Sitting at his desk, the parchment rested in a large calloused hand. Illuminated by candlelight, he read the names again;

Gaius Rosche, of Viridios. Jaecar Erinth, of Kyan. Lodan Balvent, of Azurleum. Zandra Paet, of Aragon Heights. Garrett Leidich, of Stauroledge. Julius Ryker… of Stauroledge.

The last name burned the tip of his tongue. This is the consequence of nepotism. Gently folding the paper in half, then over again, Captain Johne Royhus lay the report neatly on the desk. With a calmed gaze, Johne turned in his chair to face Axus Ryker, leaning quietly by the fireplace.

Axus stood leaning against the stone frame, arms crossed, gazing absently into the flames that outlined his figure in the darkened room. Off in the distance, thunder rolled, lingering till fading out entirely. A steady flow of rain fell upon glass and stone, laying the foundation to the soundscape.

“It appears they have already crossed Lár Terram.” Johne’s fingers rhythmically rapped the edge of the wooden desk. “It did not take him long to assemble a group so quick for treason.”

Axus continued staring absently into the fire’s light, “This was planned beforehand. He knew he would not receive the Enclave’s blessing in this.”

“By now he’s crossed into Melacalya. He won’t be obtaining their blessings either.” Johne took a fresh sheet of parchment from the side drawer, placing it in front of him. “Neither will the soldiers deluded by his intentions.” Johne’s tone changed, “God help the child…”

Axus turned from the flames, “He and his followers will be dealt with appropriately when we return them to Novus Terros. They knew the consequences of their actions.” He sighed heavily, “The child does not.”

Johne turned from Axus, dipping the quill in the small glass of ink. “A hefty fee will likely be in order for a matter that requires such delicacy.”

Axus immediately, “The coin is irrelevant. In the wrong light this whole ordeal could start a war we do not wish to finish.” More assertively, “Make sure to emphasize there will be substantial payment upon their ‘unharmed’ intervention. Nothing before, only after they arrive safely in port.” He paced the room while Johne scribed the letter.

“There is a calculated amount of risk with trusting Melacalyan.”

Axus nodded while he walked, hands patiently behind his back. “All the more reason to ensure the larger sum upon their return. A discretionary stipend will help entice our consorts with the realm.”

Another minute passed in silence while Johne meticulously scribed Axus’ intentions. Dotting the final period, Johne left the bottom of the page blank. He pushed his chair back from the desk, the grinding of wood catching Axus’ attention from his own thread of thought. Johne rose from his seat, stepping aside.

Taking Johne’s seat, Axus quietly read through the letter. With quill in hand, Axus scribbled his signature at the bottom. Resting the quill back in its place, he took his seal from a pocket at his chest; the sigil of the Terros Enclave. Each captain carried the same. He slid the wax at the edge of the table towards him, prepping the seal himself.

Once the wax had dried, a sigil hued in the darkest of pine rested over the now twice folded, rolled, letter. Axus rose, standing before Johne face to face, sealed letter in hand. “Ensure this does not fall into the wrong hands.”

Both of the men’s attention was drawn to the windows. Bells rang down in the city, echoing faintly up into the chamber. A soprano’s melody used far too often.

Axus made for the door. “The day progresses quickly, Johne.”

Johne remained where he stood. “That is does sir.”

With a hand on the door’s edge, Axus peered back in. “Will you be joining the morning’s sermon?”

Johne glanced back towards the windows. His tone level. “Once this is taken care of.”

“Good.” The door clicked shut behind Axus.

Johne placed the rolled parchment within his coat pocket, taking a seat again at the desk. He stared absently into the wall directly across for a few moments, before pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment from within the drawer.

Large doors pushed open to a crowded street. Hurried legs swept across in either direction, burying the freshly paved stone from sight. The buildings erected on the other side were impressive feats of architecture, paling in comparison to the Enclave’s Tower, but feats of prowess nonetheless. Tall solemn archways were a common sight amongst the structures, each pointing towards the heavens above. While the buildings were huddled tightly together, where sides were free, allowed for sweeping stone arced buttresses accenting the sides and pinnacles of the various shops and facilities, far less fragile than the intricacy of the designs may lead on to be. Even the window panes were forged with thickened glass, for when the time may come, they were to shatter. In spite the feel of a defensive fortress, tall glass panes were lined with filigree styled accents, offering the feel of home many often needed.

Johne stood at the top of the steps that separated him from the bustle of the street below. Gazing out absently across the street, Johne stared past the moving traffic, towards the building directly in front of him. With no change in expression, he steadily descended the steps, the bells ringing once more. He shifted through the sea of people, most of which were being drawn in by the bell’s calling.

Ascending a small number of steps Johne approached the building. Above the double doored entrance was a stained-glass display of a map with a steel-blue orb in the center. Within the orb were three large landmasses joined together at the edges in a Pangea fashion. The sea in the center caught his attention. Separating the three landmasses was a large body of water that lay at the center of the map. Johne rapped on the wooden doors, turning his gaze with the prompt response on the other side.

The texture of a worn wooden door was replaced by an aged man with thick spectacles. Bearing twelve more cycles than Johne, the cartographer’s display showed little regarding wear and tear. From short combed hair, to a freshly trimmed beard kept full, but close to the skin. The sign of age came only from the silver-white hue that had taken all the way to the roots. The hardened lines in his face, defined jawline, both unrivaled by the stern gaze that met Johne at the door.

“Captain Royhus.” The formal tone was followed by an understood silence. The cartographer allowed Johne to step inside, bolting the door shut behind him. Gerard Mercator had served the Enclave for many cycles. From service in combat, to the reconnaissance work in mapping out points of interest for both Melacalya and the Antherope Sanctum.

Johne paced the storefront, nonchalantly eying the plethora of parchment neatly organized in stacks, while others were kept rolled within shelves. Some were even pressed flat on display, protected under glass, each holding certain points of interest within the realm of Novus Terros. From a guided path that navigated Thelxiepeia’s Glacier within the Opalline Drifts, to the road taken to reach the far eastern training grounds of Aragon Heights.

“The sermon will be starting any moment.” Gerard strode behind the main desk at a steady pace, despite the quickness in his step. Gerard was garbed in a long black overcoat trimmed in ivory. A fine cut dress shirt underneath was buttoned to the collar in a lighter shade of sable.

Johne reached within his coat pocket. “Let them sing the morning psalms, this will not take much time.” Producing a rolled parchment marked with the Enclave’s seal, he held the paper between two fingers before Gerard.

Gerard nodded promptly. Leaving the attention of Johne’s outstretched hand, while he procured a small metal tube from a shelf out of sight. Taking the parchment from Johne, Gerard leaned over the glass countertop, carefully sliding the parchment to allow it to fit within the metal tube without disturbing the seal.

Around Gerard’s neck hung the pendant that marked him of the Enclave; a steel-forged spike flanked by two half circle spikes on each side. A triangular overlay clasped upon them, with three cut opening circles, each descending in diameter the higher up they were on the pendant. Fortunate for Gerard to be equally devout in the Enclave’s work as he was with his faith. “Westward bound?”

Johne nodded.

“It will be on the next flight.”

“Very good then.” Johne rapped his fingers across the glass countertop before removing himself from the table front. A final glance left Gerard fiddling with the locking mechanism fastened over the metal tube. Johne made for the door, promptly unbolting it once more.

Without pausing in the doorway, Johne closed the door tightly behind him. The morning’s air was fresh. A light mist or drizzle of rain had taken on, the crowded street all but bare. Not a soul in sight. Johne casually pulled his gloves from his pockets, taking his time while he observed the street path on either side of him. No droning of bells wailing in their attempt of major chords either.

A distinct clicking mechanism echoed behind him, and Johne stepped down the shallow steps, onto the paved street.

Little stirred while Johne walked. Tiny puddles began to form in the crevices between pavers in the stone street. Some larger in some sections versus others. Windows of the buildings he passed her locked shut or void of light within. As was supposed to be on the day of the sabbath.

One large glass pane brought Johne to a doubletake to catch his reflection. Leaning in close, Johne ran his fingers through the tips of his hair, making sure no strays escaped the clean swept back look he fashioned. Another finger ran the bottom of his chin. Clean shaven save for a small amount of scruff that grew short at the chin and around the mouth area.

He glanced over the rest of his appearance. Militant stylized leather accents on both pants and upper torso, far from fine silk a civilian might bring to a sermon. However, draped in his swamp green cloak that marked him, captain. Attire worn by the Enclave was quite common in the cathedrals.

Without another glance he turned back towards the street, continuing towards Kyan’s cathedral further down the road ahead. The rain was picking up a bit, bringing Johne to quicken his step. The cathedral itself, still a ways ahead, but its presence was impossible to miss from most points of the city.

The entrance was flanked by two large towers, each at least sixty meters high. Narrow arched windows lined themselves to the parapets, while conical designed rooftops accented each. The entirety of the display was built in limestone from the main towers and chamber, to the flying buttresses that were erected on the outside of the main chambers.

Above the main entrance was an intricate stained-glass display, a geometrical flower carved within the stone, with rose hued glass behind. Johne approached the steps with haste; Kyan’s Cathedral of Saint Cassandreya.

Two men of the Enclave armed in steel flanked the main set of doorways. Without so much a glance, one opened a creaking door allowing Johne to pass. The door closed behind him echoing throughout the corridor ribbed with archways. Boots clicked against marbled tiles while Johne progressed onwards, the delicacies of the architecture illuminated by soft candlelight every few meters.

Within a short distance, the darkness opened up to the main cathedral bringing in rays of light from either side of the window pane glass that rose from floor to ceiling on either side contrasting the columns of stone in between.

Long dark oaken benches lined the innards of the cathedral, three distinct rows angled to parallel the sides of a hex. The radiance of the stained-glass flower painted the audience in a sea of pink that danced off the white auras brought in by other windows. The centerpiece of the hall however, was the erected statue of Cassandreya, saint of Kyan, and Foundress.

Even in stone the detailed architecture was full of vibrance. From the delicate work that captured her flowing hair, to the smooth finishing touches to capture the essence beauty of the female form.

Eyes closed, the Foundress was knelt on one knee, leaning forward, high above the alter, facing the countless rows of benches in the cathedral. With her head bowed towards cupped, outstretched hands.

Johne took a deep breath, resting himself in the last row, far from the attention of the others. All eyes were drawn in to the priest before the alter, enthusiastically swaying his hands about himself while he gave his speech.

The altar he stood from seemed miniscule below the Foundress’ presence. The priest’s presence was no different save for the exuberance in his voice that swelled in crescendo with the flow of his words. Below the altar itself were an assortment of arranged flowers, freshly brought in for each sermon. Today’s batch contained various shades crimson to garnet, roses to lilies.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Johne scanned the nearly full sermon, finding Axus with his wife Marianna in the front row, a child close on each side. Scattered across the aisles in no particular location Johne paused upon each captain in turn. Picking them out by the cloaks at their backs. Some here from quite a distance away.

Residing his attention towards the priest, Johne caught a change of pace in the priest’s momentum. “…we will bring our focus today on two particular verses, of the book of Revelations 2:2, 2:3;

“I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked people, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary.”

“For us, citizens of Kyan, people of Novus Terros. Children of the Lord. What does this mean for us?” The priest took a lengthened pause between words. Scanning the aisles of the gathered, who in turn, watched silently, attentively hanging on his every word.

“Can we wait any longer? Do we still have the patience we did cycles ago? How long must we uphold our virtue, while our neighbors across the Tethys Sea praise, worship false idols? Or perhaps it is the neighbors to our north that sin beyond our comprehension?” The priest rose his voice in crescendo with each rhetoric. “Does it go unnoticed? Unpunished? Does our devout nature go unrewarded?” He paused again, scaling back his tone to a near gentle whisper. “My dear brothers and sisters, when doubt creeps in, we must merely look” - With an emphatic turn towards the statue behind him, the priest gazed up. – “Above.”

“To one who has walked the fiery coals through life, without so much a glance downwards. No matter how hot the coals burned. An unshakable faith brought her close to God, an instrument of the Lord to the very end…” The priest sunk his head low in genuine sorrow before continuing. “We can learn from Cassandreya. Not by the means by which her life was taken, but how she lived. The burden she carried. What she died for was not to be in vain. We must ask ourselves; do I doubt the Lord’s plan?”

The priest nodded solemnly. Raising an open hand high for all to see. “I have doubted. I have many steps to take in my journey upwards.” Letting the hand fall slowly to rest upon the altar. “We all have a staircase to climb.”

“Cassandreya sowed the seed, harvested through aid of her loyal husband, that they would pave the path, allowing our people to preserve our values, our beliefs, our faith in the one true God. Together, unified in their love and faith.”

“Despite all the good she did, she met her end before her time. We must never forget. Betrayed by her own people, consumed by a blaze set upon her by radicals in Basaixe. Now Melacalyan. She gave everything she had to the end, knowing deep in her heart that the Lord’s work was not done.

“And done it was not. Nor did she die in vain. For it was he, he that took the devout from Basaixe, leading them from the realm, to start a life anew in what we now call home in Novus Terros.”

“Inspired by his bold decree, true believers fled the cities of Melacalya in pursuit of what they believed. Together forming the Terros Enclave, the sword and shield of the realm.”

“Generations have come, generations have gone since her passing.” He aimed an outstretched hand towards where Axus Ryker sat. “But we need not look far for an exemplary of the future.

Returning his attention to the masses. “It will take an unyielding will to step into the chasms of chaos, with hope to emerge unscathed. For the day will come where evil will once more fall like lightning from the sky. With full conviction to reign upon all the realms for a thousand cycles.”

His voice fell to a near whisper. “The creatures to which our neighbors bow down, are living incarnate of the golden calf. They have been led astray.” A rise in crescendo again. “They have forgotten where they have come from. Yet still, the time will come, where war will fall upon the realms, while the one true God judges the righteous from the wicked.”

“The age of prophecy is coming. Where ‘he’ will indeed return to the faithful. Against feigned priests of magic, unearthly beasts; let the sirens scream, let the drums march tempo.” Stern, with conviction. “After, and only after, we shall return, home.”

Sweat beaded upon the priest’s face, glistening in the light shining down upon the altar. Motioning to the flanked rows, the priest spoke to all, “The choir will sing, the orchestra shall play, and brother Russell from Stauroledge, will serve.”

Wrapped in white, both men, women alike rose from their seats on both flanking rows of the cathedral. Organized from soprano, alto, tenor, to bass, the vocal parts were situated well acoustically. Beyond the aisles, facing both the altar and the people in the audience, an orchestra was split evenly on both sides.

The conductor dressed entirely in black, made his way to the center of the completed ensemble, just below the altar itself. With a rise of his baton, instruments rose in unison. –

With it so does Axus. Johne watched Axus rise, making his way out of the aisle. One by one, the other captains followed suit. Attentions of the masses were focused on the intro melody that the strings were providing for the choir’s coming verse. Johne rose himself, taking weighted steps while he followed the others towards the outskirts of the main hall.

One by one the captains exited through a side corridor. Johne was the last to pass through, the door closed behind him, while the choir begun the first verse of ‘Praise ye the Lord.’ The corridor was brief, leading to an isolated room for all the captains across Novus Terros.

Twelve ornate high-backed seats were symmetrically placed in a circle, the centerpiece of the room. Each were carved from dark wood, padded with the same green hue that made up the cloaks they bore. The captains that were present took their respective seats, leaving five empty chairs to remain. Two of particular note, on the right side of Axus.

Once all were seated, Axus spoke. “I apologize for the last-minute preparations for this gathering. I know some have traveled a great distance to arrive on such short notice.” He added, “On the sabbath nonetheless.”

The eldest of the lot, Captain Adriel Sudron nodded, “It is unwise to set a precedent of conducting business affairs on a day of holiness.”

Axus calmly, “I would not have brought you here if it did not require immediate attention. While we could not gather in entirety, the majority of you are here, indeed.” The other captains sat quietly, watching Axus with curiosity. “A fortnight ago an agent was sent across the border.”

Frustration stirred, audibly. The much more brash Captain Mateus Golvant, gave it voice. “Barely any of the scouts return from Melacalya. Experience has shown the risk has yet to pay off for the reward.”

Axus continued patiently, “This one was sent across the northern border.”

Mateus muttered, “Equally dangerous.”

Shooting the captain a glance, Axus continued. “This one returned, unscathed to say the least.”

The other captains fell quiet while Mateus’ voice rose, yet had clear intent to let him continue. “And at what price I wonder. Will it be pursuers that will come for him in the night? Or perhaps an all-out war from the Antherope Sanctum? It is bad enough we have fallout with Melacalya looming on our shoulders.”

Johne curtly jumped in, “You forget yourself, Mateus.”

Dismissively, the captain went on, “I forget nothing. What I remember is two of our captains taking a renegade group across the western front into the belly of the beast. There is no good to come of that.”

Captain Nicholas Paul, oft the peacemaker, attempted to soothe the outspoken captain’s temper. Cutting over a growing tension in the room. “There is nothing that cannot be undone just yet” -

Before Captain Paul could continue, Mateus jumped back in. “We simply cannot allow such blatant disrespect” -

Axus coolheaded, but stern, cut through the growing chaos, “Julius, Garrett, with all who have followed them, will pay for their treason. I will not further damage the situation by sending the Enclave off in pursuit. If it is war you fear, another squadron crossing the borders will bring it.”

The circle fell to complete silence. “I do not take my brother’s actions lightly.” Facing directly towards captain Mateus, “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. It will be a mistake one will never have the chance to make twice.”

Reluctance, resistance spilled out from within him. Within a few moments of silence, bowing his head, Mateus sunk in his demeanor. “My apologies, Axus. It will not happen again.” Such disgraceful result of allowing nonmilitary to a captain’s rank.

With a lingering glance towards the disgraced captain, Axus eventually returned his attention towards the others. “If we are done squandering over matters outside our control, I have something in our midst we can.”

Captain Samuel Merrick nodded humbly, “Please, go on.”

Axus reached behind his seat, emerging with a wooden box about half a meter in length, barely a third in width. The design was crude, but secure. Mere planks nailed tightly together. Axus walked to the center of the room, placing the box in the middle of them all. With the tips of his fingers, he removed the lid from the mysterious container.

Resting within, lay six spherical bottles transparent in nature, three-quarters filled to the cap with dense liquid that moved sluggishly within. Separated evenly, the bottles were neatly spaced in a two by three manner, packed tightly between raw straw.

Gently placing the lid down beside the container, Axus stepped back while the other captains drew in for a closer look. “This container is one of an innumerate amount contained within the armory of the Helix Cluster.” The sight of the container dropped all remnants of the previous argument.

The eerie presence of the bottles gave signs of their purpose, but the question was asked all the same. Captain Trent Zionnell, whom had served a soldier for the Enclave for many cycles, vocalized the curiosity. “In what manner are they used for?” Even in their untouched state, the liquid swirled, having moments of ruby red, circling the balance between fiery yellow to orange. Lava-like viscosity.

“An artillery weapon if it is to be believed.” Axus passed a folded set of parchments to Captain Trent. “The weapon was demonstrated before the agent’s eyes. A bottle of this liquid is thrown high into the air, at its peak, an archer fires an arrow striking the bottle, shattering the glass, sending a fiery explosion in all directions. Setting a blaze water will not quell.”

After a quick glimpse, Captain Trent folded the parchments once more, proceeding to carefully take a bottle from its resting state, holding it between his fingertips, passing the parchments on to Johne. “An armory full of these projectiles? Obtaining these must have been no easy feat, a cache in any decent magnitude would be catastrophic to anything around it.”

Johne took the parchment from Captain Trent, glimpsing over sections of the report while Axus continued recounting the summarized briefing. “The armory containing these containers is built underground, out of range of a nearby city…”

…The vendor did not discuss how he came about the container, but professed heavily its genuine origins, crafted in the armories of the Helix Cluster. The man, the vendor, was cloaked in multiple layers of leather, long black hair streaked with silver. In the brightest light, his eyes flashed the same silver hue. The lines of his face were not quite hardened, he may have held between thirty to forty cycles at most. His posture however, gave signs of training beyond his cycles. A military background for certain.

…Demonstrating a sample of the product. The man had me toss the bottle into the air with full strength. When the airborne bottle reached a certain distance away, the vendor shot an arrow from his short bow. In an explosive burst, the bottle shattered, shooting the once thick liquid to violently spurt in all directions. Any surface the liquid fell upon immediately plumed into flame. From trees, foliage, rocks, - even the surface of water.

This particular mixture is known through their realm as ‘Wyvern’s Blood.’ The guilds of Melacalya do not yet know of its existence. The guilds of the Antherope Sanctum use eneryia in its making, but a less potent variant can be created with traditional alchemy.

Formula: 46 parts pitch, 33 parts bitumen, 21 parts saltpeter. A part one more, one less, will result in an unsuccessful, possibly disastrous mixture.

Johne handed off the parchments to Samuel, bringing his attention back to the room. Mateus had found his voice again, more passive this time. “Does this have similar properties to the orb taken from the Invictus Trials?”

Johne took a bottle from the container, balancing the weight of it between his fingertips. The liquid shifted while Johne turned the bottle in his hand. Heat emitted from the bottle or more than likely the liquid itself, sending waves from the tips of his calloused fingers to the palm of his hand. How curious. “The contents here before us, are not like that contained within the orb taken from the Trials.”

Continuing to rotate the bottle, Johne gazed deeper into the ominous liquid. “The glass is much thinner, made to break. The contents within, have physical properties we can grasp.”

The agent’s report made its way back to Axus. Folding it back into his pocket, “The bottles will remain here in Kyan. Where we will have our alchemists work to break down the weapon, with intent to find a neutralizing element should this weapon ever be used against us.

Samuel gave reply, “If the guilds of the Antherope Sanctum use eneryia in its making, it is only a matter of time before the Melacalyan do the same.” Both Johne and Trent placed the bottles they held back in the container.

Axus took the container lid, carefully fitting it over the top, sealing the contents within. “Their reliance on eneryia has crippled their pursuit in the sciences. With this new information, we have an opportunity to be one step ahead for once.”

The captains rose together. Captain Trent kept the conversation going, a necessary additional point. “We should do more than pursue a neutralizing agent. We should attempt replication of our own.”

Johne nodded, “With the precise formula – even if the numbers are off, we must take advantage of this chance to enhance the militaristic applications.”

Axus made for the door, signaling for the others to follow. “Our primary concern will be the ability to defend from this newfound weapon. Once we know we can safely protect our people from these types of attacks, then we can discuss a controlled replication.”

The best defense, is a strong offense.

Returning to the Enclave’s tower, Johne passed the exit to the captain’s floor, two floors below the balcony itself. The skeletal framework mimicked the outside architecture, with exposed support beams worked into the stylized intricate details. The hallway wrapped tightly in a finite circle, with a solid core cylinder at the center. Each captain had his own office on the outskirts of the circular floor, each overlooking a different part of the city. But that view will not suffice.

Continuing along the stairwell, Johne rose to the final floor before the balcony itself of the Enclave’s Tower. The circular room was guarded by two soldiers, who did not stir from their statuesque posture while Johne passed the archway inside.

Light was scarce, save for the beams that managed to enter from the tall slits cut into the stone. Every few meters the tall narrow slits allowed in just enough light to outline the room, painting shadows of the confines within.

Symmetrically placed along the walls, evenly between window slits, lay stone pedestals with various objects resting upon them. Johne walked slowly towards the western end of the room. The particles of light dancing with the dust particles the closer he got.

On the pedestal closest beside him, lay a glass orb meticulously placed between supports on four sides. Johne watched the orb illuminate the area around it, a strand of lightning itself snaked the inner edges of its confines, erratically pulsing from side to side. Forces that move beyond our control.

Bringing his attention to the window slit, Johne watched the upper limits of the horizon. At this altitude the breeze was a cool, welcome reprieve. Johne stood silently for a few minutes, taking in the serenity, before finally the wind picked up, howling against the acoustics of the exposed window slits.

Not long after, the sight of massive wings, easily six meters in total wingspan emerged over the top of the tower. Charcoaled black at the roots, to powdered snow at the tips, the large feathers vibrated fervently in the afternoon sun. The fleet of argentavis descended over the tower, soaring the wind currents towards the western shore.

Upon each, were saddles tightly fastened to the backs of the argentavis, riders hunched over, compacting themselves to the bodies of their mounts. The pieces are in place.

You have a final opportunity to redeem yourself useful, Aidan.