Hundreds of letters had piled up on Francis’ unused table. All of them but one addressed to Francis himself or the Church of Landing as an entity. Each stamped with a different wax seal of various great lords and priests. Berthold felt uncomfortable even looking at them, much less opening any. Yet one was addressed to him, from Francis himself.

There were two messages inside. One he could immediately recognize, it was in the old man’s writing. Berthold immediately began reading it, eager to see how Francis was doing.

“Berthold, I hope you are doing well. I have been traveling church to church for a long while, looking for the place where my opinions may be heard. I have found no such place, but many people who have heard me speak, and have read the thesis I pin to each sacred wall I see, have understood. Agreed, even, and accompanied me on this journey. We’re around twenty now. Some priests, some intellectuals from a university I had passed by, and a knight or two. But we are united in common cause. If the church will not listen to passive protest then we will take this to the Order itself. I trust next you hear of me it will be with success. Perhaps I will send you a copy of the bull I will help pass!”

Berthold could almost feel the jovial attitude Francis had written into the letter, and for a while he believed it. Then he read the beginning of the second letter, written in completely different and strange writing. Every letter had the same square pattern and was written on a consistent but invisible line. More strangely, every one of the same letters was written identically, with no slight flourishes or connected lines.

“Francis Friedrich is wanted by the king and church for acts of dissension, heresy, and blasphemy. Any man who provides information or helps bring him to justice will be rewarded handsomely,” it felt much more terrifying than he thought. Berthold knew exactly how brutal the church could be, yet this was new. He could only hope Francis understood what he was doing.

A small, clearly handwritten note was at the bottom of the letter, “it seems I have scared them senseless. This was written by something called a machine developed in the southern part of the kingdom. I will go there to make a copy of my thesis, and spread it wherever they spread this,” Francis was clearly not dissuaded. But Berthold was furious, the south was the sole domain of the high Order of the church. Where he would be most at risk.

Calming himself, he walked back and forth in the large room. Running every possible scenario through his head, before finally deciding to sit down and do something productive. He would go through every one of those letters, and find out what the hell was going on in this kingdom.

The raid on Johannes village and church, the marshal and knight who sought him out. His father’s henchman even through death. And the absurd actions of the king, church, and all involved. One of these letters will surely have the pieces he needed to connect everything.

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Unfortunately, he did find the common thread tying it all together. It was in a small, almost scribbled letter that came from a friend of Francis in the east. A priest by the name of Charles. Some of it was covered with dirt and grim, so Berthold couldn’t make out every word. But he read what mattered between the lines. Another uprising had occured in the east, after a group of peasants stormed the governor’s fort with the apparent aid of Kard Lightwatcher. This was dated only two weeks prior, and it was a surprise it got there as fast as it did.

According to the short report, once the fighting began, it wouldn’t stop until the entirety of Ostfort was burning. Men were swarming the streets with some kind of fiendish organization behind them, and overwhelming the guard stationed in the eastern capital.

Berthold already knew who was responsible, it was his father’s men. The same ones who visited him. Another letter he found proved it, one with a seal of crossed swords over a comet.

“It’s time for your apprentice to grow up, he must continue his father’s legacy or we will do it on our own. The church sins have grown far too great, corrupting man and lord alike. Forcing our children to fight their wars. If you do not act, we will. Signed - the loyalists.”

“How could they organize like this?” Berthold ranted aloud, “did my father’s death mean nothing to them? Don’t they understand that all that will happen will be more pain and suffering!”

He felt a panic overtake him, and he walked down the stairs in labored steps, hoping the fresh air outside would help. As it all flowed through him, understanding and concern both, a solution showed itself. Berthold was Jan’s son, and he would not stand idly by as more children had their families destroyed.

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Berthold wrote and wrote and wrote. First to Johannes, he asked him to return, and told him of what he had found. He needed his friend’s help now more than ever. Then to Francis, he urged him to stop, told him of the goings on in the east, and hoped he would understand this was too dangerous a time to continue his journey. Both letters he sent with the utmost urgency, giving them to the two messengers stationed at the church of landing. After they had left he knew he needed to send a message to Jan’s men, he could reason with them. Maybe he was the only one.

On the backside of the letter they had clearly written was an address he now looked at. For the first time in years he wore his civilian clothes, a simple garb of green and beige. And he walked through the back streets of Entsteburg, looking for a strange tavern at the end of a road. It was called Varen, a world in the old tongue for cause, Berthold believed.

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When he entered, there were some questioning looks, but after a few seconds people returned to their business. Drinking their sorrows and life away with ale and mead, and eating their fill on occasion.

Confident, he walked up to the barkeep. Who was pouring drinks and handing them to one of the girls working there. And spoke to him, “I’m Jan’s son, and I am here to see the loyalists. Whoever you may be,” no tavern would be placed at the end of a road, in the middle of a bad part of town. This was no normal place of gathering.

The looks that came from all around proved his point, and in seconds several weapons were drawn. Daggers and knives first, then a man drew his sword.

“Calm down you fools, he’s the real deal,” a man with a black cloak came out of a room behind the barkeep. It was the same one Berthold had met over a year ago, he remembered that encounter too well, “I told you we would meet again Berthold,” he chuckled again.

It crawled up the priest’s spine, “the new rebellion in the east, it was your doing? How is Kard Lightwatcher related to it?” he spoke confidently, challenging all those around him. Most had sat back down, but all were looking over him.

“Well, I had hoped he would join us, I sent him an invite to a place just like this in Ostfort. But he simply helped us get through the gates of the governor’s manor,” the man raised his cloak, and Berthold saw his smile and features, both were eerie. He had a scar on his cheek, with tiny bits of stone dotting out of it.

“So he’s not with you? How did this information even get to you so quickly?” Berthold kept his line of questioning. Noticing the man was educated, no one from his old village would use the old tongue word for the eastern capital.

“Is that really why you came here? We’re doing your father’s work! All of us together are going to take down the church, make sure no one else has to suffer this,” he pointed to his scar, “or have their children taken to some damned “academy” for demons. You’re here to join us after all, are you not?”

“The only reason I am here is to end this. My father wanted none of this, and as I am his sole heir I command you to stop. Or I will stop you myself, there is no sense in this violence. And civil war will not undo the horrible things done to us. No, instead you should support Francis, he has published a thesis that will force the church to reform. No more use of magic on us, no more children taken,” he looked around, hoping to find reasonable faces. But he only saw bitter smiles.

“A thesis will not stop this. The church’s own bulls did not stop them, the law did not stop them. Even our king Heinrich can not stop them. We can only trust ourselves to do this!” the others cheered, almost as if fortified by his twisted logic.

“Do you not realize how many will die? The entire continent will be ripped apart, the Celestial Kingdom’s enemies will not sleep if a civil war occurs. Northerners, peninsula, and seamen alike will join. Mercenaries will pour in first, then roads will not be safe, rape and looting will run amok, then outright war,” Berthold had read about it, the wars that led to the unification of the Celestial Kingdom were worse.

“That will not happen, for the northerners and seamen are already on our side, treaties have been written. Our kingdom will not be the same, but that is a worthy sacrifice,” he smiled again. Every one of his words felt like a lie, those of a very good schemer. Berthold would find it convincing if he didn’t know it was so wrong.

“Yeah, Tobias knows what he’s saying!” one shouted, and for a moment everyone was silent.

“Idiot, there are no names here!” another countered, and slapped him.

Tobias coughed to interrupt the two, “now if you are not here to join us, I suggest you return to your church. It is at least our duty to make sure you are safe,” Berthold didn’t need any more convincing. He found no use in staying, and he got what he needed. If he could not cooperate with them, then he would use the information they had voluntarily given.

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Heinrich’s family died during the eastern rebellion. Berthold knew that, and he understood the hate the king felt for Jan and himself. Yet for once he hoped someone else could forget about that terrible time. Surprisingly, it was easy to get an audience with the highest authority in the realm. It only took a short time after he told the guard who he was for them to let him in. They told him to wait in a small bedroom that had clearly gone long unused, and after a few minutes of pacing the door swung open.

“What is your buisness here, son of Jan. and make it quick. My time is only a curtesy to your mentor,” the king spoke as he stepped into the room, looking down at Berthold. Heinrich seemed to dodge his eyes.

“Do you know where Kard is?” the priest began.

“I have heard he’s in the east. Can’t say I like my marshal abandoning me all of a sudden. But I think he was going to take down some rebellion there. Probably one caused by your father even through death,” Heinrich laughed.

“Unfortunately, you are correct. Some insane individuals claiming to be my father’s “loyalists” have attempted to restart a rebellion. They are organizing in tavern’s called Veran. I don’t think Kard is in cahoots with them, but I can’t be sure. At the least they have organized an open rebellion in Ostfort, according to a report from a priest Francis knows. Since I read that I have been investigating, and after finding and meeting them, they volunteered to tell me they had signed treaties with the northern kingdoms and the seamen. Obviously I refused, but it will take time for my message to reach the church so I did my duty and came here,” Berthold spoke slowly and calmly. Hoping he could convince the king his word was the truth.

“Where is Francis in all this, or if you wish to hear me say it. Why should I believe you?” Heinrich eyes stared daggers into his.

“If what you want is proof, I have it in plenty,” he showed him the letter from the loyalists. Then the short reprot from the priest. Berthold saw the king recoil as he swiftly read the two letters.

“The Comet damn them all. I suppose Kard can’t handle this alone. And I will enjoy taking care of your father’s men,” a smile creeped over his face.