Motes of dust made violet by the stained glass danced whimsically through the silent air in the sickbay of the temple of Illephrre. Breaths held and eyes darting amongst themselves, the party sat quietly after the recitation by the gnarled old Priestess. Ben felt the beast stir ever so slightly within him, and he turned his attention to the woman in dirty, grimy robes. He opened his mouth to speak, yet the sound of a cleared throat stole the moment.

“That’s not how I remember the bloody scripture,” a husky drawl from Ainsle drew the young man’s gaze.

The old Berserker sat on the cot with arms folded; her broken forearm appeared to have been healed. He glanced toward Kieran and noticed his right arm was still a stub below the elbow. The Apprentice Necromancer spoke, his brows mirroring Ainsle’s frown.

“Yes, though my exposure to the faith has been quite limited…” he raised his only hand and began to stroke his chin. “I do recall the scriptures mention the ravenous one slaying the raven, the rat, the devil, and the dragon.”

Ben noticed that his Keeper had remained silent the entire time, completely motionless. Her soft blue eyes were wide, locked onto the stained-glass mural, unblinking. He felt fear through their bond as if she worried that any reaction would invite consequences she wasn’t willing to suffer.

“Ann, what’s wrong?” the young man asked in a whisper as he tried to maintain an even voice lest he betray the degree to which he was concerned.

“False,” she said as she snapped her head to face him. Her tone was raised. Desperate, almost maniacal. “Words of the Betrayer meant to poison the faithful, and-”

“Foolish girl,” interjected Ethel, and Ben thought he heard a hint of pity in her raspy voice. She arranged wooden plates and tankards on the table as she continued. “You have the blessing of the far-seeing eye, yet you remain as blind as you were seven summers ago.”

“What happened seven years ago?” asked Ben.

Ethel, hunched over the table, tilted her head to meet Ben’s gaze with milky-white eyes. She’s blind? He thought as the woman stood still, seemingly taking his measure. “So, you’re the Candidate then?”

“He is not!” said Ann with a raised voice, her fists clenched in balls on her lap as she stared at the dirty old woman. Ben stiffened at the unusual outburst. “He is the Harbinger; I have seen him in the visions!”

“Dreams of a foolish girl wittingly twisted into a puppet by pretenders,” Ethel said calmly, almost dismissively, apparently undisturbed by the Keeper’s uncharacteristic ebullition. “Pray tell, Keeper, have you shared these ‘visions’ with your Champion?”

Ann’s nostrils flared, and her mouth opened and closed before glancing with slanted brows at Ben. He regarded the woman whose expression hinted at shame or guilt. He could recall only one instance of her sharing her vision with him, namely the pair of figures with diverging paths —the Warrior and the General— yet his memory didn’t yield any additional information. He had decided to refrain from pressing her too hard until he could release whatever grip the Speakers had on her.

He placed a bruised hand on her clenched fists after glancing at Ethel. “Annie, you don’t have to. Besides, you know I’m pretty reluctant about this whole prophecy thing anyways.”

His touch seemed to have soothed the blonde woman’s distress to a small degree. “You must believe me. It’s you. Your face, your voice. I…” she paused and winced.

“Boy,” croaked Ethel. “Do you know why they are called Keepers?”

Ben noticed June lean forward as Kieran continued his chin-stroking, apparently lost in thought. Ainsle remained impassive, her folded arms and furrowed brow observing the interaction. He regarded the woman with raised brows. “No,” he said.

Ethel straightened after completing her task; she stood eerily still as she spoke. “The Herald named the first. She was a Priestess of Illephrre said to have possessed the same gift of foresight-” the old woman tilted her head toward Ann. “-as your companion does. It is written that the Priestess could commune with Illephrre himself, and as she walked the land with the Herald, she imparted knowledge far beyond that which the people possessed at that time. A great calamity necessitated the tipping of scales, and the common folk were taught how to harness the divine essence infusing the land from the Tears in the weave.”

The old woman paused, and her blind eyes seemed to grow distant as if recalling a long-forgotten memory. “They were lovers, the two,” she said softly, wistfully, before clearing her throat. “The Keeper of Secrets and her Champion.”

Something went still within Ben, yet he couldn’t discern what it was. It was as if a constant… humming in the background was only noticed due to its absence. He frowned and regarded Ethel intently. “There’s more you aren’t telling me.”

The gnarled old woman chuckled, her sightless eyes exuded genuine amusement. “The Keeper of Secrets founded the Order of Speakers, with three High Priestesses comprising the head of the order. The Matron of the Hand, the Matron of Speakers, and herself.” Her expression grew impassive once more, and Ben detected a hint of deep fatigue in her voice as she spoke. “Teachers and figures representing the facets of our Lord of conflict, to prepare the faithful for the second coming of ruin.” Ethel stopped abruptly.

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“But?” Ben asked after a few heartbeats of silence.

“One who gazes too far into the horizon tends to be blind to her surroundings.”

The world held its breath, and Ben shivered as he felt a droplet of sweat run down the back of his neck.

Ethel continued. Her voice seemed to resonate in the taut silence. “The Lord went silent, and she knew,” she turned to face Ann with wide, milky-white eyes.

The blonde-haired woman met her gaze, blue eyes suddenly wide in understanding, her face contorted into an expression of pure horror. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she took a slow, trembling breath before speaking:

“She knew her God was dead.”

At the words, the party felt a distant rumble as if the heavens themselves cried out. A sharp intake of breath from the cot where June sat drew his attention to his Keeper, who collapsed onto the floor. Ben and the albino woman rushed to aid the unconscious woman, lifting her limp form onto the cot.

“You,” said Ethel to the young man as he leaned over his Keeper in worry. “You wield a fragment of the Lord. You have a strong claim, as you’ve been chosen by the only other Keeper to have existed —yet you walk beside your path instead of on it. An observer. Why?”

Ben clenched his jaw. “Could you give it to me straight? If you have something to say, then say it.” He stood after ensuring that Ann was settled and still breathing. “You’re implying that Ann is the only real Keeper alive?”

Ethel chuckled again. “Alive isn’t quite right, but yes, she is the second. The ones before her have been but pretenders, taking the name in title, yet not in Path.”

Ainsle shifted in her seat before clearing her throat. “So, if Ol’ Ain is getting this right,” she paused as the room's attention was drawn to her. “Miss Sunshine here is the second Keeper of Secrets, and Benny boy is a Candidate?”

“Yes,” said the gnarled old woman.

Ben considered the implication of the woman’s words for a moment. “Back in Honeydew, at the embassy, that other Priestess mentioned there being others. Other Candidates that Ann had. Is this true?”

“So many questions from one who avoids them in kind,” Ethel said mockingly.

Ben exhaled. “You asked me why I was reluctant to follow this… path. To be honest, I don’t care about your prophecy. If it's true, all it's done is cause harm to my friends and the people around me. I never asked for any of this.” He paused to consider revealing the nature of his visit to the temple. “You should know I’m only here for her,” he said as he pointed to the unconscious form of Ann.

A chill ran down his spine as he beheld his Keeper in a seemingly perpetual state of suffering at the hands of the clergy. Ainsle raised a brow at the words as if to warn him against revealing too much, yet he ignored the glare and continued. “I plan on ending your Matron of Speakers… In fact,” he glanced at Kieran. “I’ll cut through anyone here who isn’t cooperative.”

As he spoke the words, he heard the beast growl in approval.

The old Priestess seemed thoughtful for a few heartbeats. “Hmm, that is telling,” she grinned. “Spoken like a true Champion of Illephrre. Perhaps I was too hasty to judge you —one as incomplete as you are. My sight is clouded, as there can be only one at a time, so I’ll allow myself this one final blunder.”

Ben frowned at the old woman’s cryptic words and opened his mouth to speak before the ethereally motionless woman raised a hand to stem the questions on his lips.

Ethel let out a cackle, coarser and drier than Ainsle’s, yet similar nonetheless. “To answer your question, yes, there have been other Candidates here at the temple. Experiments, no, perversions by the pretenders.” She turned and walked toward the door before pausing before the entryway. “Come along, boy. Only you,” Ethel said as she left the room.

Ben glanced at Ainsle, who shrugged and tilted her head to his halberd. “I’ll see what she has to say,” he said as he retrieved his weapon from against the table, absently touching the dagger on his hip.

“Ben,” said Kieran, who had been quiet for most of the exchange. “I think she means you no harm, but I’ll come looking if you haven’t returned in an hour.”

“Me too!” added June with enthusiasm that didn’t meet her tired eyes.

The young man nodded in thanks to his companions and hurriedly went after the gnarled old woman.

He jogged a short distance before he spotted the figure of Ethel in the dim light of the hallway before the narthex. He caught up to her in the wide-open entrance room and followed as she led him through an adjacent alcove connected to descending, spiraling stairs. The echo of his boots against the smooth steps rang in his ears.

After several moments, the pair arrived in what appeared to be an abandoned living quarters. The moderately sized room had a single stained window, its depiction long ago faded. Based on his rough estimate of their orientation, the windows —in the living quarters as well as the sickbay— faced out from the cliffside of the mountain. It appeared as if the room hadn’t been used for a significant period of time, as the single bed against the wall was draped with dirty, moth-eaten bedding.

Ethel stood in the middle of the room and turned to face him. “This is the only place in the temple where they can’t hear us. My final working before my magic was stripped from me.” The gnarled old woman pointed to runes etched into the stone in a wide circle on the ceiling. “It’s old enough that nobody alive should be able to dispel it without removing this part of the mountain,” she grinned.

“Okay. So, what’s so important that you had to bring me here?” replied Ben as he tilted his head upward to gaze at the alien markings in the stone. Suddenly, a violent headache slammed into his skull before he dipped his eyes, hand against his temple, to see Ethel’s mocking grin.

“Foolish or brave. Which one is it? To read ancient runes without understanding.” She cackled.

Ben grunted in frustration, the headache not abating. “What do you want?” he said, the discomfort leaking into his voice.

Ethel’s chuckle slowly died down, and she fixed Ben with a grin.

“You plan on wresting your Keeper from the clutches of the pretenders?”

Ben nodded; the throbbing ache in his temples clouded his perception of whether or not the question was loaded.

Her voice rasped as she spoke.

“Let me teach you how to kill the worms of Nachanu.”