Bowing his head, Sar waited to enter the Seeker temple, shifting in a futile attempt to make his tunic not brush against the wounds still covering his body.

The battle with the free mage had been… difficult. Without a Terminus crystal, that sword thrust to the gut he'd taken would have ended him. He'd been forced to use the lifesaving artefact, despite the terrible toll it took on his body, and only the swift action of the healers in the reception hall had saved him.

He could only hope it had killed the mage in return.

Ahead of him the Seraphic Guard, giant figures clad in polished silver and gold armour, stood before an ornate gate. The halberds each guard carried, taller even than they were, were inscribed with glowing runes that bathed the area in a soft white light. A helmet cast with the visage of a cherub stood where the head would have been. In fact, no part of the armour displayed any kind of individualism, each guard being identical in all respects.

Sar had been standing at the gate for almost twenty minutes, awaiting his approval to enter the temple. He was supposed to be in Rudase, so getting approval to enter the building was an ordeal.

From where he stood, Sar could see the mountain of Heaven's Tooth in the distance, its towering peak marking the heart of Lightire. As always, it was shrouded in the constantly shifting iridescence of a truly monstrous amount of mana, the distortion of reality it caused making the peak of the mountain twist and warp the longer one looked at it. He'd never been there, and never intended to.

Mages who visited that place never returned.

“ENTRANCE HAS BEEN PERMITTED.” One of the guards suddenly said, its booming voice strangely emotionless, the inflections on the words unsettlingly wrong.

With a shuddering creak, the ornate doors slowly swung open.

Keeping his head bowed, Sar strode past the guards and into the temple, forcing himself not to speed up to get away from the creatures. They had always frightened him, ever since he was a child, and discovering how they were created only made the fear stronger.

The gate creaked again, then boomed shut behind him. Finally, Sar let himself look up, marvelling at the majesty of the place.

The vast domed ceiling rose up far above, glimmering metal beams criss-crossing high in the air. Painted glass windows lined the outside walls of the dome, colouring the light that fell in with all the shades of the rainbow. The ground was tiled with ornate mosaics, depicting great battles against demonic foes. An awe-inspiring sight, no matter how many times he saw it.

At the centre of the temple, the mosaics ended at a metal railing, rimming the edge of a large pit that dropped straight down into the ground. A pit that led straight down to the training dungeon far beneath. The place he, just like so many initiates before him, had learned to control their magic.

And learnt the horrors that mana could bring.

An older man clad in a long flowing robe of the purest white approached Sar, his hands tucked into his sleeves. “Considering braving its depths once again?”

Sar bowed deeply to the man. “No, lord Templar. I have come to report to the Chapter-Master. Where can I find him?”

The man turned and pointed a crooked finger to a door in the outer wall of the large room. “He can be found in the rooms of contemplation.”

Bowing his head, Sar walked towards the door the man had indicated. The corridor beyond was far simpler than the central room of the temple, lacking any kind of decoration at all.

Sar strode down the corridor, nervously stroking the stubble where his moustache was regrowing, looking for the signs pointing to the rooms of contemplation. A small metal plate inscribed with flowing letters pointed him down a left-hand corridor. A few more twists and turns later, he arrived before a large door, muffled voices coming from within. Steeling himself, Sar pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was fairly large, the walls lined with small cubicles containing a large pillow and a small altar. The only occupants of the room were three men.

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One, with his back currently to Sar, was dressed in formal white armour, with impractically large pauldrons poking out from each shoulder from which hung long flowing strips of fabric sporting tiny woven runes.

The two other men were dressed in formal robes, golden patterns weaving across the fabric's white surface. One man had a thin, pinched face, his eyes set in a permanent squint. The other was a chubby fellow, wearing the face powder that was so popular with the nobility.

The conversation ceased as they turned to inspect the intruder. The armoured man’s face distorted as he glowered at Sar.

Sar dropped to one knee, ducking his head.

“Seeker Sar reporting.” He barked at the floor.

A moment's silence stretched out, Sar not moving an inch, before a gravelly voice broke it.

“Rise, Seeker.”

Sar stood and looked at the man again. He was Lord Fenhaven, the Chapter-Master of the order of Seekers, one of the most powerful men in all the Holy Empire. A decorated war hero, said to even have the ear of His Holiness.

“Why are you here, Seeker, and not at your post?” Lord Fenhaven demanded.

“I beg for forgiveness, your excellency. There was an... incident at my posting, in Rudase.” Sar said, picking his words carefully.

“A free mage was discovered in one of the villages. When confronted, he attacked, killing my initiates and soldiers, and nearly taking my life too. I barely escaped by using the Terminus crystal, but I beg for the opportunity to lead an expedition to investigate if the mage survived.”

“Some child slayed an entire detachment, and forced you to flee?” Asked the chubby man in a thin, whiny voice.

At the same time, the other man spoke, his voice smooth and clear. “Jarrik, this is what I’m talking about. A Seeker, just unleashing a Terminus like that? You are going to set the territories to revolt if you do not reign your creatures in!”

“That is enough, Dorash.” Said Lord Fenhaven. “We will continue this conversation later. Both of you, leave us.”

"Just one moment-"

"Now look here-"

“Out! Now!” Lord Fenhaven demanded, cutting the pair off mid-argument.

Looking at one another, they stalked out, muttering under breaths. Sar kept his head bowed as they walked past him. Only once he heard the door close behind him did he raise his head again.

“Baster had a point, whiny fool that he is. You were beaten by a child?” Lord Fenhaven demanded, frowning down at Sar.

Sar shook his head. “Not a child, your excellency, a full-grown free mage. He was a necromancer, and a powerful one at that. He seemed entirely unaffected by magebane, and raised corpses covered in it. This wasn’t some bumbling mage, too weak for us to have detected. He was skilled and powerful.”

Lord Fenhaven rubbed his temple, sighing deeply. “Free mages, being raised and trained in secret. Maybe Dorash is right, the territories are beginning to rebel.”

“There is more, though I did not want to say in front of company.”

Lord Fenhaven raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“One of my Seekers, Isabella, turned traitor and was working with him. She attacked those that had once been her allies and fled with the free mage.”

“That is… worrying news.” Lord Fenhaven said.

He turned and strode to an altar, kneeling beside it. His eyes flashed purple as his mouth moved with silent words. Communing with His Holiness, Sar realized.

Finally, Lord Fenhaven stood and turned back to Sar. "You will not be permitted another Terminus crystal. They are all required for the next crusade. You will, however, be granted a battalion. Once you have healed, they will be ready. Go back to Rudase and hunt down the source of these mages, and destroy it."

Sar dropped to one knee, bowing his head. With a battalion under his command, and all its associated armaments, he would be able to crush anything standing in his way. If the free mage had survived, he had better watch out.

Sar was coming for him.