"Ah, so our beacon has finally shown herself again." Archbishop Solaris spoke gleefully as he rose, pulling down the hood of his shawl and turning away from the obsidian altar. He raised his arms out wide, stepping forward to bask in the moonlight that shone through the front of the cathedral.
"The shifting void tells that there is still time," he said, closing his black eyes in reverence. "But this is our last chance before the cycle resets, and we are forsaken for another sixty-millennia. We cannot afford to wait again, for this is an era of uncertainty not seen since the fall of the Red Queen. Our order may have survived, but our followers have dwindled, and I fear they will dwindle further till none of us remain." Solaris opened his eyes and lowered his arms behind his back. He then walked forward, stepping down the lapis steps of the chancel to stand before his most favored crusader who knelt before him.
"Sir Proxima, your zeal has guided many a follower after the failure of your predecessor. If not for you, our sanctuary, our faith, would have perished long ago. So now I ask of you once more, deliver the beacon unto me so that we may all begin the long voyage into the betwixt. The Pulse has blessed you, so I shall too as well," Solaris spoke softly.
He pulled one of his hands from behind his back and lifted it to his mouth. Solaris then bit his pointed fangs hard onto his tanned thumb, drawing blood before smearing the red ichor onto Sir Proxima's forehead. First in a vertical line, then a diagonal across it, and lastly connecting both ends with a semi-circle.
"Now go forth. Let my teachings and the guidance of the Pulse lead you."
"Yes, my lord," Sir Proxima said, rising to his feet to meet Solaris blackened gaze with his fiery own. "I will not fail you."