‘Apprentices are being approached more frequently by the different Ascensionist factions. Their methods vary, but at the moment, they don’t stray too far from gentle coaxing. Some are offering advanced payments for the older apprentices to give assurances in contract that they’ll join them after they become researchers. With this rush to steal talent coming now, the divisions within the factions are widening and are threatening to become long-term issues.’

‘I asked a younger apprentice to see his contract before he signed it, and while the conditions seem incredibly generous, offering to cover all their expenditures until they graduate, they are in fact predatory. There are stipulations that border on indentured servitude so long as they break a single term of the contract. With its wording as well, the trip-wires are set so discreetly that many of the Apprentices are sure to be trapped.’

‘So far, only the larger factions have been successful at tempting the older Apprentices to sign away their future, but I foresee that the smaller factions will move down the age-ranges to prey on the younger students. If the rejection rate remains high, the methods will slowly move to coercion, and enemy factions will target their oppositions younger talent alike.’

‘It seems the politically astute realise that change is coming, and they are predicting that it will be a bloody transference of power. I believe that it is possible to have a peaceful transference of power, but the steps leading up to it will leave many hands stained with blood.” - Excerpt from a letter Toran Rhosyn sent to Lucien Blodyn informing him of the conditions of Citadel, January 1263.

———

“I see what you mean when you say that we have had some positive steps forwards with Citadel. I suppose we’ve come to a natural end with it now, but that reminds me, you said the next few letters weren’t as pleasant. Don’t give me that look, Lucien, you scare me. Will it leave a sour taste in our mouths once we’ve finished again? Agh… Would it have been better to have left Citadel for last? I’d prefer to leave today without a severe headache.” Gwyth joked with a grin on his face. Lucien felt his nervousness rise, his jaw clenched in response and he felt his back heat up. Out of all the issues he had to deal with recently, this was the one that made him the most agitated.

“More than that, Gwyth,” Lucien shook his head pitifully. “A migraine might be in short order if we don’t solve this issue quickly.”

“Hell, I shouldn’t have come in when I was told you looked like this. I knew and I still came in…” Gwyth mumbled lampoons to himself. Lucien shook his head slightly, ignoring the man’s mutterings.

“I finished cyphering Father’s letter a few days ago.” Lucien broke Gwyth’s muted moans.

“What was in it?” Gwyth asked.

“I’ll let you read it later, but broadly, Father confirmed Isten’s prophecy to be true. However, Father has a new interpretation of what it could mean. At least that’s if we are using what Isten relayed back to us as the initial benchmark. But anyways, the divergences are significant, and our investigations will have to alter course to accommodate such a change in perspective. I don’t necessarily think that Isten brought back lies or a misunderstanding, rather it was that Father experienced something that changed his mind.” Lucien explained while shaking his head, then continued.

“He said that as his investigation into the necromancers came to its conclusion, with him about to offer verdict to convict a women he deemed to be a heretical cultist, she summoned a monster to this plane through ritual. He explained that the cultist must have prepared it in advance, and that regretted not searching the woman’s body for Channeler’s weapons and instruments. That that shortsightedness led to her channelling Malevolency and killing a large swathe of Rupert’s officers.”

“That her Malevolency was frighteningly powerful, enough so to require himself and Rupert, alongside three Earl judges. That despite their advantage in numbers, two of which Earls died just kill. Father stated that he suspected the cultist was only so powerful because of the monster which granted her use of its Malevolent spells. That she could channel incorporeal tendrils that were on par with a King’s power.”

“Finally, Father noted the date. He sent this letter the same day he met Isten in early January, some twenty-five days ago. Cennad only reached here yesterday. Isten left the same day and returned sixteen days ago.” Lucien concluded with a ragged breath.

“That’s preposterous!” Gwyth shouted, evidently shaken.

“Considering how poorly our investigations have been going, with most of our trails cutting off abruptly, this is the first time we’ve had a lead. We can confirm whether or not its the truth with Cennad. Even still, I am not ruling out any line of inquiry, for at the rate we’re going, even if it turns out false, we’ll end up right where we are now, right at the beginning.” Lucien said coolly.

“But at least our investigations are based off rational and empirical reasoning, even if our threads are burnt! What’s to say that Cythraul isn’t mad? Cultists? Ritualists? Summoning monsters? That speaks of a madman to me!” Gwyth shook his head in disbelief, and Lucien did the same.

Lucien rose his chair and strode to a drawer on the opposite side of the room. It stood below a map of the Cynfandir continent which took up most of the papered wall. He opened a draw, and withdrew a book, taking it to his desk. He began flicking through the pages, and eventually he stopped on one, his finger pressed against a line.

“The book of Scripture?” Gwyth asked, confused.

“This is a translation I had made from the original language it was written in, Ashokan. Reinheit were the first to translate it into a modern language, but like the Church of Cymorth, they separated from that branch and formed their own with their own theology and practices. Our religion, Cywir, ultimately descends from this religion.” Lucien explained but thrust finger against the page once more.

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“Hurry up and read it.” Lucien said, turning the book to face Gwyth, his finger still highlighting the line. Gwyth’s eyes flickered to the page and read the sentence. His eyebrows rose in surprise, then fell.

“What are you implying by showing me this?” Gwyth asked.

“The Ashokan process, as described, for performing Miracles is almost ritualistic, wouldn’t you say? Before you argue whether this can be classified as a Miracle, it certainly can. For if the Reinheithian method is derived from the Ashokan’s, then the Cymorthian Miracles is directly descended from the Ashokan ritual by virtue of it altering the Reinheithian method,” Lucien waved Gwyth into silence and continued. “So, we’ve established now that Miracles are a form of ritual, where they use Spirits as a conduit for God’s blessings. Then the process which Father describes is very a like it. Though, Miracles are certainly more of a spiritual practice, meaning they aren’t a facsimile. Yet, the core features are reminiscent of each other. So, what happens if a Necromantic organisation managed to derive their own, new form of ritualism, from the Ashokan method?”

“They would have a derivative method of Miracle spell casting…” Gwyth took in a sharp breath.

“Exactly. Therefore, we shouldn’t rule out Father’s letter as preposterous just yet. All the points he mentions are feasible, though it is outside of our current understanding and reasoning.” Lucien leaned back in his chair feeling the weight of this stress.

“For this Necromantic organisation to even derive their own form of… Miracles… from the Ashokan process, it certainly proves they’re more adept than what was originally made out to be.” Gwyth said, grimacing.

“Yes, very true. From my talks with Isten, he explained that, when he could listen into Father and Rupert’s conversations, their initial assessment of these necromancers was that they were unorganised. Even in the letter, Father notes how poorly the crime was executed, which certainly contrasts with the skill it takes to form a new branch of Malevolency.” Lucien responded.

“Then were they just rogue Necromancers who had connections to a larger organisation? There isn’t another way to justify their incompetence.” Gwyth’s face had long blanched by now. Lucien found it surprising that it could go paler, but he also knew that Gwyth didn’t want to confront the alternative.

“According to Isten, the old woman that gave the prophecy wasn’t alive and that she was the medium of a message communicated through a possessed body. It is very expensive to expend a possessed body solely for a message, even for an organisation, let alone for rogue necromancers. There is only one conclusion that seems true in my mind, which is that they were operatives of a larger Necromantic organisation that provided both the corpse and their spell casting.” Lucien answered.

“But why the hell did they keep failing? We know that Necromantic organisations prefer to remain behind the curtain, how could this even happen?” Gwyth’s voice inclined as he spoke.

“How could they know they were going to fail? You’ve evidently placed too much stock into them, for you’ve forgotten the basics. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. It happens to even the most professional of organisations. Hell even to us, the Intelligence Service. How you adapt to the situation at hand is the preeminent quality of success. They came up against Rupert and Father. To win against those two requires more luck than the Creator’s own.” Lucien explained.

“But your assessments are reliant on whether Isten is telling the truth,” Gwyth leaned back in his chair, squirming slightly. “How reliable can we say Isten’s accounts are? Including his prophecy… if it is a prophecy.”

“For now, it is enough. Father’s letter recounted word for word Isten’s prophecy. That increases the veracity enough that it is trustworthy. Father wouldn’t waste my time with nonsense, and nor would he tolerate Isten’s.” Lucien slid over his deciphered notes, his finger placed atop of an emphasised passage. Gwyth’s eyes flashed as he looked over it.

‘Two survive as one dies; one dies from another’s lie.’

‘Two survive causing another’s demise, a single lie is all it takes for one more to die.’

‘Draped down and hooked into death’s hearth; the child is forced to flee infested with a parasitic heart.’

“We have no other lanes for investigation except this. If it fails, we search for more threads until we unravel this organisation and destroy it. It is too dangerous to be left to its wanton ways. Ignoring it will not solve this issue. The investigation is to be prioritised.” Lucien ordered.

“As my Lord commands,” Gwyth bowed in his seat. “I recognise that this investigation is necessary, but I still have my qualms. Isten said that Cythraul thought the ‘prophecy’ was a necromantic plot in which they intended on harming them. We don’t know the exact time frame they intended to carry it out, which puts us at a dangerous crossroads. Do you think, with the attack already happened, that Cythraul and Rupert already sprung their plot? With two already dead, maybe the ‘prophecy’ has been averted?”

“That is something we can’t be sure on,” Lucien rubbed his chin. “I’m not entirely confident that the danger has been averted, and I give weight to your views here, in that even if it’s not a prophecy, the danger certainly hasn’t been avoided. They intend to carry out the attack even if their operatives have been caught beforehand. For them it’s a matter of can they enact it before it’s prevented, not an issue of meeting certain criteria. If it was a prophecy on what’s to come, I doubt it has been sprung, either. It has too precise, but too loose, of conditions to be met that makes it troublesome. It’s best to act in the worst-case scenario here, that no, it hasn’t been averted.”

“That’s certainly for the best,” Gwyth nodded his head. “You said that there were changes in Cythraul’s new assessment on the Necromantic plot, what does he suggest it means now?”

“Father says that it was an act of harbingers parading their intentions to commit a future assassination attempt against an aristocratic family. He never specified which House he thought they’d target, but that for a prophecy to be given to Isten under such a spectacle must mean they’ve turned their attention on big game.” Lucien pushed himself upright in his chair, settling his wrists against the chair’s arms.

“Are you certain it’s big game, though? Couldn’t it be a lesser member of an aristocratic family? That way, they undermine that aristocracy by breaching the natural hierarchy, but also don’t draw too much attention to themselves as they would by killing a direct descendant.” Gwyth asked with a contemplating tone.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lucien waved his hand dismissively. “We don’t know their intentions yet so we can’t make such broad assumptions. Even within the framework of your argument, for all we know, it might be beneficial for the Necromantic organisation to target even a House Leader over a lesser member. They might want the attention that comes with killing such big game, and if Father’s comments are anything to go by, then they certainly enjoy theatrics.”

“Then how are we meant to provide security for the aristocratic families if we don’t know where they’ll strike?” Gwyth tutted under his breath. Lucien knew that he was not pleased with the situation, for he hated not knowing the ins and outs of every situation.

“We don’t. If a few of them get killed by this organisation because they can’t defend themselves, that’s their own fault. All we can do is forewarn them that assassin activities have increased of late, but then that’s no different from the status-quo. All of them have their own assassins, and already far too many of our young have been killed because of them. I suppose now, it’s the old who are the prey, not only the young.” Lucien chortled in schadenfreude.

“That might be true, but it is for the best if we solve this predicament sooner rather than later.” Gwyth sighed. Lucien nodded in response, and let silence descend upon the two men.