Prologue

  There were no windows in the Basilica of Light.

  Unlike the temples of false gods, the basilica was pure in its intentions, and thus devoid of all exterior pollution and distraction. Instead of the volumetric glow inherent to so many temples, rich shadows clung to the sanctum like ivy, endeavoring to lick every inch of stone from nave to apse, to altar, at all hours of the day. What little bit of light did fill the sanctum came by way of candle, flickering about from sconce to sconce with such a meagre contribution, that it was hardly worth noting at all; its light no greater than a smattering of dainty fireflies otherwise hovering in the gloam.

  This was the only way to preserve the immaculacy of the Divine, after all. And it was a most diligent irony, or so the archbishop always thought.

  In truth, neither the light of the sun nor the light of the moon was considered at all during the temple’s original construction. Were that such a blasphemous notion entertained in the slightest bit, well… the most holy temple would not have been worthy of such titular reverence in the first place. It was not that kind of light, the sinful kind, from which the basilica took its namesake. For what divinity could be found at an altar upon which the profane and unnatural order of the world were allowed to proliferate?

  No… this was the House of the Divine, the physical embodiment of the Heavenly Principle’s will—its preserving miracle— and the light of the Divine did not shine upon anything or anyone so deliberately, so falsely. It had no need to make itself known in such blatantly irreverent ways. And anyone who suggested otherwise, be they deviant or devout, was simply incompatible with the world in which the Divine worked its truest wonders.

  But deviance, much like devotion—much like the sins of the sun and the sins of the moon—were often two sides of the same coin. And as far as the archbishop was concerned, so long as the Church spent that coin, then the means were always justified.

  Always.

  “Your Grace?” A haughty, but even-toned voice spoke suddenly. Its undertone was undoubtedly towing the line of a certain insolence, bordering aggression, though that much was to be expected of a Guild representative, “Are you even listening?”

  The archbishop perked his ears back, catching the last of the administrator’s words as they echoed across the temple hall for several seconds thereafter. He surmised that the administrator was unamused, even bothered by the archbishop’s seeming lack of focus as to the proposed requisition.

  The archbishop was anything but bleary-minded.

  On the contrary, he was quite present. Though present affiliations notwithstanding, he was simply unconvinced by the person, or the thing, standing before him. And that really did seem to make all the difference in the world.

  “Administrator Caelus,” The archbishop replied slowly, allowing the slight drawl of his Greilic accent to cut through the silence with just a hint of indifference; let the administrator stew in what he was already thinking for a moment, it would make the proceedings much more amenable. Brandishing the ends of his vestments, freshly whitened and recently gilded along the seams, the archbishop turned and peered down the steps to where the lanky administrator stood at the foot of the altar, and said, “Yes, I heard everything you said quite clearly.”

  The archbishop winced slightly.

  He had not seen Darskaart’s administrator since well before his… unfortunate accident a year ago. As such, the sight of Caelus’s reconstructed face was mildly off-putting, though it made sense that Guild personnel were off-putting as a baseline. Their lanky, hairless, sickly-gray colored bodies were inhuman at best. At worst, they were monstrous creatures. It did not matter how finely they dressed or how intricately they spoke to mask such peculiarities, they were uncanny.

  They were… wrong.

  As far as the archbishop could tell, the administrator had undergone significant bodily transmogrifications to rectify the extensive damage sustained to his body during the collapse of his guildhall. Even though only a few faded scars remained, it was evident that he had suffered. And it was even more evident that he wore such badges as a direct insult to himself and to his station.

  That was useful.

  Though the entire affair had still been a headache.

  Normally, the archbishop would never have permitted such an incompetent worm to continue working within the bounds of his territory. As the acting archbishop, he had certain rights and privileges that surpassed even the Guild Master’s authority. But recent developments between the Church and the Guild at least warranted a certain degree of clemency, as far as comradery was concerned. And for better or worse, Caelus was one of the better assets at his current disposal, not that that was saying much.

  Still, he had use of the administrator.

  And at any rate, the archbishop supposed that one singular administrator could not possibly be held accountable for the destructive actions of a single reprobate. But that was a separate matter.

  Settling his hands in front of him, one over the other across his midsection, the archbishop continued, “Per your inquiry, I am afraid that the Church cannot accommodate your request for additional funding at this time. I understand that the Guild has elected to relocate and reconstruct your synchronizer elsewhere. I am sorry, but my hands are tied in this matter.”

  Caelus’s skin creased along the brow, where the dark tattoo streaked across his eyelid, as he said in an eerily singular tone of voice, “Then am I to understand that you accepted my visitation, simply to gawk at me in person? A simple message would have sufficed instead, Your Grace?”

  The archbishop grimaced at the administrator’s attitude, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  It was unbefitting a man of his station to jest, but the ensuing silence pleased the archbishop.

  The Administration liked to preen, liked to flaunt its authority, and ever since his failure the Guild had completely abandoned Caelus, making a fine example out of him. The only reason he was still around was because the archbishop allowed it, if only out of self-interested necessity.

  In some ways, he pitied the poor fool.

  Still, it wasn’t the Church’s fault that the classless terrorist known as Vermillion not only managed to destroy an entire guildhall on her own, one which just so happened to house one of the Guild’s more highly sophisticated archiving synchronizers, but also happened to escape, leaving no traces. If the Administration possessed even a modicum of foresight, it would have been better defended in the first place. It would have been known that their assets were not as secure as they believed them to be.

  Yet another sloppy error from the self-proclaimed “Guild Master”

  But that was neither here nor there.

  The archbishop intended to take advantage of the Administration’s folly, of their lack of foresight, and thus by extension Administrator Caelus’s resentment.

  Far be it from the archbishop to deny himself the pleasure of such an advantageous move on the board.

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  “Have you had any success in tracking down the whereabouts of Vermillion?” The archbishop pivoted. He attempted to sound genuine, even though he was simply moving the conversation in the direction of his choosing.

  It was always calculated, and he expected the Administrator to comply.

  “…No.” Caelus muttered.

  For a being with such limited emotional response, the archbishop could not help but to delight in the administrator’s palpable disgust.

  Good, that was what he intended to harness here tonight.

  Nodding, the archbishop replied, “And what about the boy she stole? Any sign of his movements? I know his whereabouts are important to you, given your… disposition.”

  Caelus’s eyes narrowed, no doubt calculating how best to weasel his way into a better diplomatic position. However, the archbishop had clearly hit a nerve, and it showed. The administrator grumbled, “None. That—boy, does not have any system registration. As it happens, his entire registry was a fabrication from the start! Inconceivable…”

  The archbishop chuckled, “An oversight? How unlike you, Caelus… even by Guild standards, your response was inexcusable. I can see why the Administration has all but shut you out.”

  “Don’t be so certain.” Caelus stood taller, his lips pressing into themselves. The archbishop was certain he could see the dark ichor pumping through Caelus’s forehead, as he added, “Whoever placed that abomination in Darskaart did so because the aberrant ley line aided in obscuring its true nature.” Caelus raised his chin inquisitively, “Correct me if I am wrong, Your Grace, but my charges were part of your initiative. None of this was in error, not on my part. Not even the resources I had at my disposal could have detected such a flagrant rogue element. I have run the calculations personally.”

  The archbishop paused, biting his tongue somewhat.

  This particular administrator was certainly not one to mince his words.

  It was true that Caelus’s ley line served as one of Sage’s primary energy flux points. And it was also true that the Archiepiscopacy enacted the exact initiative that saw the ramping up of all ley line activity across eastern Sulren. But that was not his doing, and it certainly was not an excuse for the Guild to get lazy when it came to classless specimens or security protocols.

  As it stood, the classless already presented an existential threat to both the Guild and the Church—to the world, when push came to shove. And recent years had only served to embolden them too. With war brooding between Greygarde and Raustagar, the two established organizations needed to work together as a singular unit, now more than ever, regardless of how different their philosophies and workflows really were.

  The archbishop detested the Guild, but even he had the clarity to understand their delicate predicament.

  Even more than this, he knew Caelus to be a devout follower of the Divine. Even if he was not subservient to the Church, he was a tool worth utilizing. The archbishop supposed he would hold his tongue on the administrator’s behalf for now, try that he might, and push for a more favorable outcome.

  “I understand that the sorcerer known as Bartolo has been sighted in the Seven Isles.” The archbishop changed the subject, “In all likelihood, they have brought the classless to Tielun. Which means they are untouchable… for now. Let us set that aside and speak of another matter.”

  Candlelight flickered as the archbishop descended the marbled stairs. He studied the administrator’s face for any signs of uncertainty at that moment. But true to his nature, Caelus remained resolute and unwavering.

  Gesturing for Caelus to follow him down the center aisle, the archbishop continued, “Plainly, the Church would be more willing to aid one of the Divine’s most faithful, yourself, were you to prove useful in a complication that has recently arisen—a small issue outside of Greygarde that requires the expertise of a skilled mediator.”

  “I don’t serve at the leisure of His Grace.” Caelus replied, just over the archbishop’s left shoulder as they walked, “I serve but the Divine, and the Divine alone.”

  “No one questions your faith, Administrator. Certainly not I.” The archbishop said, laying it on thick for good measure, “But you have fallen out of the good graces of your superiors, and have thus left yourself exposed. Put yourself in my position. Given the accords that intertwine our ambitions, your being here puts me in a position of even more exposure than yourself. Do try and consider that for a moment.”

  The ensuing silence told the archbishop that he was prodding the right area.

  “But that is beside the point. His Eminence is prepared to offer you grace, and much more…” The archbishop alluded, “Should you accept this assignment, your position will stand to change quite drastically in the coming years.”

  “I…” Caelus hesitated. The archbishop was certain he would break. “No, I cannot leave Darskaart. Not after what happened.”

  “Yes, you can.” The archbishop insisted, “Someone else will manage your duties while you are away. This is more important—”

  “More important than my work with the ley lines?” Caelus interjected, “If I do this for you, I am finished with the Guild. But you already knew that…”

  Coming to a halt halfway down the aisle, the archbishop turned briskly to face the administrator, and nodded, “As a matter of fact, it is much more important. Far more than the Guild, or even the Church. This matter involves the abundance.”

  Caelus’s brow raised.

  But unlike his usual, even-keeled demeanor, this expression was suddenly fully aware of the stakes of what had just been said.

  “How…? Where?” Caelus uttered, “Not in Greygarde?”

  “Calvergia, though it has been monitored for some time now.” The archbishop shook his head, turning to walk once more. He continued, “In recent weeks, the ley line activity in Frostwall especially has become highly erratic. Since the Guild’s standing in Calvergia is limited, the Church has agreed in principle to foot the management effort. Likely, a rift is on the cusp of bursting open at the seams in that heathen country. And if reports are to be believed, the abundance is responsible. I trust you understand the severity of the situation at hand, were it to continue?”

  Good, that got the administrator’s attention. His nods of understanding ensured that much anyway. Growling, Caelus replied, “I understand, but that does not explain why you require my efforts? Such an escalation would require an entire fabrication unit, dozens of mediators, the Guild Master would need to—”

  “You misunderstand me.” The archbishop cut in appropriately. The Administrator was correct. Or rather, he would have been under different circumstances. As they approached the far side at the of the hall, the archbishop gestured for one of the armored guards to open the doors and said, “You are not being sent to Calvergia to prevent a rift. You are being dispatched to oversee the specifications of a rift-level event, and to ensure its arrival in this world.”

  The sound of Caelus’s footsteps ceased immediately.

  “Your Grace, if you mean to say…”

  The archbishop stopped himself and turned once more, nodding with a faint smile, “Yes, that is precisely what I am saying. You will bring the mandate of our Heavenly Principle to fruition. And by doing so, will you thus bring the light of our Divine to the lost. Only the destruction of Calvergia at the hands of abundance can prompt such a fierce and holy recourse, shaped only by the hand of preservation. Do you understand now, Caelus? Do you understand why you have been chosen?”

  For the first time this evening, the Administrator’s face bore the faint etchings of a grin. For even one so stubborn as he, even Caelus understood that too much of a “good” thing was poison.

  This was exactly what the archbishop had hoped for, even more so if his plans succeeded. Inundated with a soul or not, Caelus had little to lose, and so much to gain.

  He was the perfect vessel.

  Extending his arm, the archbishop placed a soft hand on Caelus’s shoulder, and held it there gently, saying, “His Eminence will reward you with exoneration for your past failures, and with great reward upon your successes. You will not fail in this, for the Divine favors your endeavor. I have seen to it.”

  Strangely, as if moved by those words, Caelus bowed his head slightly, “Then I will see it done.”

  “Good. Very good.” The archbishop approved with a grin, “You will leave Greygarde via teleportation this night, without delay. Your retinue has already been arranged, and all resources will be available upon your arrival in Frostwall. I have also relocated a Sister of Mercy to aid you at your leisure, though she is already in the field.”

  “A Sister of Mercy?” Caelus echoed, a mild concern in his voice, “Are you certain that won’t prove more troublesome for me than its worth?”

  “Sister Marcella also seeks to regain… favor, once lost.” The archbishop shook his head, “She will prove useful to you, I am certain of it. Expend her talents however you deem necessary.”

  A glint in Caelus’s eyes by the light of the nearby candles suggested that he had more he wished to say. However, he simply nodded, and replied, “If that is all, I will get to work immediately. I shall send a report in three weeks’ time. Your Grace.”

  The Administrator left the inner sanctum hastily, and with him went the first step in a long and arduous strategy for the future of Sulren.

  Glancing up towards the faraway vaulted ceiling, the archbishop clutched at the pendant around his neck.

  “I remain steadfast against the Abundance.” He murmured, “The Black Sun and the Pale Moon, those who work to unravel the world and destroy it from the inside out… will fall at your behest.”

  Slowly, he knelt, never averting his gaze from on high. Then, with one diligent movement, he dug his fingers into his right eye socket and ripped the entire eye straight out. The pain was unimaginable, and even he, the acting archbishop, could not help but wail in agony, prostrating himself before the almighty power of the Divine.

  There was blood everywhere, but the archbishop steadied himself and raised his arms—outstretched in worship. If his faith proved unwavering, then it was a small price to pay for what came next.

  “By your providence… I remain vigilant. I remain subservient.” The archbishop said haggardly, “An eye for an eye, dearest Divine.”

  With the eye of the Divine now turned upon Calvergia, the archbishop swore himself to secrecy and resigned himself to speak of the matter no further.

  He would await the advent… and pray.

  [Followers]

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