“This way.” Naghig led the two through the narrow corridor of the top floor. At the far end, where light barely entered through thanks to the adjacent building, he touched the wall and disturbed its oaken surface akin to a lake’s. The trio stepped through it one by one with Isocrates stopping for a moment as he inhaled deeply.
On the other side a much wider corridor of earthly appearing walls bathed in the warm light of the torches welcomed them. Isocrates observed with glistening eyes of wonder before he followed after the two who were already used to this phenomenon. After taking many turns the trio arrived in front of a door and Naghig turned around while pulling his hood down.
“We’ll need your assistance here for a bit. Isocrates go fetch some water from that room.” After he said his piece to Aurelithae, he turned to Isocrates and said in his usual assertive tone. Without saying a word, Isocrates nodded with his head and rushed to the door Naghig’s eyes pointed at a bit far behind on the right.
“Are they in danger?” As they stepped in the room, Aurelithae immediately noticed the five beds with the family still in a deep dream like state on them. Luminous arkhaine rings with myriad different runes circling around them. Fading tendrils growing on the inside, slithering towards each of them, connecting into their temples.
“Besides not waking up, no they’re fine. Seems like this time they made preparations to not invite any more infaerni or worse to their subjects.” Naghig said as they reached the third bed where the magusos sat in a bubble of arkhaine energy meditating with their hands clapped together. Their pupils beneath the lids, constantly wriggling.
“But it is only a matter of time.” Naghig added.
“What do you need of me?” Aurelithae asked as she looked at the five with an indifferent expression. At the same time Isocrates entered back with a bland pitcher filled with pristine clean water.
Naghig snapped his fingers and signaled to him to bring the pitcher. “You will have to enter their minds and lead them out in simpler terms.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Isocrates asked with slight worry in his voice.
“That is why I will help her. We will merge their minds into one psychic place and bring them out at the same time.” Naghig said while he placed the pitcher down at the nearest table to the beds. With palms facing the ceiling, he slowly raised them upwards while they lit up in a cerulean ethereal glow. Akin to a mesmerized serpent, the water slithered out from the pitcher and expanded over the five while engulfed in the arkhaine energies of the rings. Then at the center above, it formed into a large sphere which reflected the pitch blackness of their blank minds.
“You speak like you done that before. But what is the guarantee that she will not end up like them.” Isocrates said as he stood before Aurelithae.
“Boy, my patient has its limits and if you did not notice it, she is prepared for it.” Naghig looked through him and said threateningly as slight anger welled up within him.
“Just leave Iso. I’ll trust his abilities so don’t worry.” Aurelithae swallowed her frustration and spoke those words with reassuring expression on her veiled face.
Isocrates sighed then rushed out without saying a word. “You should discipline that one.” Naghig said as he crossed his arms.
“I will, but for the moment, focus on them.” She said while sitting down with her legs crossed. She took small inhales and kept them in for minutes until her mind drifted away into the darkness. The cold touch of a hand wrapped around her body and gently flung her away.
**
The Evligmaeoroth Cathedralii – commonly referred as The Grand Cathedral of the Blessed. A massive architectural marvel located on the central levels of the capital. Within the city it was the second largest building just after the Radiant Keep itself, and the largest place of worship erected to the Almodo and His eight children, the Ur-Deossos.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Each Deossos had their own building that connected to the main, where most of the ceremonies in the name of them were held. Each of these temples were built in a hexagonal shape, with outer pristine alabaster marble walls with frames of divergent hues and golden decorative patterns. For example, the House of Knowledge had glistening azure frames shaped like a myriad strained threads. The House of Challenges on the other hand flame patterns altered into a vibrant vermilion red hue inspired by the Forge-Mothers’ long, naturally flowing hair.
Each of these temples – Houses – were built with four floors. The top housed served as the work place of the head priest who was most versed in the ways of their respective Deos. The floor belove served as the living quarters for the clergy where they rested, dined and prayed together. The last two floors below served as where the common folk received their blessings, the rituals were arranged and the sick were attended to.
The central building itself was designed in the very same manner, except it reached above the others, and the frames were altered into a radiant prismatic hue that danced around depending on the hour of the day or night. The floor below the top was where the High-Priests or Priestesses of the Deossos met in matters regarding the temple and the faith of the folk.
“Septarch Rhenathrohia. I ask for your forgiveness, but the letter from Exarch Ambrotos has arrived.” A deep, glistening ebony toned priestess tapped the gentle figure kneeling down at the shrine of the Almodo Himself. She was dressed in the Magistralua’s common strola worn by the priestesses with a palla that nicely wrapped around her smooth neck and continued on with a soft hood that veiled her exotic visage in colorful shadows.
“No need to ask for your forgiveness. And thank you my child.” Septarch Rhenathorhia said in his soft as honey, deep voice with a bright, yet faint smile that calmed the yhanubj magistratior. For a moment her heart started pounding as she gazed into his orange golden, slit pupils with an infectious calmness that followed after as she inelegantly bowed then excused herself.
“What a fine face.” Rhenathorhia muttered to himself gazing into his own scorching golden eyes reflected upon the pristine alabaster floor. His faultlessly symmetrical warm lips curved into a fleeting smile as his towering form draped in the finest of togas raised up, casting his rough shadows behind himself. His mesmerizing visage raised upwards focusing on the eight colorful mosaic windows depicting the Deossos.
He offered a silent, short prayer to each starting with the Dawn Father, whose radiant aevhen form was depicted with his arms held out, the light and flame of the sun held and offered in them. Rhenathorhia prayed – by arms above his head, palms turned towards the sky as he framed the sun – for long and warm days to come.
On his right with a welcoming expression on her captivating face, the Mother of Magic gestured, her hands followed by a rainbow of myriad hues. Rhenathorhia prayed – with his hands curved, locked into a sphere in front of his heart – for his beauty to last in the annals of history.
On the left, each of the pair who took over after the banishment of The Grimm Sovereign stood with an eternal bliss on their pale visages, each of them dressed in modest, black robes with the Silent Shepherd holding her wickedly divine rod in her right, skeletal hand. Rhenathorhia prayed – with his palms covering his closed eyes, touching his golden scale covered cheeks – for danger to evade him.
The Final Judge on the other hand were depicted with pale silverish ornaments and a crown atop his veiled head. In his left hand he held his scepter taking the shape of an hourglass filled with letters and numbers. Rhenathorhia prayed – by crossing his arms and touching his shoulders – for all the time to enjoy his life on the mortal plane.
On their side was the Gardener of Creativity, who just like in this case was depicted with skin as perfect as the finest of marbles, hair as refined as the best of brushes, with each strands standing on its own, in all directions of the compass. A vivid expression on his harrowing, yet intriguing visage as he held out one arm, palm open with one of his Chaotica Seeds in them. Rhenathorhia prayed – by his finger tips locked, his hand formed a triangle in front of his forehead – for the inspiring chaos to fill the year ahead.
Besides The Mother of Magic, Septurrion’s depiction stared into the distance with all his dozen arms holding unsealed books of knowledge while from under his blunt nails, threads danced around the frame. Rhenathorhia prayed – with his hands changing from covering his ears, mouth and eyes – for the spark of revelations for the year ahead.
Right to Septurrion, The Forge Mather swung her hammer down, lit by her vermilion flames spread from her chaotic hair while she was clad in the finest of segmented plates. Her mature, marred face beautiful, contorted with rage. Rhenathorhia prayed – by clenching his fist and hitting his chest the moment his heart pounded – for a year filled with challenges to improve himself.
And lastly, The Mother of Nature sitting upon her furred oaken throne with mahogany laurel crown peeking out from the lush emerald river that was her dancing hair. Her alluring calm face riddled with wooden wrinkles. Rhenathorhia prayed – by inhaling the fresh air blessed by the will of The Mother of Nature – for a year plenty in the finest of wines and sweet, refreshing fruits to be born upon the trees of the island.
At last he finished his prayers and bowed lightly before he turned around, and his soft steps echoed through the vast ceremonial hall.