The Priesthood

There was nothing like it that he had ever seen. From the floor of the cave up to the ceiling, there were buildings of different heights and sizes, tower-like things, some of which were connected through what seemed like bridges and stairs; some of the buildings hung from the ceiling, with thick chains keeping them above the ground; from so far away, it was massive, visibly so; and one couldn’t tell where you should go or what you could do in such a city.

But in the middle of it all, there was a building much larger than the rest, one they called the Spire. It reached from the floor to the ceiling, but in the middle of it, there was a large structure; a beam of light was directed toward it, and from that structure, which could only be a mechanism that distributed light to the rest of the city, multiple smaller beams of light shot in different directions, to each corner of the city, to different tall buildings that had large mirrors on top of them; these mirrors made the beams of light much wider and distributed the light as evenly as they could down beneath, amongst the smaller buildings, the squares and roads that populated the floor of the city.

To build something as magnificent as this city was a feat of engineering and wit, but also desperation. Before they reached the city, A’Trou’n was kind enough to share some things about its history, the origins of the city, its purpose, and its fairly questionable form.

“When we first arrived here, thousands of years ago, there was a need for us to do things as we once did them.”

“It is said that above ground, we build massive cities like the City of Creation, with spires and towers populating the skyline of the city, some of those towers almost reaching the clouds, each of such buildings being the living and working space of thousands of people.”

“And I suppose that when our ancestors were forced beneath, forced to begin anew, many of them longed for what they were used to. So they tried to create their cities in the image of their past.”

“The City of Creation and L’eu’n Grau’v, the City of Last Light, were built during those times; they are a testament to what we once were; but the rest of our cities aren’t as such; they are different and newer, built by the generations that came after; that knew not of the light that was above, not of the stars that supposedly are many and further away than the sun, or what we once called the moon.”

She told it all so casually, as someone who was part of the generation that had long ago lost the hope of regaining their ancestral home, seeing the stars, and living in ever-present light, for Kanrel knew that there seldom were moments when there was no light at all. At least above.

Here all lights were artificial, created, or touched by magic. It reminded him of the streetlights in N’Sharan and how some of the Sharan would deplete themselves of their magic just to light the lamps that kept the city lit through the nights. He wondered if such happened to those who lit the blue stones that lit their world, or would they just slowly get more and more addicted to the powers they used, until they were unable to reach another high, another moment of ecstasy, or that which, according to Lou'Deu'n, felt something like love but not quite.

Each step closer made the city consume his view; first, he was able to observe it from far, seeing the edges of the city, but soon it was all that he could see. The city had no traditional walls; instead, there were buildings that served as the wall of the city, and not too far off from that outer wall, there was a layer of evenly placed lanterns lit with their blue light, serving as a line of defense against the darkness that wished to consume them all; and on top of those buildings, there was another layer of such lanterns.

The road they had walked here didn’t have as much traffic as Kanrel had at first thought it to have, but now he could see a caravan leaving the city, wagons that were pulled by serfs who wore loincloth, all heading in the direction of the Blue-Stone Village. Kanrel could imagine what they mainly transported to the City of Creation: tons of blue crystal, which they would make into useable trinkets, be it lanterns or other simpler devices able to produce light here.

At what was the entrance to the city, they were greeted by guards, who, at the first sight of Vaur’Kou’n, stepped aside and saluted their superior officer; and even if they tried to keep all expression away from their faces, one could easily see what they soon mostly looked at, who was in their sights. A sense of wonder, even confusion, could be seen in those eyes; a creature like Kanrel, to them, was a sight to behold. Something no one had ever seen, as far as they could tell...

In the city itself, Kanrel could, at last, observe Atheians of varied walks of life, of different occupations, and not just serfs or guards, but who seemed like commoners, some of whom were clearly richer than the rest, some who were visibly poor, but either way, he could finally see variety, and not just the stark contrast of Y’Kraun and A’Trou’n—a serf and a noble.

And those many eyes made way for them; perhaps it was just that they could recognize the nobility in their party, or perhaps it was because of Vaur’Kou’n again. It was possible that the Atheian was a famous figure in this city, a local hero, or a local villain...

Looking around, there were far too many points of interest—too much happening all at once. Street vendors, that sold everything from food, clothes, trinkets, and drinks to even a night with someone far prettier than you. The buildings were highly decorated, with engravings running from the very first inches of the building all the way up its highest point. There seemed to be not a moment of silence amongst the crowds, making him again feel what he felt at N’Sharan, but this time it felt real; he wasn’t unseen, he wasn’t forgotten or never there; he was seen by all who had to get out of their way. And many, far too many, stopped for a moment to observe a little longer, to stare at the foreigner and his party.

Even this made Kanrel question the motives of everyone involved with his arrival here. It was made into a subtle show; they did not try to hide his arrival, even when they could, even when they probably should. He felt like one of the prostitutes on this very market; he was shown around the town like a product to be later sold; now there was just a need for an auction and an auctioneer.

Every faction in this city, every faction in the lands of the Atheians, would now hear of his arrival—the arrival of a curious specimen that possibly came from above the ground, or perhaps past the veil of shadows that lingered around the lands of the Atheians, keeping all further exploration at bay...

Now these factions, some with far greater curiosity than others, would come and seek him out; they would enter this city as they had; they would enter the Spire, where he’d most likely spend the foreseeable future. They would seek his audience, question his very existence, his motives, the place where he had come from, the history of his people, what might be above ground, who he is, and who he served... Everything that he had told so far, he would have to tell again, and again, and again. Many times over, each and every single thing that he had—each memory and thought, every piece of history and lore—would come under the scrutiny of the lingering ears and eyes that wanted him to part ways with said information.

He’d be like a wandering storyteller, yet he wasn’t allowed to wander. At least it was unlikely that he’d be allowed to do so; it would be a great wonder if he were allowed to do anything at all, or if all things that might bring him harm would be taken away from him. Of course, he’d be taken care of... But just for how long? For how long would these gray beings stay interested enough in a creature that, in the end, could never bring them closer to their ancestral homelands, only being able to give a dim view of it through memory and tale...

What a useless life that would be. Of course, memories were important; some things ought to be remembered for as long as possible for the simple creature that he is. But to linger with just a section of said memories on a day-to-day basis, repeating a set of words that would become as if rehearsed. A monotone litany of phrases, pieces of information for the easily amused and ever-curious creatures that were the Atheians. Such would most definitely be a hellish experience, and just for how long? Days? Months? Decades? More than that?

The Spire was an evil-looking thing, even in its grandeur. It was like a stone wall that stood between him and the view that might be on the other side. It was like a singular spruce tree stuck in a forest of birch, reaching far above the rest, like an overseer who would see all; its section of mirrors that distributed light below was like an eye that seemed to never shut. It made Kanrel wonder if it would be so throughout the days; would the lights never go out? Would it always be bright in this city of creation?

Along its walls were, at first, irregular-looking engravings, sporadic, even, but if one were to look for long enough to observe each and every engraving, it was clear that these what seemed like simple lines, dots, and odd shapes in fact created a pattern that repeated itself throughout the grand spire. And its entrance was a set of doors, reminiscent of those that he saw below the academy, in a chamber which he entered through a magical set of stairs—a creation constructed by the very race of beings that inhabited this city as well. The doors were similar, massive stone doors with even more engravings on them, but just larger than were necessary.

Thus, they stopped at the doorstep of the Spire and waited for them to open. And open they did.

The ground slightly shook as the doors came apart; a sharp light came from within, which soon became subtle as the eyes of the beholders got used to the sight. Inside inside they could see a massive hall with pillars that went as high as the eye could see from outside. Two long lines of guards stood on either side of the hall, leaving a walkway clear for anyone and all who might enter. And enter they did.

At the moment, it felt far too casual, considering the context of the situation as well as the scale of the building they had just entered. There was no fanfare for the arrival of the lord's dear sister, nor one for the return of their beloved, or less so, Vaur’Kou’n. They just walked ahead, while the guards on both sides of the hall gave them no regard; their eyes did not scan the people who had just entered; they did not even glance at Kanrel. The party was air for the guards that stood still.

The hall and its columns were garnished with familiar-looking creatures, and the ceiling was like that of a cathedral's, on it there were murals and paintings, which seemed rather unusual within the Atheian society, but Kanrel had no time to inspect them further or even begin to guess what they were supposed to depict as they hurried through the hall, past another set of stone doors, these one’s much smaller than the previous one’s, and entered a room filled with wonders.

Another grand hall, this one clearly meant for official meetings and such; perhaps the people of the city would arrive here and wait for their turn to be at the audience of the lord of this city, who might or might not grant them boons for the services or for their audacious begging.

There were no more guards in sight, and ahead they could see people standing before an elevated platform, looking toward the person who sat upon an obsidian throne far above the rest. The Atheian stood up at the first sight of the people that had arrived. “At last, my sister has come for my audience—are you here to yield your lands and your titles, as I have advised you to do so many times before?” The Atheian spoke, their voice easily carrying itself to the just-arrived party; his gaze went from person to person; perhaps he made a mental note of each, be it a serf, a servant, a guard, his sister, or a Darshi.

“But regardless, I’ve missed you dearly; these ten long years have been quite painful for me, who has had to tend the value and glory of our name all by myself.”

“I do not blame you, dear sister; it is not easy to submit... I would know this better than most.”

“Thus, I welcome you and your party of serfs, guards, and more interestingly, former lovers and a Darshi,” the Atheian chuckled. “I was doubtful that you’d agree to be even within a mile of Captain Vaur’Kou’n, let alone a few feet away... But years do change us all; even I have changed, dear sister.” His smile told it all—the immense pleasure he felt in this moment, the utter control he had of this situation; everyone here could do nothing before him, and it was more than apparent, for no one else dared to utter a word, nor to hold his venomous words in contempt.

Surprisingly, A’Trou’n did the same gesture her own servants did to her, yet in her eyes, there was a sharp edge that was difficult to not notice: “I greet you, brother. I’ve been most busy with far more important matters than to come here; for this, I must beg for your forgiveness... How does fare your old wound? Does it still fester? Does it still hurt when you go near a shadow?” She then asked suddenly.

The Athiean sat back down on its throne, its smile was now gone, its expression becoming serious, yet the spite in his eyes remained from the very first moment it had laid eyes on his sister.

“There have been none to push me accidentally nor purposefully toward the shadows.” He claimed, “But do not worry dear sister, I’ve long since forgiven your accidental attempt to seize my throne. You know, it could happen to anyone, anywhere, at any time." He soon added quite casually, then, slowly, he stood up again, this time descending from his platform, walking past the people that had gathered for his audience, ignoring their baffled expressions and curious eyes, as he soon arrived in front of his sister; but his gaze went past, and he saw only Kanrel.

“I can see the pearl in his ear, as I see one in yours and one in the ear of your serf.” It whispered so that the people near the throne would not be able to hear him now. “Then it must understand each and every single word we’ve said thus far... How wonderful, dear sister, it makes me wonder just what it has heard and what you’ve heard in return." His voice was soft, and one could misunderstand his tone to be gentle, yet his eyes told the whole story: If he was allowed, he’d kill his own sister, right here and right now.

A’Trou’n smiled, “It is so; I’ve heard so much by now; it is all so wonderful... Stories of the history of the Darshi, their beliefs, and their powers... And even of the angels…” Her voice was soft as ever, and her eyes told the same story as did her brother’s.

Her brother smiled in return, “Isn't this just exciting? I cannot wait to hear all about it myself.” Then he walked past his sister, stepping in front of Kanrel. He offered his hand, like a gracious host, and with a wide smile on his face, he introduced himself: “We are no other than A’Daur’Kra A’Kau’Tou’n—the lord of this city and the overlord of all the petty nobles, landowners, and such that live on this side of the lands of shadows below.”

“We welcome you to our grand city, among our esteemed people; here, we will treat you well and let no harm make your way, lest you welcome it yourself by your words or your deeds,” A’Daur’Kra spoke, his smile slowly fading away, still holding his hand toward Kanrel, who was almost unwilling to touch it, to hold it in his own.

The Atheian scoffed, still waiting for the human to offer him his hand. “We see that you have no understanding of common courtesy; it begs to wonder if such concepts are familiar to a creature such as yourself, or is it all just because of the fear in your eyes?” A’Daur’Kra whispered and grabbed Kanrel’s hand and forced him to shake hands with him.

Suddenly, Kanrel was pulled closer, and he heard a whisper no one else could hear: “We feel and we can see that you’ve come in contact with the veil as well... Do you, at night, hear their voices?”

The handshake ended abruptly, as again, A’Daur’Kra had a wide smile on his face. “It is most wonderful to meet someone like yourself, Darshi; alas, we will speak further at another point in time; as you might all see, we have visitors, all so curious about you and your existence.” He said and then began to walk back to the platform and the obsidian throne on top of it.

“Hurry now, my dear sister, settle in with your entourage and join me and my guests as we debate the matter of the Darshi.” He soon added, practically dismissing their party without giving another look back.