"He of the Sceptre..." [OPEN]

[Pharaoh]

"He of the Sceptre..."
21 Ash 122
Templum Solis Radians
Palatine District, Luxium

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It was the day before the Autumnal Equinox and many of Solunarium's faithful gathered in their local temples to pray for plenty and pay tithes to their hungry deities. The most lavish temple in all of Solunarium was The Temple of the Blazing Sun- a great pyrmid that loomed at the edge of the Palatine District.

Today's service would be particularly hallowed in honour of the equinox, and would be presided over by the Princeps Pontifex himself, the moonborn Vrædyn. Thousands gathered in and around the temple for the privilege of being graced by the light of Aværys as conducted by his sanguine scion, bred of pure of Varværyn stock- the favourite grandchild of the Solar Sovereign herself, who would also be in attendance at the morning service.

Overhead a prismatic shard of illumite slowly rotated, as the royal train processed into the temple. Slowly panels rose to allow the morning sunlight in to set the shard to glowing brighter and casting multihued beams across those gathered below. The Sovereign's golden cape was held aloft of the ground by a pair a court Kineticists who plied their Craft to execute their task, rather than sullying the vestment by touching it with their hands. She might have been floating herself, so grateful was her gait. Over her resplendent crown floated a ball of flame, like a miniature sun blinding to look upon as it rotated above the high arches of the headpiece. This was no illusion, but a true ball of flame. Her skin, visible only in her visage as all other parts of her form were covered by vestments, seemed to glow with its own glorious light- Not unlike that of the prism overhead. With her arms crossed before her chest in gloved hands she bore the symbols of her office: In her right hand the golden sceptre, in her left the silver scourge whip. Her procession ended at a dais to the rear of the pyramid opposite the main entrance, upon which a high, lustrous throne was set. She assumed her seat, and regarded the pulpit before her as Prince Vrædyn, in his vestments of gleaming platinum and pristine white, ascended the altar dais attended by robed acolytes. A glistening crown of silver rounded his dark hair, as he cast his silvery-white eyes across the congregation. A miniature pair of blue-white moons revolved between the silver arches of the crown- a subtler shadow of the Sovereign's celestial simulacrum. He turned and bowed to his grandmother.

The congregation bowed to their centennial queen, heads lowered in reverence until a nod of her head signaled that Vrædyn might continue.

"Your Divine Radiance." He acknowledged in Vastian, before turning his back on the queen to look out over the crowd before and around him.

"As we embark upon the holy time of equinox, we do entreat our Founders for their bounteous blessings. We sing of Aværys: He of the Sceptre, King of Kings and Master of Majesty. We sing of Varvara: She of the Scourge, Mistress of Chains and Midnight's Mother. By Their Grace are we sustained, by Their will do we subsist, and in Their names do we supplicate ourselves." The slow swirl of the prism above cast a beautiful array of colours over the crowd full of nobles in glittering finery, and lesser people nearer the egress, donning their finest attire. This was a temple at which one broadcast their boons, for those had been received at the behest of the Founders. To wear something lesser under the light of Aværys would be to insult Him and to one's neighbours.

"Let us give thanks to our Founders by feeding them that which will empower them to return to minister directly to their chosen children of Re'ha and of Vastium." He gestured to the acolytes at his side, who moved toward a pair of levers on either side of the altar.

"Let us nourish them with our sacrifice." He nodded, and the acolytes pulled the levers, setting the temple to rumbling as the floor in the centre of the great room parted and a great cage rose up from beneath. As the bars came into view, one could see that it was teeming with living creatures. Horses, camels, great squawking birds, humans and even elves- naked and huddled in fear.

"Silence." The prince commanded, and a hush fell over the great cage as if by magic. The congregation, like the caged chattel, would soon be awash in feelings of awe and reverence tinged with notes of calmness, as carefully placed Mesmers washed their sundry Symphonies with religious devotion.

"We do sanctify this blood in sacrifice to our Founders. Let us pray that Divine Aværys and Archmistress Varvara devour their souls that they may feast in splendour and rise in glory." Vrædyn held his arms aloft and the bars of the cage melted down into the floor, no longer necessary. The animals and people therein no longer needed barriers to keep them still, as the prism above descended to the halfway point between floor and ceiling.

"As Aværys will it!" He called forth,

"Nourish them!" Replied the congregation.

"As Varvara commands!"

"Nourish them!"

"Thus shall they burn in radiance divine." At a gesture, the top of the pyramid split four ways and parted, allowing more of the harsh sunlight in, as the hovering prismatic illumite angled itself to receive the radiant sunlight and cast it down onto the floor below. A column of white, blazing fury beamed down upon the sacrificial lives, causing many to avert their eyes lest they be literally blinded as flesh and bone turned to ash in a matter of seconds. The top of the pyramid closed, and the prism returned to its idle rotation as the congregation regarded the floating black snowfall that whirled beneath it over greater piles of ash.

"Founders be praised!" Called the Sovereign behind the pontiff,

"Founders be praised!" Repeated the congregants.

"We claim their blood as our sacrifice Unto you, oh Founders. May You rise to greater glory from the ashes of these doomed souls."

The Radiant Mass would proceed over the next hour, as feelings of fervour were amplified by dedicated Mesmer practitioners. Upon its conclusion, the Solar Sovereign would recess, followed by her Moonborn grandson, as the other congregants were left- Some milling about and taking stock of their neighbours fashion choices, as others rushed out to get back to their occupations or other concerns.

[Arvælyn]

Domus Sorokys
Roughly two and a half hours earlier.

"Change of plans today, boys."

Arry blinked and squinted, lifting his head from the pillow at the sound of a familiar voice speaking Common coming from the general vicinity of his bedroom door. He squinted at the figure framed in the arch.

"Phocion?" He rasped, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"Mhm. I brought brekkie." He lifted a pastry in one of his gloved hands, "Put something on and meet me on the roof." He smirked, "Nice bum, Finn." He took a bite of the pastry and pivoted round to quit their bedchamber.

They would find Phocion reclining in the beautifully appointed rooftop garden of the residence- A basket of pastries had been placed upon the table, and the silver elf was facing the rising sun.

"We're taking the day off from combat and arcane training. Today we shall embark upon your religious education." He declared, casting a smirking glance over his shoulder. "Help yourselves." As they drew closer they would find that the sentinel, who they'd almost always seen dressed in black with silver accents, was presently dressed in silver with black accents. It was a tunic of brocade that had been enchanted to remain cool in spite of the desert heat- its pattern bore a symbol commonly seen in Solunarium a sceptre crossed with a scourge-style lash.

"Do you know what time it is?" Arry grumbled as he padded toward the table, rubbing his eyes with one hand and closing his robe around his waist with the other.

"I do. After you've eaten your fill, we shall dress you to the nines and make our way to the temple for phase one of today's lesson. The big, showy bit. You'll see Her Divine Radiance. It will be a whole thing. Then, this evening, I believe mother is planning to take you for your first Waning Prayer down in the Umbrium. It'll be a long day. Don't be shy with the rolls." He gestured again toward the basket.

After they broke their fast, Phocion would sift through their wardrobes for appropriately ornate items with which to adorn the two, unsuspecting foreigners.

* * * The Present * * *

The spectacle was grandiose to the golden eyes of the erstwhile urchin. Never in his wildest dreams did he envision himself attending the mass, summary execution of a small army of creatures in a public sacrifice to devouring desert deities, but life was wont to take strange turns... At least Arry's life was.

The exhibition was overwhelming, as it was very obviously intended to be. He'd been eager to clap eyes on the Solar Sovereign for as long as he'd been in the realm, and she did not disappoint- Statuesque and dripping with enchanted ostentation, as she was. Her pontifical grandson was easy on the eyes- Moonborn, like Phocion, but taller and with softer features and a musical voice that begged to be believed. His jawline alone seemed worthy of worship, let alone his glimmering gods and their many idols and images all around them.

Although he was aware of the Mesmers manipulating the Symphonies of those around him, he didn't fight off their ministrations. It was part of the experience, he reckoned. When he caught onto the call-and response bits, he spoke the Vastian replies just a hair later than the natives.

Arry did grab Finn's hand at the sudden burst of a radiant ray of white light that turned souls to cinders in a matter of seconds. He scooted closer, conscious of Finn's probable discomfort at such a thing. Finn had never been as blithe about the lives of strangers as Arry could be. Part of him worried that Finn would want to pack up and leave straight away, but most of him was being soothed by the Craft of his fellow Mesmers sprinkled throughout the crowd.

When all was said and done and the sermon drew to a close, Arry bowed with the others as the Sovereign passed, and once she was through the doors Phocion clapped him on the back.

"So? What did you boys make of your first Radiant Mass?"

[Finn]

Finn hadn't quite gotten used to slaves entering their sleeping chambers unannounced, let alone Sentinels with royal blood ties to his lover. He made a noise of sleepy surprise and dismay at Phocion's flirtation, and attempted to scoot underneath Arvælyn for modesty's sake. But the elf was already off and even if they were only faux cadets, Phocion expected to be obeyed, so Finn took a deep, bracing breath, and then kissed his sunborn princeling.

"Good morning, Arvælyn." He was almost convincing when it came to sounding ready for this day to begin. After washing his face and wetting his hair into some semblance of order, he put on a robe as well and joined them upon the roof. Apparently, they were comfortable with informality now, though he wasn't sure Phocion would appreciate reciprocation of this.

Finn wasn't certain he wanted a religious education, having grown up in the more ecumenical teachings of Kalzasi and its environs, but he had certainly learned a thing or two about Solunarian justice; he was going to have to find out what happened to Khyan.

In any case, he let Phocion decide what he ought to wear and accompanied them for the pomp and circumstance and murderous spectacle. He didn't resist the Mesmers, exactly, but he let their music pass over and through him, and then rewrote his own as subtly as he was able. Whatever he felt in response to the Radiant Mass, he wanted it to be his own.

When he realized what was going to happen, he briefly calculated how many people he could save with his Rune of Traversion, then had to swallow the bitter truth that he could not save them; he could only prolong suffering, delay relief, and make matters worse for himself, for Arvælyn, and his family. And so he kept a bland mask upon his face, hardly the fervor of those around him, but at least he wasn't casting judgment. Arvælyn moved closer, and he appreciated it, though a part of him wished he wouldn't—the part that wanted to hold him and weep.

But he kept his own symphony calm, at least, and when Phocion was chummy with his brother and asked them for their responses, all he could do was repeat his own words back to him: "It was a big, showy bit."

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Æros was actually not the most religious of men, and in truth, he preferred the ceremony held down below as opposed to this one, if only because he preferred the Umbrium’s darkness. Funnily enough, he related far more to Aværys than Varvara despite his preference of temple.

However, this was no normal day and certainly no normal celebration of this particular holiday. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d even be able to make it to the Argent counterpart in the Umbrium, all things considered. His plans today had no set end time and he…was heavily nervous about whether or not the warrior he’d sponsored would ruin it in some way.

Maybe the Founders would offer him a bit of luck by attending this prior– at least, that was his logic. So he went, standing among the others in attendance at the Temple of the Blazing Sun. Trying to put his mind at ease, he watched the spectacle before him with absolutely no attempt to resist the ministrations of the other Mesmers around him. It was a grandiose thing, with both the Solar Sovereign and her rather lovely grandson present.

Æros stood among other nobility, and though his attire in and of itself might be considered just a tad toned down compared to some of his companions, it was designed to make his flashier features stand out. As a consequence, his stars shone brighter than what the majority of the other nobles wore, more mundane in body as they were. He looked like a shining, eldritch thing– a glimpse of night sky in the blinding radiance of the sun. Of course, this was not done to be in competition of such a thing, but rather to honor Aværys himself.

The whole display was a…blinding experience. Always was. The design was a beautiful one, however, using crystal to magnify the sun’s light and smite away the sacrifices to ash in mere moments. Even from where he stood, he could feel the heat that expanded outward from the beam of light before it dissipated. The Færie regarded the sacrifices with a sort of apathy; he wanted to believe in the necessity of such a thing, but even if it was all for naught– he didn’t think he could bring himself to care about their fates. The simple chance that their blood fed Deus Aværys, wherever he may be, was enough to sate any unease he had about the practice.

As many made their move to leave, Æros found himself lingering behind. He knew he had somewhere to be soon, yet he wasn’t exactly in a rush, a sort of dread flowing back into him as soon as the other Mesmers had dropped the casting of their Craft. After the room had emptied a bit, his gaze caught on two familiar figures– Arvælyn, Finn, and a third he didn’t recognize. They had been far closer to him than he’d realized that entire time, yet he didn’t notice prior as he hadn’t been paying attention. He couldn’t imagine that Finn enjoyed the show from what he’d gleaned about the man both personally and from his conversation with his lover, in truth.

Considering that he would be plainly visible being…how he was, he gestured to the group in a motion to catch their attention, but didn’t want to approach unless his presence would be welcomed.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

Arry didn't need to delve into Finn's Symphony to recognise his discomfort at the nature of the rite. He tried to soothe his beloved's Symphony with his own- wanting to give himself wholly to the experience, but not wanting to abandon Finn to the feeling that he was alone in a brutal land. Finn still didn't seem to realise yet that they were all of them alone in a brutal world. Solunarium simply plied its severity in harsh, desert daylight for all to see, while other realms tried to conceal their inequities and inhumanities.

"I'm sure they weren't good people." Arry whispered into Finn's ear, "And they looked so peaceful before-..." He glanced over Finn's head to the strange crystal, now emanating its own light as the panels closed to cut off the rays of the sun that had augmented its radiance.

Looking to Phocion, he forced a smile that belied his concern for Finn.

"I found it very enlightening." He winced at his wording instantly. He'd been trying to downplay his awe with phrasing that might indicate more ambivalence, but ended up making an unintended pun.

"I see what you did there." Phocion sniggered. "At any rate, I need to get down to the Umbrium. I trust you can find your own way back to your domus?"

Arry nodded, and Phocion smiled wanly to his half-brother, then patted Finn upon his broad shoulder, and slipped out into a passing wave of congregants- quickly disappearing into their midst like a Dire Antlion into the sands of Atraxia.

"Are you all right?" Over Finn's shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a luminous figure. It took a moment to realise said figure was waving to them. “Oh look, Finn! It's Æros!" He waved back and started toward him. Though he and Finn had both met the starry-skinned half-elf, they hadn't seen him together. They'd only compared notes about the strange coincidence of independently meeting the same man within the course of a day or two.

"Ave, Æros, and good morning to you!" He offered, code-switching to his upper intermediate Vastian, "I believe you've met my Finn?" He gestured to the fair-skinned human, grinning broadly.

[Finn]

Finn nodded and smiled as Phocion took his leave of them; still he wondered where he stood with the Solunarian he had known the longest, as well as with the others. He supposed there was no such thing as Finn without acknowledging his entanglement with Arvælyn for Arvælyn's family, but he was attempting to be a good in-law even though there was nothing lawfully binding about his love for the golden half-elf. And he was putting on a decent show of being unruffled by the public sacrifice, but fortunately or unfortunately, Arvælyn knew him and his symphony too well.

"I'll be fine," he promised, though the concern was short-lived. Finn didn't mind. He knew Arvælyn cared; he just didn't know how to respond to his lover changing, or perhaps Solunarium was just supporting the worldview he had grown up with in the slums of Antiris. The minstrel tried to make him feel safe and loved, but sometimes love wasn't enough.

His smile when he turned was genuine, and he saluted the Starborn half-elf in the manner of this place.

"Ave and good morrow, Æros!"

Now they were a knot of artists and he wondered if they would discuss the aesthetics of religious pageantry, though perhaps he ought to keep his own mouth shut. There were powerful Mesmers about, but he had heard the symphonies of the dying, and he heard the disturbing undertones in Arvælyn. It seemed he was beginning to accept the religion of his people as well.

Finn wished Talon was here so he could ask him for his insight into such things, a man who had risen to become a draegir ought to have an interesting perspective on all this. After all, from what he understood, Aværys and Varvara were moritasi, not the greater Dragon Gods or Mistlords of Ransera.

He followed in Arvælyn's wake to meet their shared acquaintance.

[Hilana Chenzira]

Earlier:

Bandaged up though she was, she put on clean clothes, in her case the nicest ones that she had, as was expected for visiting the Temples dedicated to Avaerys. They were still relatively simple, considering those who would be visiting the Radiant Mass, but Hilana was clean, had shed blood earlier and had the wounds to prove it in this quest to get these sacrifices. Her skirts were dyed gold with patterns of red throughout the tiers, and her white linen blouse matched the bandages that were wrapped tightly around her chest and all the way down to her abdomen, hiding skin that was black and purple with bruises, looking almost like an extension of the short shirts that she always wore. She had woven yellow ribbons into her black hair, and yellow and red ones over the bandage on her right bicep, if only to make it look more like a decoration than a covering for an injury. Some part of her had a feeling she should probably invest in clothes that covered more... but it wasn’t often that she got bandaged up like this and cared who saw it. She had put her traveling cloak on over her garments, knowing where her destination was. She did not have it in her to handle any soot or ash on the clothes she was going to wear to Mass.

She had left Hayima’el behind in the stable, even though she deeply, deeply wished for her camel right now. At least until she could get to work afterwards. She could make something for this that was stronger than what she’d had in her kitchens, and Vasilei would help. He’d chew her out and braid her up and down for this, but he would help her once he was done the scolding. Hilana didn’t care. It would come from a good place. But she was able to walk the drugged ram through the streets, guiding it with some hay, and doing her best to suppress the limp. One foot in front of the other. It didn’t matter how tired she was; just one foot in front of the other. Her backpack had her change of clothes for Waning Prayer, and Tiaz was also hiding within the folds of fabric, having completed his shed. The less she had to go up and down four flights of stairs today, the better. But Hilana was not up to carrying him around her neck right now, lest the beast that she was leading steadily through the sands decided to act up. She wasn’t in the mood, not when every breath hurt. The bandages helped, the tea helped, the hot water had helped... but she was going to need to yield to Vasilei’s experience and expertise when she got to work. Just a little longer.

Lack of sleep and pain kept Hilana quite calm. It was an effective method of inducing a tranquility of sorts, the eye of the storm, for a hurricane of a girl possessed like she was of Wildness. It was perhaps for the better. Pain was sacrifice. Blood spilled was sacrifice. Nothing worth having came easy, she knew. One foot in front of the other, as she made her way along the path with the golden-haired ram, brushed and groomed and dried from the frenzy of activity the night before, and utterly chilled out through the calming clover she had given it in the hay. She had no Mesmer with which to keep the beast from fighting her otherwise, and she knew if it had started something in the streets, she was going to be dragged without her camel. She had won last night, but only due to Hayima’el, and had the wild sheep been in its full possession of its mental faculties, Hilana wasn’t going to win this one. Halter or not, not when he outweighed her and again by half. There were fewer people than she expected taking the path up to the mouth of Mount Sorokyn at this hour, which made it easier for her to go along the path at her own pace. She did not know how long it had taken her to walk it; she was focused entirely on the task at hand. But when she got there, she felt the heat of it, exhaling and inhaling as she looked on ahead. When the priest motioned her forward, she stroked the horn of her offering, undoing the beast’s makeshift halter. It was coaxed forward, and Hilana watched as it was guided over the edge into the waiting lava below. Only then did she sink to her knees and bow her head in supplication.

For you, Radiant Father. May the blood and strength of this offering flow to you. Please continue to illuminate my path forward and guide me in my endeavours...

She made her way back down, coiling and knotting the length of rope to go back in her pack, just doing her best to stay out of the way of those that were starting to make their way up now with their own offerings....

Present:

Having shed her travel cloak some distance outside of the Temple of the Blazing Sun and tucked it in the bottom compartment of her rucksack, Hilana stayed on the outside edges of the gathered Congregation. Others of Populus Equestris might have pushed forward to get into the midst of things, but the girl was not interested in doing so. She didn’t need the attention, she didn’t want the attention. All she wanted was to witness the Mass, and then she could carry on her way to work. Vasilei had mentioned it was an Experience, especially considering Hilana’s own religious upbringing was more taught by her guardians and elders, and sometimes those from the tribes from which they were around. Far less of the training that came from the priests and mages who ensured devotion and fealty.

It did not matter. Hilana was a dutiful enough congregant.

She was not a Mesmer, but she knew as the energy ebbed and flowed that they were there... simply because she didn’t have her own usual levels of it. Hilana followed along with the others, bowing as the crowd did, straightening as part of the wave of bodies and Faithful. She added her voice to the calls, looking on at the accumulated sacrifices. Not at the light of the crystal, but at those who were silent, and calm... And when they were turned to ash in that heat, the girl looked on, her eyes unblinking and large. “Always watch,” Asher had told her. “To look away is to dishonour them. See it through. Understand. Watch.” Only after the act did she bow her head where they had been, closing her eyes and gripping the straps of her backpack until her knuckles went white before raising her head again and swallowing, beginning to calm down once again.

In her pack, she could feel a weight shifting as her python started to move within, pressing his way out of the flap of the pack to find his place upon her bare shoulders, moving under her hair and coiling comfortably. She stepped to the side, resting out of the way to let others go in the meantime so that she could make her way down the steps and back into the streets once the crowds were gone. She did not want to be pushed or jostled right now. But Hilana could look on, and see who had remained behind while she waited for the crowds to die down.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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As a master Mesmer himself, Æros allowed the Symphonies of those who yet still remained to influence him. However, the potency of tapping into all of this myriad noise was, somehow, muted compared to the almost transcendent nature of the Melodies composed by the other masters who'd since quieted their ministrations. Even so, he rode the gentle waves of awe and reverence flowing from those who lingered.

He needed to, really. His own Symphony was a bit of a mess. Undercurrents of anxiety and paranoia were present alongside the discordant notes of dread and anticipation. Overtop rang melodies of his own veneration for Aværys, brighter tones of admiration for both the storied deity and the recherché majesty of the temple itself. And woven through it all was the low, wistful dirge of regretful nostalgia.

While it would be a struggle to class the Fæ as particularly pious in the present, being here stirred memories of a youth spent within a house composed of those possessing a strong dedication to their faith. Of their number, there were a few who'd pushed their devotion ever further– those who had chosen the Cursus Aureus, or the Golden Path. A wistful, bitter sense of nostalgia had blanketed over him as soon as he'd entered before the procession and it lingered yet still. His own reverence to the twin Founders used to be so very strong, and yet…when he broke, so too did his faith.

Today's return had been edifying in its own way, awash with a surfeit of such largely negative emotions as he was. If nothing else, the Starborn was glad to have been present. And while the celestial elf had yet to have realized it, a spark had flashed and ignited something long dead within.

As the crowds filtered out, it was a relief on his end to spot familiar faces. Æros…needed the distraction from the emotions tying his organs into endless knots, so he was relieved to have been well received by them.

To both, "Ave and good morrow to you both as well."

He smiled and spoke in a genial fashion, outwardly appearing to be serene. The Fæ was good at masking his emotions, but if they so desired, the other parties– also being Mesmers– were full well capable of hearing his inner discord, only slightly smoothed over by the presence of two people he was happy to see.

While he was intensely curious about how Arvælyn actually felt about the procession, he held his tongue, unsure if it were wise to brook the subject with Finn present, given he assumed the latter wasn't the biggest of fans of what he'd just witnessed. The Færie made no attempt to push further into either man's Symphony, but from what he could glean by holding himself open to those around him, such a deduction was only reinforced.

So instead, "Isn't The Temple of the Blazing Sun lovely? I've a particular fondness for illumite and the way it reflects light– paints the whole room with brilliant colour, no?"

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

As the crowds quickly began to dissipate, the manipulation of the dedicated Mesmers of the Ministerium Divinitatis waned. A few of the priests and acolytes milled near the altar, but most were quick and orderly in their departure- eager to go about their days, now basked in the holy light of a radiant sacrifice. Servi of the church began to sweep up the remnants thereof.

Arvælyn put his arm around Finn's waist and squeezed slightly. He was weaving an encouraging air- trying to urge, without intent to manipulate, the human's Symphony to find the notes of beauty he'd drawn from their recent experience. With his Rune open to the æther around him, the elf noticed that Æros' Craft had significantly increased in potency since their prior encounter. It had only been a week or so ago, and yet he'd advanced enough that he might have been aware of Arry's subtle communication with Finn's Symphony. It was odd, but he'd undergone a similarly rapid burst of power at one point. Perhaps it was normal amongst those of their common background. Still, at this realisation, he quickly withdrew his urging from Finn, lest he put the human in danger by exposing him and bringing attention to his doubts about the local, compulsory faith.

"Oh yes!" Arvælyn's eyes darted up to the slowly spinning crystal and regarded the multihued reflections it cast upon the ornately decorated walls and ceiling. As he took the time to examine further, he could see that many of the decorations told stories, whether subtle or obvious. Columns that resembled sceptres obscured gold-tinged mosaics depicting apotheosis and conquest.

"And there's so very much to look at..." As his eyes trailed down, they fell upon a familiar face. It was the Vastian girl Hilana, who he and Finn had come to befriend. She was, he thought, an anchoring connection to his past. She was humbler and less imperious than many he'd met in Solunarium- present company included. He wasn't sure whether Æros would approve of the friendship, but still he smiled and waved across the room. Gesturing for her to join them, if she wished.

[Finn]

A tinkle like bells shone through Finn's symphony. It wasn't difficult to thread a melody through it, feeling the emotion as it passed through, but he knew that when he was alone later, things would turn darker, more sonorous, as he tried to work his way through what he had witnessed. The minstrel understood self-sacrifice, but not this. Rather, he understood it, but it did not make emotional sense to him. He supposed that was why religions had mysteries.

But he was less worried than Arvælyn about people seeing the interaction of their Runes. They had been mingling their magics for so long, it would take even a master some time to unravel what they were about.

Finn didn't have much to say, so he looked dutifully up to admire the illumite. Arvælyn could share his newfound religious fervor with the umbrian local.

Illumite had always seemed so warm and welcoming, especially when he saw it close up in a lamp or similar. The natural magic was meant to dispel illusions as well, or so he was told. It felt like a quiet, gentle sort of magic until the Varværyn religion weaponized it. He supposed the Moritasi could stop it if they wished to, if they cared to. Whether or not this fueled their divinity, he didn't know. It certainly seemed that the spectacle, along with the rampant use of Mesmer, unified the masses in worship and purpose.

His eyes returned to Arvælyn and Æros, and then the former was waving to Hilana. Unity, indeed. He was smiling quietly, wondering when they ought to return to the domus to change for the less ostentatious Waning Prayer. Finery made him feel like he ought to be on stage and performing, though this was not a performance he wanted to be any part of. At least later, in the Umbrium, they could wear their cadet uniforms with the convenient veils.