The midday sun bathed the ostentatiously massive white temple in blinding light, and the pale blue sky, dotted with grey clouds, spoke of a cruel winter to come. Large, impossibly tall marble pillars supported a half-spherical roof of the same marble material. The structure's walls were decorated with motifs of a voluptuous, nude woman holding tufts of wheat in her hands, clasped close to her breasts. The party of three approached white steps that seemed to span the entire perimeter of the building dedicated to the worship of the Goddess, Iorilai.

A chill breeze caused Ben’s cloak to flutter, yet he could not draw his attention away from the sickening tremor he felt pervade his being. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to dispel the nausea welling up in his stomach. The young man felt the Keeper’s presence and almost instinctively called out to her before he opened his eyes to find the blonde-haired woman’s soft gaze meeting his.

“Is everything all right?” Ann asked with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Yeah,” Ben lied, more to himself than the Keeper. “Let’s go meet this scholar.”

Kieran’s rambling had droned on in the background as he continued up the steps, lost in his lecture. Ann nodded, her frown suggesting that she was unconvinced of Ben’s assurances, and gestured for them to follow the red-haired Caster. The young man complied and approached the polished marble steps. A subtle ringing in his ears grew in intensity with each step he climbed toward the temple until the sound became deafening. Upon reaching the apex of the climb, the ringing in his ears and looming nausea abruptly vanished, and the beast went quiet. A chill ran down the young man’s spine.

A large, curved archway led into the surprisingly spartan temple. Plain wooden benches sat neatly in several rows opposite the entrance, and long opaque windows let in the pale midday light to bathe a similarly plain, unadorned marble altar near the far wall. The sheer size of the nave and the lack of activity surprised Ben. He saw a woman wearing a simple beige robe made of rough fabric, sweeping the floor between the benches, and Ben recognized the garb as the same which Ann had worn upon their meeting in Moonvale.

“…essence relating to, and contradicting, the established-” the red-haired man’s lecture was interrupted by Ben, who placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Kieran, thank you. I’m a bit overwhelmed at the moment, but I’m interested to hear more when we have time.” He gestured with an open palm to several archways occupying the walls perpendicular to the altar. “Where to?”

The bronze-skinned man ran his hand through messy red hair and replied without missing a beat. “Yes, of course. This way.” He pointed to an archway to their left and led the pair into a dark, narrow corridor that ended in a winding stairway made of the same polished, white marble.

After the party had climbed several floors of stairs, they arrived at a landing that spread out to a balcony overlooking the wooden benches on the ground floor. In groups of two and three, several people leaned against a railing supported by slender pillars of white stone and spoke in hushed conversations. Kieran walked to a seemingly random plain wooden door amongst many that adorned the wall beside the stairway’s archway and turned to address the young man and the blonde-haired woman.

“We’re here. Please don’t make any sudden loud noises. Master Jared may be sickly, yet the unknown affliction hasn’t completely diminished his power.” He grimaced and inspected his hands before continuing. “He’s been a bit… paranoid recently.”

Ben nodded, and Ann remained silent at the warning. Kieran turned and made to knock on the door before being interrupted by a warm, even-toned voice.

“Master Jaste,” said an old man wearing white, flowing robes embroidered with golden swirling vines at the hems and neck. He approached the Caster, paying no attention to the young man and the blonde Keeper. “Master Durrene is currently resting. I can’t allow visitors at this time, seeing as it may cause undue stress on his weakening condition.”

Kieran frowned and met the man’s gaze. “He’s been expecting us, your Grace,” he said in a cold tone that was a contrast to the respect of the address. “We won’t be bothering him for too long.” He turned to open the door, yet the man insisted.

“Need I remind you that your antics yesterday evening were very counter-productive to his treatment? We had to administer a sedative draught after the Acolytes caught him trying to sneak out of the temple in his sleeping attire.”

Ben regarded the man with wrinkled skin and balding, white, wispy hair and felt a nagging in the periphery of his mind. Ben thought he was obviously someone important in the clergy, yet his presence felt… insignificant compared to his own.

He turned to Ann, who had a similar frown of suspicion on her brow, before willing the emotions of frustration and the fear of betrayal, what he believed to be an approximation of the feeling of suspicion, through their bond. The Keeper met his gaze with a sideways glance and dipped her head slightly in affirmation.

Kieran froze and frowned at the man’s words. “High Priest Xavier... You’re saying that he can walk?”

The robed man hesitated for a heartbeat. “To call it walking would be a generous assessment. Regardless, I’m going to have to ask that you and your companions leave.” Ben felt a warm, soothing calm settle on his shoulders, and the hairs on his arms prickled before the old man added, “You could come back tomorrow. Perhaps the Archmage would have recovered enough to receive visitors.”

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Ann stepped closer to stand beside the young man and brushed the back of his hand with hers. Immediately, the warmth and feeling of contentment receded. His eye twitched, and cold anger began to brew in the pit of his stomach.

“Now. If you wouldn’t mi-” began the High Priest before he was interrupted by the young man who cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” Ben said, tone firm. The old man turned to the tall, lanky man with an annoyed wrinkle of his nose before his expression grew apprehensive at Ben’s cold gaze. “I’ve traveled a long way to meet this man. And it seems like everyone and everything has gotten in my way.” He paused and tried to stifle his roiling anger toward the Priest for attempting to control his emotions with what he assumed was Aura magic. “Whatever you’re doing and whatever your reasons are-”

“You’re addressing a High Priest of the Goddess, Iorilai. You should learn to hold your tongue when in the presence of your betters.” The old man spat an interruption.

Ben took a deep breath and felt the implied insult wash away with a chill breeze. He turned to his Keeper. “Annie, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The blonde-haired woman dipped her head and faced the old man with a grin. “Of course, my Champion.”

“Champion? Don’t be ridiculous!” the High Priest exclaimed incredulously before his eyes widened in terror, and he fell to his knees. He let out a chilling wail and began to claw at his eyes, fingernails leaving trails of crimson tears that stained his immaculate white and golden robes.

A cold wind buffeted the young man, and the familiar tingle in the back of his throat spoke of his Keeper’s mastery of her discipline. The faithful on the balcony turned toward the haunting sound. Some fled, yet others remained, morbidly fixated on the old man who writhed on the ground. Ben lifted a hand, and Ann bowed before taking a step back. He felt the tempestuous wind on his being begin to recede.

Kieran, who had remained silent during the display of force, stood with arms folded and regarded the whimpering old man on the smooth marble floor. He lifted his gaze to meet Ben’s and nodded. “We should get Master Jared out of here.”

Ben returned the nod and placed a hand on Ann’s shoulder, who positively vibrated at the contact while looking up at him with dreamy eyes. “Thanks, Annie,” he said, hoping his Keeper would understand that he had made a request and had not given an order. “Are you all right to cast your regenerative Aura while we move the Archmage?”

The blonde-haired Keeper blinked and hesitated as if it were the most ridiculous question she’d ever heard. “Certainly, my heart. You have only to instruct me, and I will do your bidding.”

Ben clenched his jaw. “No, I’m asking you. Not commanding you.” His tone was as firm as it had been upon addressing the High Priest.

Ann chewed her lip and seemed to be at a loss for words. “Of course… Ben,” she said.

Kieran crouched in front of the trembling old man and reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a ring of worn keys. “We don’t have much time. The War Clerics should arrive at any moment,” he said in a hushed panic. Kieran stood as he sorted through the assortment of keys; a rattling and clinking of iron betrayed his shaking hands. He grunted in frustration as he threw the keys to land with a thud and clink against the High Priest's ribs, eliciting a moan from the balled-up old man.

He turned to the door and pointed a finger at the keyhole before muttering under his breath. “Bone shard.”

Ben saw the tip of the red-haired Caster’s finger burst open in a spray of blood, and the phalange of the pointed digit shot forth. The tiny bone destroyed the lock with a loud thwack, and the door began to creak open slowly. The party hurried inside the room to find an old man dressed in a plain white tunic and trousers sitting on a small straw cot. A simple table stood at the foot of the bed with the familiar assortment of incandescent vials and bottles. A small, opaque window, crisscrossed with wrought iron bars, let in a ray of pale light to illuminate Archmage Jared Durrene.

“Apprentice,” the Necromancer said in a wheezing voice, “that was the worst application of Bone Shard that I have been unfortunate enough to experience in my century on this Gods forsaken world.” The old man regarded Kieran intently and clicked his tongue, ignoring the lanky, bearded man and the short, blonde-haired woman in the room. “I expect a dissertation on the appropriate use of Journeyman tiered spells, and alternative problem-solving methods, without resorting to the sacrificial branch of said tier, on my desk in the morning.” The old Necromancer stroked a long snow-white beard and hummed an affirmation to himself.

Ben turned with a slackened jaw to Ann, who shrugged. Kieran seemed to cringe at the tongue-lashing.

“Yes, Master Durrene,” the red-haired Apprentice replied with a wince. “Master,” he continued, “we should leave this temple. It’s not safe here.”

“What do you mean, young man?” the Archmage replied, wispy white eyebrows raised at his Apprentice’s sudden change in tone. “And you, milady, such a substantial well of power you have… Whom might you be?” he faced the Keeper, and Ben saw milky-white eyes regard Ann keenly.

He’s blind?

“Greetings, Archmage. I am Ann Blackwood, Keeper and former Priestess of Illephrre.” Ann spoke with a formality that Ben hadn’t heard in what seemed like ages.

The old man’s smile grew, and he became animated. “A real Keeper?” He beamed as he asked himself. “Yes. Both in title and Path. What an exciting turn of events! First, my Apprentice informs me that a real Old Worlder walks the land and is in the city. Would you believe that? A living, breathing, Old Worlder.” He turned to Kieran as he attempted to stand. “Apprentice! Take me to the Old Wor-” he wheezed and broke into a coughing fit.

Kieran rushed to his side; brows furrowed in consternation. “Master, please, let me help you.”

“Nonsense!” the old man protested between coughs. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Master…” Kieran trailed off as the Archmage struggled to stand on weak legs.

Ben cleared his throat, and the old man froze and went silent. “Archmage Durrene, my name is Ben. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a while, but we should really get out of here.”

The Archmage’s brow furrowed. “Ben? The Old Worlder?!” he exclaimed and grinned manically. “Of course! Yes, of course, the Old Worlder would be a Null!.”

Kieran gasped. “Master! It’s mana-insensitive,” he reprimanded the old man.

“Yes, yes…” the Archmage dismissed before pausing to consider something. “For the sake of expediency, I think it would be prudent for you to assist my flight from this nest of zealots.”

Kieran sighed in relief and glanced at Ben with brows slanted. Ben joined the tall, handsome man on the opposite end of the awkwardly short and frail Archmage. The young men supported the old man with his arms around their shoulders, and the party made for the exit of the small room. The Archmage seemed to have had enough excitement for the day as he hung limply, unconscious, between the young men.

“How many of the bastards are inside?” a gruff voice was heard from beyond the broken door.