The Pope, Diogenes VI, sat silently in his room, murmuring a few prayers in preparation for the upcoming papal mass in the next few minutes. His atmosphere was solemn, his deep belief in the deity he was praying to evident.
Just as he finished, the door slowly opened, and his aide, Sebastian, walked in.
"Your Holiness, forgive the interruption," he said with a respectful half-bow.
Diogenes slightly smiled at the familiar sight, "Sebastian, you've been by my side for forty-seven years, and every day you do this knowing fully well when I have completed the morning ritual."
"His holiness is the representative of heaven on earth. Interrupting him, no matter how slight, is a sin akin to death," Sebastian answered, his eyes never making contact, fixated on the cross resting on his vestment.
The pope sighed internally; this Fidus Achates of his was just too rigid. He was even more pious than him. He looked down at his garments signifying his status, 'Is this your will, Lord?'
After saying a short prayer, he turned back to Sebastian, "Shall we?"
Sebastian nodded and opened the door, bowing slightly as the pope passed through. The paladins guarding the door genuflected immediately before rushing to his front, escorting him to the Chapel of Antisthenes where he would say mass.
'Dei Iter,' or God's walk, was a solemn ritual of the Cynics. The pope would walk from his room all the way to the chapel, accompanied by a different group for every part of his journey. This was witnessed by the masses on both sides of the path. It represented a man's journey through life from the time of his inception up to the day he is taken up to God.
The Paladins were the first, signifying external strength and dependence a child needed. The priests would come next, representing the awareness to differentiate good from bad and the initiative to approach God. After them came the heralds, symbolizing the curiosity and stubbornness of juveniles. The templars and finally the clerics would all follow the pope sequentially, up until the gates of the chapel, where a lonely walk from the doors of the chapel to the altar at the end awaited him. This represented the loneliness of death, and the altar represented the light at the end of the tunnel for all who have faith. Only after that would the masses follow through to hear the mass.
Diogenes had just finished with the paladins, the priests taking up their places at his side, when there was a commotion to his left, where the crowds of people had gathered. A man was shaking violently, muttering to himself in an unknown language.
"Devil!"
"Demon!"
People screamed, trying their best to stay as far away from the man as possible to avoid being mistaken to know him.
The man cared little for their antics; his shakings halted, and his eyes, formerly closed, opened, revealing a deathly white pair of eyes with an unholy hue.
"A seer?" Diogenes thought, seeing the man's eyes—a trait of the rare seer class. He slowly approached the man to confirm his suspicions. In the early stages, sages could not control their episodes, leaving them vulnerable to attacks whenever there was a shift in fate.
"A kismet?"
"Such a strong one too, even ignoring my presence?" He sensed trouble. "Sebastian?"
"Your holiness?"
He was pulled from his thoughts by Sebastian, who looked as though he was ready for another holy war. Blood-stained armor had replaced the white vestment he had on previously, with only his bloody red eyes glowing through the visor of his helmet. He held in his hands a great sword as tall as a man—chips all over the blade showed it had seen countless battles. But the aura from the weapon was no joke; the immediate silence of the masses was a testament to this.
No one wanted to die, and that sword... it reeked of death.
Gently laying the sword on the ground with grace unbefitting of his current appearance, Sebastian genuflected. Diogenes sighed, tapping the shoulder guard of his aide.
"Put that away, Sebastian. There is no blood to be spilled today," he said before continuing in the direction of the man.
Paladins had surrounded the man, unsure how to proceed. Diogenes's approach prompted them and the crowd to genuflect, creating a visual contrast between the Pope and the seer.
The seer's episode ended, leaving him sweaty and exhausted. As he stood and saw everyone genuflecting, he turned to see the Pope before him, appraising him calmly.
"What is your name, Seer?"
"Brahan, Sir," the seer replied, unfazed by the situation.
Diogenes looked at the young man in front of him—Brahan, he called himself—with slight curiosity. 'How had he become a seer?' There was a reason it was such a rare class—you had to satisfy either of two requirements: a special physique born with a seer talent or a bloodline.
Curious, Diogenes questioned further. "An Adevarul?"
Brahan wasn't shocked; although most people would not know of them, the pope wasn't most people.
"Brahan Adevarul of the Adevarul clan," Brahan introduced himself with a slight bow.
However, someone wasn't pleased.
"The audacity to stand in the same light as His Holiness, to breathe the same air he breathes, and to not kneel in awe of his divine majesty... what an abomination," Sebastian spat in disgust, gripping his giant sword with such fury that his knuckles turned white.
"Tell me, Seer," he said in ridicule, "How do you want to die?" Sebastian stood with the giant sword in one hand, the holy scriptures in the other. The blood-red aura he exuded stained his white vestment, forming an armor around him.
The more he looked at that annoyingly calm gaze of the seer, even in the face of apparent death, the more incensed he got. There was a saying: 'Once a seer was born, they knew already when they would die, and nothing could change it.' It was both a curse and a blessing for obvious reasons.
Sebastian had imagined a few hundred different ways he could kill him, and he couldn't wait to share them with the annoying seer—all he had to do was ask His Holiness for permission.
"His Holiness!"
"No," The pope turned to look Sebastian in the eye. An incomparable might dispelled Sebastian's armor and sword, leaving him with the white vestment.
Diogenes silenced Sebastian's intent to kill with his imposing aura. "Sebastian, stand down. I already said, No bloodshed today."
Sebastian, weak on his knees from resisting the pressure, genuflected immediately. "Yes, His Holiness." His eyes still on the seer, clearly blaming him for this.
Ignoring him, Diogenes turned to Brahan, his gaze revealing a certain intensity who calmly witnessed the exchange as though it had nothing to do with him. Such was the confidence of seers; he knew that very well, but that didn't mean he liked it.
"Seer, my patience wears thin. Answer correctly, or today, the world will have one less Adevarul."
"What caused the kismet?"
Although unwilling, Brahan knew that he had played fate's game long enough. He wasn't keen to continue gambling his life. 'If the patriarch asks, at least I tried keeping it a secret.'
"An inheritor of a lost class has awakened," Braham said, answering the pope.
"A lost class?" He knew of them—classes with the strictest of requirements, often with immense albeit unusual abilities.
A sense of foreboding filled the pope. He was powerful enough to know that these occurrences were no coincidences. If this class was causing a shift in fate so powerful that it could showcase itself in his presence, then what did that mean for the Church?
Of all the lost classes, only one could do that. But that was impossible; his predecessors ensured that nothing of that class remained, not even knowledge of it's existence.
He turned back to the seer, this time not even caring to suppress his aura.
"What class?"
"Answer me, Seer. What class was it?"
Brahan was terrified. He couldn't sense his fate anymore, which should be impossible.
Shaking from fear, he answered, "I don't know. I have never seen that symbol before."
"Describe it for me," Diogenes said, fully aware that Brahan would likely not know of that class. Only older individuals like him might still have that knowledge.
Brahan hesitated before describing the symbol—a man with a knapsack on his back and a weed in his mouth.
Diogenes frowned, "Sure enough, it's them." He didn't know how that was possible, but considering what that class was about, the impossible would not be beyond them.
His eyes glowed slightly before he shook his head at his attempt. "I can't sense him." But wherever he is, he can't be given space to grow.
"Sebastian!" he called out to his aide, who was still recovering on the ground.
Sebastian answered immediately, "His Holiness."
"Ready the Inquisition. I want them ready at a moment's notice." Sebastian's eyes widened. The Inquisition was a secret force of the church, only dealing with direct threats to the church. The last time they were called was during the holy war. Calling them now meant...
"It shall be as you said." Sebastian's eyes glowed red with excitement as he genuflected. Finally, war again. 'I can't wait,' he thought, licking his lips in anticipation.
Brahan was shocked by what he was witnessing. 'How powerful is this class that even the church is afraid?'
Diogenes called out to two Paladins, "Escort the seer out of the holy city. Our hospitality has been exhausted."
Braham looked at the two hefty men, allowing himself to be taken away. 'That's enough excitement for one day,' he thought.
As Brahan left, little did he know that blood-red eyes filled with hatred and bloodlust tracked his every move.
Diogenes, not concerned about the seer's fate outside the city, said, "No blood will be spilled in my city," a warning for all.
Sebastian bowed and left, leaving the Pope alone in the square.
Diogenes sighed, saying in a voice only he could hear, 'Is this also your will?' The seer's arrival here was no coincidence. In fact, he didn't think Sebastian could kill him. Now that wretched class had returned.
He was suddenly in a sour mood. 'I really hate plot twists,' he thought before heading back to his chambers.
'And with those guys back, there'll be no end to them.'
'Wretched storytellers.'