Sylven pointed towards a dark cathedral off in the distance, with a partially built bronze domed roof, held aloft by obsidian pillars. Scaffolding lined the side, and large black bricks were being lifted into the air with ropes and pulleys.
Despite still being under construction, every once in a while, a person would pass through the arches near its base, guided by priests in black robes. When they emerged again, they ran their hand along the base of a pedestal in the shape of a withered rose wrapped around a broken sword.
"A temple to Dilthane?" Cyrus asked, shivering.
Sylven nodded. "Indeed. Their influence has spread quicker than I imagined. That wasn't here the last time I visited."
"Do you think we're safe here?" Cyrus asked.
"For now, yes. I doubt anyone will be looking for us just yet, and Lewn and his family have long since helped Myrel, despite knowing who he is. Lewn is also well respected within the kingdom, so I doubt anyone will suspect him."
They turned as the door creaked open, and Swyn reappeared with an older man, dressed in a fine tunic, and a finely stitched jacket. His grey hair was cut short, and his wrinkles showed as he bowed his head.
"Good evening, Master Sylven," The servant said, first bowing to Sylven, then turning to Cyrus. "Master Cyrus. It's good to see you awake. My name is Arben. Lady Swyn claimed you needed something to eat, is that right?"
"Y-yes, if you don't mind," Cyrus said. He furrowed his brow, and glanced at Sylven. "Master?"
"It's what all the servants call us. A term of respect, if you will," Sylven said. He sat back down at the desk. "You can trust Arben to take decent care of you. He's one of the oldest servants of the Lewn household, and always does his work well."
"Are you not coming with me?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven shook his head. "I'll meet you later. I still have a bit of work to do."
"I see," Cyrus said. He turned back to Arben. "Very well. Please, lead the way."
"Of course, Master Cyrus," Arben said. He brought Cyrus out of the study, and towards the dining room. Behind him, Swyn returned to Sylven's side, a slight smile on her face.
"Would you care to eat in here, or in the garden?" Arben asked, pulling Cyrus' attention back.
A long mahogany table stretched through the room, with a dark green table liner draped over the sleek wood. Intricate gold symbols were threaded through the emerald fabric, while eight seats were positioned around the table.
Behind it, a set of wooden doors opened, providing a view of a spacious courtyard, adorned with trimmed bushes, and a high cobblestone wall. A wooden gazebo sat to the left, while a towering oak grew from the center of the yard, ripe with fresh leaves from spring.
"I think I'll eat in the courtyard," Cyrus said.
Arben nodded, and led Cyrus to the gazebo. When they arrived, Cyrus noticed grape vines growing up the pillars, and intertwining themselves through the rafters overhead, creating a natural canopy. An array of small flowers livened the wood appearance, and a sweet fragrance hung in the air.
"As long as it's alright with you, I'll have the cooks make you a platter of sandwiches," Arben said. He bowed his head once more. "I'm certain they'll be to your liking."
"Oh, thank you," Cyrus said.
As Arben left, Cyrus sat on the stone bench beneath the gazebo, and leaned back against one of the posts. He thought back to all that had happened since awakening along the Arcoldian coast, and all that was still to come.
'A break like this is nice, I suppose,' Cyrus thought. 'Who knows how many more of them I'll get.'
Lost in thought, Cyrus unconsciously released his aether into the vines, drawing them closer. It took him a moment to become aware of what he was doing, but by then, the vines had wrapped around his hand, encasing it like a gauntlet.
With a frown, Cyrus raised his hand as the vines solidified, and separated from the posts. He opened and closed his hand, marveling at the vines, which moved to his thoughts. At the sound of footsteps, he threw his hand behind his back, and the vines unraveled, dropping to the ground.
"Apologies if I startled you, Master Cyrus," Arben said, carrying a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of water.
Cyrus studied his face, then shook his head. "You don't need to apologize. I was just lost in thought, that's all."
The servant bowed his head, and set the platter on the table in front of Cyrus, then poured him a cup from the pitcher. "I'm relieved to hear it. Will you be needing anything else?"
"No, this will do for now. Thank you."
Arben bowed his head once more, then returned to the house. Once Cyrus was certain he was gone, he glanced down at the vines laying beneath his feet.
'That was… new? Could I do it again?'
Cyrus reached out a tentative hand, then shook his head. He decided to discuss it with Sylven first, in case something went wrong, such as someone catching him, and revealing his presence to the priests of Dilthane.
Instead, he focused on eating the sandwiches, and waiting for Sylven to finish his work. Two hours passed quickly from then, during which he wandered the courtyard, before retiring to a nook at the base of the oak tree.
…
"Cyrus. Cyrus, can you hear me? It's time to wake up."
Cyrus groaned, and opened his eyes. His muscles ached as he stretched his back, and there was a crick in his neck as he glanced up. Sylven squatted in front of him, his arms resting against his knees. He arched his brow as he stood, and set his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
"After sleeping for three days, I didn't think you'd still be this tired," Sylven said. He grinned. "Come on. We're going to meet with Lord Vilcrest now, to see if we can acquire passage to the Cilthrin shores."
"Do I need to bring anything?" Cyrus asked. He held out his hand, and Sylven helped him to his feet.
"Not for now," Sylven said. "Though you should raise your hood. I doubt anyone will be looking for you, but it'd be wise to be careful."
Cyrus did as advised, and the two returned to the house. Inside, Lewn waited for them at the front door, his clothes straightened, and glasses perched on his nose. Swyn also stood nearby, watching from the side.
"Are you ready to go?" Lewn asked. When Cyrus nodded, he smiled. "Good. I have a carriage waiting for us outside. It will take us to the Lord's manor, but we'll have to pass by the temple along the way. Will that be alright?"
"It should be fine," Sylven said. "The sooner we do this, the better though."
"Right," Lewn said. He opened the door, and glanced back at Swyn. "Let your mother know we'll be back later. Before dark, if possible."
Swyn nodded, and Lewn led Cyrus and Sylven to a wooden carriage, harnessed to two chestnut horses. A middle aged man opened the door for them as they approached. He stood an inch shorter than Cyrus, and the dark hair upon his lip was thick and bushy.
"To Lord Vilcrest's manor, Wilhos. As quick as you can."
"Of course, Master Lewn," Wilhos said, bowing his head, and revealing a bald spot amidst the brown tufts.
Then, the door was shut, and the clatter of hooves sounded as the carriage lurched forward. Cyrus leaned back on the seat beside Sylven and stared out the window as the houses and stores passed. Few were as nice as Lewn's, though all were built from cobblestone, with slanted clay shingles.
As the wagon continued, Cyrus glanced at the approaching temple, and its oddly shaped dome roof. The shape appeared unnatural, as though it should cave in at any moment.
"Do you know how they did that?" Cyrus eventually asked, turning to Lewn.
"It's supposedly all thanks to the rings that make up the dome," Lewn said. "Each one is pushing against the next, creating a support system without using a central pillar."
Sylven leaned forward. "If you think that's impressive, you should see the main temples, built in Tulmuth. I've heard stories of domes ten times that size, built from thick sheets of bronze in the shape of scales.
"He's right," Lewn said. "Though the priest's of Dilthane minds are twisted, their architecture rivals even that of the Ashveil."
"Is that so?" Cyrus asked. He glanced back out the window, watching the temple slide past. Beneath the archways, he spotted a man dressed in a black tunic, with a sword strapped to his waist. His gnarled hand rested on its obsidian pommel, and an amethyst ring flickered in the sunlight.
"Who is that?"
Sylven looked out the window, and frowned. "A knight of the Dilthane Order. There aren't many of them, but those who gain such a title are far stronger than your average knight. It's been a long time since I've seen one. They don't usually come this far from the main temple."
Sylven leaned back. "If there's one here, we really don't have the time to be waiting around. I hope Lord Vilcrest will be able to get us a boat, both for our sake, and the kingdoms."