the Paladins. He tried not to think too hard about how his words might end up in such a sacred tome.

  “Did the vision grant us any more insight into the people who once lived there? Do we know which deity the relic is for? How old it is?” Ruben asked, his questions coming rapid fire.

  Inara chuckled, holding her hands in the air in front of her.

  “Easy there. If they did learn anything like that, I was not told. Nor would I care, honestly. Us Paladins, we don’t have a mind for things like that. Hence why you are here.”

  Ruben nodded, more eager than ever to get to the ruins.

  After the troop finished eating, they lined up once again. Ruben bundled his cloak around him, as the air was getting frigid the farther up they hiked. Hours later, they caught a glimpse of the first signs of trouble.

  This road was once used frequently by pilgrims and travelers, as a shortcut around the mountains. It also housed several religious locations, like this shrine they came across. A statue, much older than even the capital city itself, had been carved into the rock alongside the road. It depicted a beautiful woman, in a simple robe looking down upon them. In one upraised hand, she held the sun, in the other, a crescent moon. She was Lunara, The Goddess of dawn and dusk. She was frequently prayed to by travelers, those seeking help ending or beginning something new, or people wishing for a peaceful slumber. Today however, it seemed as though a prayer was left unanswered.

  At the base of the statue, a body slumped. It was a man in basic traveling attire. Sturdy boots, a leather jerkin, and a small knapsack. One of the Paladins rolled him over, revealing a blood soaked torso. Gashed criss-crossed his chest and arms, and a chunk of hair looked to have been ripped from his scalp.

  Ruben’s breath caught in his chest. He had never seen a body like this before. At the temple, they would sometimes pray for the deceased, but those bodies had always been cleaned up. This man, he had died brutally.

  The paladin that rolled him over knelt down, slowly passing a hand over the corpse.

  “The presence of undead lingers in his wounds. He must be sanctified, lest he rise again.”

  Several other paladins joined him. Together, they bowed their heads. They began to chant softly, their voices harmonizing. Ruben felt a tug, and closed his eyes. He could feel the weave answering the prayers of the holy knights. Divine power began to flow through them, and into the man on the ground. His body softly glowed, as his soul was absolved, and the taint of the undead eradicated. Ruben opened his and watched. When they finished the chant, and the man’s body no longer glowed, Ruben recorded the event in his journal, carefully taking note of every detail.

  “Let’s not linger.” Inara said. “ We will report him when we return, and someone will come for him.”

  As the sun began to set, the troop entered the pass. A few inches of snow lay across the ground, and covered the peaks that rose above them. The blanket of white lay clean and undisturbed, showing that no traffic had been this way recently. As the paladins marched through the snow, Ruben felt a strange sensation. It was as if someone was calling to him. He turned his head, unable to understand what he was feeling. It wasn’t the usual warmth that came from the weave, but it also wasn’t totally unfamiliar. Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice the paladins had halted. He crashed right into the back of one, who swore at him.

  “Pay attention Scriven! Can’t you feel that?”

  Ruben was about to say something, to apologize and explain himself, when he was hit with the sickening feeling of dread. It washed over him like a foul smell, and he nearly gagged. The paladins all had their swords drawn, and began to move forward slowly.

  The snow around them suddenly exploded, and from the white blanket rose several men.

  No, not men! Ruben realized with horror.

  The flesh of these men was rotten. Bone was visible as the skin had congealed away. Some were little more than walking skeletons.

  Ruben, who had tumbled to the ground, leapt to his feet. The paladins around him burst into action, cleaving the horrible desecrations to pieces. One shambled towards Ruben, its hands reaching for him. Fear lanced into his heart as he looked into the eye’s of the creature. Its mouth hung open, its bloated tongue flopping from its jaw.

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  Ruben held his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed out, thumbs touching. He called to the weave, crying out for help. A blinding golden flash erupted from his hands, and the zombie in front of him ignited. The holy fire ate at it hungerly, consuming not only its flesh and bone, but also the necromantic energy that flowed from within. The creature took a few more shambling steps towards him, then collapsed at the ground.

  The Paladins were making short work of the remaining zombies, their blessed weapons slicing through them with ease, leeching the foul force that animated them.

  The fight lasted maybe three minutes, but Ruben felt completely exhausted. He had never been ambushed like this before. He felt both incredible, but also terrified. His use of divine magic had saved his life! It was a massive relief. He knew the method, and he knew he could channel the weave, but he had been worried that it would fizzle or nothing would happen at all. But it seemed that in his time of need, he had nothing to fear.

  One of the paladins came over and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

  “Good kill, Scriven!”

  Ruben just looked up at him with wide eyes.

  The holy knights gathered around Inara as they approached the entrance to the ruins.

  “Listen up. We don’t know where the relic is, so we’re going to break into teams. Two of you come with me, the other three go with the Scriven. Keep your mind clear, and pay attention to any odd feelings. The relic could be giving off strange energy.”

  The paladins saluted, then gathered in their teams.

  “You ready to find this thing, Scriven?” Asked one knight.

  “I am.” Ruben replied eagerly. “But, how will we know where it is? Inara said to feel the energy, but what does a relic feel like?”

  “Well,” a knight began. “Ordinarly, you can feel a strong pull from the weave, like an altar or holy icon from the temple. But sometimes, the relics have become corrupt, or those with evil intent have molested its divine energy, so it comes off feeling…wrong. Just say something if you feel anything.”

  Ruben nodded, and then they set off. His group stepped through the crumbling gate that was once an elegant structure, now reduced to crumbling stone. Right away Ruben identified runes and etchings upon the walls. Ancient writing and drawings from the mysterious civilization that came before them. He wanted to go to them, to study the words and learn their secrets.

  Perhaps another time. He thought. The paladins wouldn’t wait while he studied the lore. Instead, they roamed what was an empty courtyard. Snow had buried most everything, but here and there he saw bits of pottery, ruined wagons, and smashed boxes. They had been casually looking around for about twenty minutes when Ruben stopped in his tracks. The edges of his vision became blurred, and something tugged on his mind. In a flash, it was gone, leaving him dazed.

  “Feel something, Scriven?” Asked one of the paladins.

  “I don’t…I don’t know. It didn’t feel like any kind of divine energy.”

  He ran his hand over a wall, waiting for the sensation to return.

  “Hey, there’s a door over here!” Called one of the knights.

  He was heaving aside some ancient piece of lumber. It looked like a ledge from the second floor of a building had crumbled, blocking a set of double doors. The other paladins went to help him, grunting as they lent him their strength. Once clear, Ruben got a good look at the door. Intricate designs were etched across its surface.

  “This looks like something important. Perhaps a place of worship?” he remarked.

  “I agree. Let’s open her up.” quipped a knight. Together, they pressed their weight against the door, which seemed like it didn’t want the party to enter. One paladin pressed his palm against the door and began chanting. Within moments, the seal popped open, and musty air wafted out.

  “Huh, that was odd. Almost like-” The knight who was speaking suddenly stopped. He bent over, placing his hands on his head.

  “Eagon, what’s wrong?” asked a concerned comrade.

  Come to me…

  Ruben looked around wildly, the hair on the back of his neck raising.

  I need you…please…

  Ruben took a step towards the door, slowly walking past the paladins. Again, he felt a tug at his mind, ushering him into the building.

  “Scriven, wait, let us clear it first!” Called a knight behind him.

  Ruben slipped through the door, as if he hadn’t heard them. The door suddenly slammed shut behind him. Darkness enveloped him. The air inside was even more frigid than outside. Ruben held out his palm, muttering a prayer. A small golden orb sputtered to life in his hand, rising up, to float above his head.

  The interior of the building was trashed. Pews and benches were toppled or smashed, large stones littered the floor, and snow had blown in from a hole from the second story. The paladins pounded on the door, but Ruben paid them no heed. Whatever was calling to him was in here, and its urgency overrode all other logic in his mind. He slowly walked towards the center of the room. It was one big circle, with smaller doors off to the side. A large altar sat against the far wall.

  Ruben felt his mind bend, and something pushed into his thoughts. A vision flashed before his eyes.

  A fire. Men with swords. Women and children screaming. Blood, so much blood. He saw a man in decadent robes standing at the altar, his hands raised above him in prayer. SOme kind of energy, unfamiliar to Ruben, poured from him. The scene flashed, and was gone, leaving him standing only feet from the altar. A strange circle, made of a silver metal, hammered flat, with gems inlaid on its surface sat before him.

  Pick it up…

  The voice rang mightily in his head. He reached his hands out, trembling. Something inside him cried out to stop. He knew better than this, to just touch a holy object. HE had no idea of its power, what kind of residual energy may be inside, just waiting for a host. But he was helpless. His fingers brushed the surface, tingling. A sense of longing filled him, and without a second thought, he firmly grabbed the object.

  He heard himself scream, and his vision went white. His mind was pulled from his own body, channeled into the circled in his hands. He felt pain, but not his own. He felt fear, the fear of being left behind, of being forgotten. He felt old, terribly old. Memories not his entwined his thoughts, showing him years of people praying at the altar. The children grew, becoming adults, the elderly died, and the leader of the mass changed several times. Then a man took the circlet, stealing it away in the night. He felt a perversion of energy, like storm clouds on the horizon. Ill intent filled him, a wicked malicious power. He watched as the man was confronted, brought back into the chapel by sword point. The circlet was returned, but it was no longer pure. A priest touched it, and the evil energy within burst forth, filling the room. The men with swords turned on eachother, turned on the innocent. It was a bloodbath. The priest attempted to seal away the power, containing the flow of evil with his very soul. But it was too late. The city was in flames, and no one survived.

  Ruben felt his consciousness return, let being stuffed into a back that was too small. The circlet cracked, and the gems shattered. He fell to his knees, vomiting on the stones.

  The voice pierced his mind once again.

  I have waited hundreds of years. I needed someone with a mind like yours. Now I am free. Together, we will build a new place of worship. We will gather new followers, and all will bow before our power.

  Ruben jerked, his limbs locking. He felt himself rise to his feet. His body turned, and began walking back to the doors. He screamed inside his head, caged behind a wall of mental energy. He watched through his own eyes as the doors flung open. The entire troop of paladins was gathered outside, discussing how to get in. They looked shocked to see him.

  “Scriven, what happened?” Inara asked, striding towards him. He tried to call out, to warn her, but it was no use. He felt the entity in his mind reach out, touching the mind of the closest paladin. He felt the man’s thoughts, briefly. Surprise and shock, and then pain. The entity crushed him from within, shattering the man’s mind like stepping on a bug. As he collapsed, the other knights lept back, drawing their swords. Ruben felt the bite of holy magic, but it was almost entirely ineffective. The entity was something else, not weak to the divine powers of the paladins. Rubens body raised its hands, flinging the knights closest to him away. He watched as their bodies tumbled through the air, smashing into the stones and landing, unmoving.

  Inara watched Ruben carefully, her eyes meeting his. He felt the entity reach out again, but this time, Ruben focused. When he felt the lull in the mental barrier, he struck out, shattering the cage. The entity quickly withdrew, but it was too late. Ruben could feel his body again.

  “Inara run! There’s something in my mind!” He cried out.

  Understanding flashed across her face, and to his horror, she ran to him. Ruben felt the wrath of the entity, like being trapped in a burning house. It pressed down on him, forcing him into a corner of his mind again. He struggled, but was unable to do anything. Inara tackled him, driving him into the snow. Through his eyes, he saw her pull a pendant from beneath her armor, a closed eye within a circle. She pressed it to his forehead, and he screamed. The entity thrashed, feeling the sting of whatever magic imbued the pendant.

  “Fight it Ruben! Lock it away!” Inara shouted.

  Ruben wrestled with the mental monstrosity, bringing up his own mental barriers, forcing into a cage. He called out to the weave, asking for help from every deity he could think of. He felt the trickle of power, and used every ounce to cram the malicious presence into a mental prison. He felt his consciousness slipping, and knew he was going to pass out. With his last thought, he prayed for his soul to be safeguarded, so that if the entity won, it would have no power over his body. Then everything went black.

  Ruben woke suddenly, gasping for breath. He lay in a bed, his bed. His mentor sat at the foot, staring at him with concern and relief.

  “You’ve made it back, my child.”

  Ruben rubbed his head. It felt as if his skull was cracked in two.

  “What…what happened, Keeper?”

  The monk placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I believe you found your path.” He said, his eyes twinkling.

  Ruben eyed him with bloodshot eyes.

  “Please, Keeper. Speak plainly. I cannot fathom riddles right now.”

  The monk chuckled.

  “The relic you found, had been corrupted. An ancient being was locked away inside, and when you touched it, was unleashed.”

  Ruben nodded. “It said it had waited hundreds of years for a mind like mine. What did it mean?”

  The monk stared at him in silence for a moment.

  “There are other magics besides that of priests and wizards. One, not studied or talked about at this temple, is that of the psycho-mage. It is dangerous, and often leads to malicious actions. It is not well understood, nor widely accepted. It would appear as though you possess a mind capable of becoming such a magic user.”

  Ruben lowered his head. He had read about psycho-mages. Not in the temple of course, but from other sources, not found here.

  “What of the entity? Inara told me to trap it. Wait, how is she? How did she know what to do?”

  “One question at a time, my curious acolyte.” The Keeper remarked, grinning.

  “She is fine, though the troop took heavy losses. Your report will not be published. All records of this holy quest will be erased, for the safety of yourself, and those at the temple. Those like paladin Inara. She is a psycho-mage herself, though only a few of us know that. While you slumbered, she worked over you, banishing the entity. Your mind is once again your own.”

  Ruben took a breath.

  “What will happen to me now, keeper?” Ruben felt like he already knew the answer.

  The monk looked at him with sorrow.

  “You must leave the temple. Fret not, you are not banished, and one day you may return. But, you must venture out and find those who can help you along your path.”

  The thought struck Ruben hard. Leave the temple? Where would he go? What would he do?

  “Your future has many roads, Ruben. You have longed for adventure. I would say your prayers have been answered.”

  “How long do I have?” Ruben asked.

  “You must leave within the next few days. The Grand Temple has made the decision already. We will be sad to see you go, but this is the path you must take. Embrace it, your journey has only now, truly begun.”