Somewhere in Priene, shrouded from the prying eyes of humans and magi alike.
The sound of a scraping gate reverberated as it opened to a large, cavernous room of peculiar architecture.
Instead of columns, the ceiling was supported with misshapen statues of strange entities chiseled from black, oily stones that absorbed the already dim light of the flickering torches. Their eyes seemed to glimmer in the darkness, observing the lone man that walked underneath.
He appeared young, in his twenties at least, with raven-black hair that reached down to his torso. It was neatly parted in the middle, its cascading strands occasionally fluttering over his teal-colored eyes and sharp nose. His skin was paler than most Hierapetran, patterned with symmetrical stigmata typical for magi.
On the back of his white tunic, clerical in nature yet different from the local religious garb, was displayed a ten-branched cross with a blank circle in the middle—the holy symbol of the Henosis Seekers.
The damp space he had just entered was eerily quiet, only given life by the faint groans and murmurs coming from a lighted altar in the middle. Ten individuals were prostrated in perfect arrangement around it; their eyes closed as they mouthed prayers to the rhythm of the fleshy rustle.
Atop the altar, a three-meters creature was roughly copulating with a woman.
It was vaguely humanoid in appearance, with a vertical slit in the center of its blank face that served as a mouth. A half-melted bronze crown reached from the top of its skull to its neck, rattling against its sickly, grayish skin with each thrust.
It grasped the moaning woman with its four skeletal-thin arms, its pair of wings fluttering from depraved pleasure. The pile of pale-white feathers surrounding it grew as its excitation rose, followed by the ominous humming of the devoted followers tending to it.
The man briefly paused to offer a silent prayer to His Winged Grace for such a blessed sight, then he continued his walk, skirting around the perverse shrine.
Hidden in the shadows of an isolated corner, a human-sized wooden puppet locked eyes with him, and he approached it with a cold smile.
"The research results were sent through the usual channels," the man said. "This concludes our collaboration, I presume."
A creaking sound escaped the puppet as it slowly nodded. It had three slits, two for its eyes, one for its nose, and a painted semi-circle for its mouth. A tuft of orange hair was barely stuck above its head, threatening to collapse after every movement.
"Sur... Irkalla..." A raspy, oddly unnerving noise punctuated each of its words. "Her... Dark... Eminence... confirms. As... agreed... the... concealment... ends... on... the... fifteenth."
"Good." The man clasped his hands together. "Let the blessed radiance of the Primordial Seraphim guide our way forward."
"No..." The puppet answered, a tinge of annoyance in its tone. "I... have... no... need... for... the... blighted... light... of... your... kind."
It vanished as soon as it finished its strained sentence, disappearing from the range of the man's mystical senses. His lips curved in displeasure, but he didn't truly mind, as their relationship was purely transactional and nothing else.
Ultimately, the Primordial Seraphim was sure to triumph—for the gift of Henosis was an irresistible prospect for every human, whether they knew it or not.
—
Great Sanctuary of Priene, in a secluded wing of the Luminous House.
Bishop Antenor of Delos gently knocked on a silvery door hidden at the furthest end of a dilapidated corridor. A honeyed voice answered, "You can enter, Antenor."
He immediately proceeded inside, finding himself in a small room illuminated by a single stained glass window. Under the afternoon's tainted light, the surroundings appeared a relaxing pink, giving it a pleasant atmosphere.
A partition of sculpted reddish wood divided the room in two, with a chair on each side. Antenor glimpsed at a sea of bronze hair beyond the intricate panel, but he didn't dare to glance at it for more than a second.
That was because the being he was meeting could, with a snap of a finger, erase his meager existence at the slightest disrespect.
"Sit," she said, her tone a strange mixture of domineering affability. "The Adonal Virgins told me you had something urgent. What is it?"
Antenor obeyed her command, sitting on the wooden chair.
"A murder took place yesterday night in the Great Sanctuary. We discovered it this morning. Father Phineus, a keeper of the Inner Monastery, was found dead with a stake through his heart and another through his genitals. The mark of the Ashen Gift was etched above the crime scene, and..."
"And...?" The woman's voice trailed, waiting for him to finish.
"When we attempted to establish the truth of it through divination, a strange interference occurred. Someone, or something, forcibly broke my link with the flow of Mana. Judging from the resulting backlash, it had at least the level of a Thaumaturge, if not a Divine Apostle."
A pause, then he added, "You've ordered me to keep an eye on the Celestial Offering, venerable Grace, but I'm afraid this lies beyond my capability as a magus. With threats of such power looming, I can no longer guarantee his safety by myself. Perhaps we should ask an Archbishop—"
"No," she sharply cut him off. "We can't trust them yet. Anthea is hiding something. Of that, I'm certain. And since she has close ties with some Archbishops, though we don't know whom, there is no point in risking our current advantage."
She opened a hidden compartment, sliding an object towards Antenor. It was a finely crafted statue of a winged maiden holding a quiver full of lightning bolts. Inscriptions in Heriperan were chiseled like belts around her robe, brimming with faint but ethereal power.
"Keep this with you. If you sense any danger you can't handle, coat it with Mana, and I'll be able to gaze upon your location."
She let out a heavy sigh. "If push comes to shove, I allow you to utilize it as a Relic. Its potency should be close to Grade 2, but its cost is hefty, so use it wisely."
"Thank you, venerable Grace." Antenor reverently accepted the Relic, placing it underneath his tunic.
"Faith comes before all, Bishop," she preached. "I shall investigate the matter of this interference through the Theurgic Field. If anything appears, I'll send one of my Adonal Virgins to warn you, but I hope you understand—your life, important as it may seem in your eyes, is nothing next to the exalted ceremony we will soon achieve. The Celestial Offering's well-being always comes first. Have I made myself clear?"
"Clear enough, venerable Grace." Antenor bowed, even though he was facing the window.
"Excellent. You may resume your duties. Keep your wits about you, and remember that Her Divine Majesty watches over us all."
Antenor drew the symbol of the Luminous Spear on his chest before he rose from his seat, quietly leaving the small room.
As he walked back through the deserted hallway, he clutched the statue under his cloth, an unreadable expression etched on his face.