Secrecy shrouds the Sanctuary's history. From the outside, one truth stands unchallenged: whatever happens within its walls is not meant for the rest of the world to know. In fact, perhaps it is better not to know.
Knowledge, as much as it is power, can be dangerous, as often it is better not to know what you need not know.
Still, the imagination of outsiders inevitably stirs. They theorize about what transpires beyond the walls, piecing together ideas from the only visible clues: towering barriers and a grand building without windows. Every inch of its surface is etched with intricate engravings, their meaning a puzzle. They do not recount legends or histories easily understood. These markings feel purposeful, yet their intent is enigmatic—perhaps a reflection of the Universal Truth’s guarded culture or their affinity for mysticism. Perhaps, one could speculate, the engravings are pure abstraction: an artful obfuscation that holds no literal meaning, yet compels one to wonder.
And yet, even if their meaning is undecipherable, intent must exist. Human hands rarely create without purpose, even if that purpose is buried in the subconscious. The universe may move without rhyme or reason, but humans seldom act without some guiding will.
The structure itself is unassuming in its height, barely rising above the walls that enclose it. A curious choice. Wouldn’t a towering spire better suit an institution claiming superiority in knowledge? Such a monument could loom above the city as a declaration of dominance, an undeniable symbol of hierarchy. Instead, the Sanctuary hides in plain sight. Its walls serve as a physical and symbolic veil, shielding what lies within from prying eyes. Even the engravings, mesmerizing as they are, seem designed to distract—a riddle to absorb attention, diverting the mind from the possibility of greater puzzles concealed inside.
Or perhaps it is simply that—a book with an alluring cover, forbidden to open. One can only wonder if the contents live up to the mystery of the exterior—or if the intrigue is nothing more than a facade designed to captivate the curious while guarding nothing of substance.
Such things Kanrel wondered as he stood before the gates. Waiting for someone, anyone, to open them and let him inside. This was all the guidance that he had been given: “Get your notes and things that you might need and wait at the entrance; they will open them for you, and your guide will do the rest.”
Not many people walked past here. It was as if they tried to avert being so close to it. Was it fear that made them look past the Sanctuary? A simple fear of the unknown. There were the walls that surrounded it, and none knew what happened inside.
It was an empty, wide street that worked as a great carpet for the entrance. It was clean; it was silent. When Kanrel looked to either side, at the intersections of the road, he could see people going by, living their lives, not giving a thought to what had passed or who might stand where he now stood. Their lack of curiosity felt strange. Isn’t that which causes fear in us often the one thing that makes us the most curious? What might there be in a vast forest? Will wolves come to find me at the end of the day? Will they hunt me? Will they feast upon my corpse? Or, is there peace in that forest? Could it be that one could observe their own mind and leave behind that which they so fear? The forest became less scary; the wolves were never there, and I lost my fear.
A sound cracked the silence and cut it in half as the solid stone doors opened before him. A blue hue blinded him for a moment, and a figure veiled in darkness stood before him. The light dissipated; it lost its potency, and the figure now had a face: a gloomy expression of someone who was forced to do an errand they’d rather not partake in.
Vaur’Kou’n was, by all means, unhappy, and he felt his right to express it to the world with a simple scoff and the words that followed, ”And I had hoped you wouldn’t show up.”
Kanrel opened his mouth to give a reply, but the Atheian raised his hand to stop him. ”Get in. Spare me the clever remarks—I’ve no patience for them. And would rather not waste my time on such things—things that could make me less likely to help you find that which you desire to learn.” Thick contempt laced his voice.
Kanrel didn’t know why such a reaction, but he could guess. The poor Atheian might have to spend the whole year within the Sanctuary in the company of a hairy monkey he wasn’t too fond of.
So he stepped inside, past Vaur’Kou’n, and the door that had come apart became whole again, solid stone covered with engravings. And what he found on the other side was a section before the Sanctuary itself. The stone floor was covered with lines and shapes that connected with the engravings on this side of the walls as well as the building before them. There was no ’logic’ to it or pattern, at least not one that Kanrel could find so easily; perhaps the randomness—the chaos of it—was the pattern. But that was only the second thing that he saw.
There were globes that levitated above the ground. A dark substance. Smooth and perfect. It had no reflection; it had no shadow… It was black, dark—an absence, a void that seemed to devour the space it occupied. It was the lack of something.
He stared at it, and he could not look away. It felt lonely; it felt like a great mist that inhabited his mind at times; it was cold, it was empty, it was… horrible. It was the death of a loved one. It was the death of a dream he had once had.
Yet another scoff broke this moment, these feelings that surged and tried to conquer his mind: ”We all see something within it, and always it is certainly different. It isn’t that it is its purpose; it isn’t meant to show us anything grand or mysterious; it only shows us what we have within.” Vaur’Kou’n explained.
”I wonder what you saw, Darshi, if anything at all..." He then muttered and grabbed Kanrel’s arm and pulled him with him toward the second set of doors, and even then Kanrel could not look away, for he felt a wound within that had not fully healed, one from so long ago that now hurt the same way it had hurt back then. They entered, and at last, the globe of lack of something was blocked from his view. The walls of the building now veil the visions of the outside; the globes were just a warning; the forest was getting darker, and now, Kanrel was certain that the forest was one filled with wolves.
”Why must I drag you as well? Can’t you find direction on your own? Have you always been so lost?” Vaur’Kou’n complained as they went deeper in and their steps echoed as they walked through a dark entrance to a larger hall that felt to exist for the leisurely side of things. The smell of food filled the air. There were tables in the middle of this hall, and many Atheians sat around them; they ate, and some seemed to read as they ate; some were immersed in deep conversations, and others in the creation of intricate magical devices, be they ’simple’ spells or actual magical devices the likes of which Kanrel had never seen before.
Some raised their gazes from whatever they were doing and saw Vaur’Kou’n and the human he dragged along. Their gazes filled with both curiosity and absolute disregard, at times within the eyes of the same person. How could one be so conflicted between these two emotions simultaneously?
They walked into the middle of this hall, where Vaur’Kou’n raised his voice and declared, ”Behold! A man!” The hums of conversations stopped and now even the rest of those immersed in their own doings found their gazes pointed at Kanrel, whose arm Vaur’Kou’n had lifted.
Deep within such a forest, there are two kinds of wolves: those that are in your head, the ones that devour your mind and bring forth fear that you cannot control, and then the ones that now surround them and peer at him with their hungry eyes, filled with curiosity and disregard for his humanity.
But a silence, one filled—not with shock or confusion—with a question soon asked by one of the many Atheians present, one who sat at a table, a tray of food before them, ”Really now?”
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
A snort followed, ”If this is a man, I can only be disappointed.” They shook their head and got up. They walked before Kanrel and let their eyes examine the human before them.
”Curious decision, to bring something so peculiar yet useless to a place so sacred.” They spoke, and as they did, it sounded like they were thinking out loud and nothing more, just stating thoughts as they entered their mind, ”Here, we are all equal; the one place in our society where there are no serfs or nobles, no poor or rich, no old nor young; we do not even discriminate based on one’s health. After all, here, we are all just Atheian…" As they spoke, they brought their hand to Kanrel’s chin and gently tilted his head from left to right, in the end returning it where it was before.
Their hand fell down. ”It isn’t so any longer.”
”You don’t belong here, Darshi. Here, you are as if a deviant, a nonbeliever amongst the pure, a predator to knowledge none should ever give you or entertain the idea of giving you. You are dangerous, even if you hold on to your facade of purity.” They spoke and chuckled, ”I wonder, will you corrupt us with your lust for knowledge, or will we, in the end, devour you before you devour us?”
A wry smile garnished the face of the Atheian, their gray skin glistened beneath the blue light that descended from above. ”What did you see, Darshi? What did you see when faced with nothing?”
A question Kanrel wasn’t allowed to answer, as the figure before them offered their hand to him, ”I heard that even your people know the benefits of a proper greeting paired with an introduction…”
”Allow me to do just that.”
”Here, where we are supposedly equals, I shall give you no titles, only a simple name…”
”You shall call me Mu’u Tou’t.” They announced and awaited for the human to grab their hand, which Kanrel did, even when cold sweat ran down his back, followed by shivers that went up his spine. Their hands touched; theirs so warm, Kanre’s so cold.
Mu’u Tou’t’s wry smile sharpened as an edge entered their pale blue eyes. Their hands soon separated, and Kanrel was unable to say for certain if the Atheian he had just shook hands with had said even a single truth. Even their name felt like a lie, as what it meant when translated was ’what truth?’
Kanrel lay down on his new bed, finally in a room that would have most felt like home to him. It was almost exactly like his room at the Academy of the Heavenly. Small, uncomfortable, with an even more uncomfortable bed; a small table with a shelf above it, and a ceiling that, no matter how long he stared at it, refused to become apart, to fracture and change, to be something else than what it already was.
Inside, there were no engravings to garnish the walls; rather, everything seemed so dull. This wasn’t a place to appreciate the complexities of architecture or art, at least when it came to the usual things one could call art. Here, the only art was the arcane, as they called it. The weaving of complex magical mechanisms, be they, what Kanrel would call codes, and they ’sequences of actions made with magic’ or a device that, with the turning of cogs and wheels, meant to apparently show the time, as it were—all with magic.
Time. Indeed, time. It had barely been the first day, and they had run around the Sanctuary, sometimes leading and sometimes being dragged by Vaur’Kou’n, who would give, at times, long-winded explanations of the things that were around them and, at other times, laconic and sparse words of other things. He would go into great detail about a thing that had happened near or in the library during his ”studies” but would give little detail about the library itself. And when Kanrel had tried to ask questions about, for example, the library, Vaur’Kou’n would instead go into further detail about the funny thing that happened years or decades ago.
This tour had ended in this very room; the captain had led him in and closed the door behind him, not saying another word, not bidding a good night, nor giving any word of what they might do tomorrow, or when, or where. Nothing, just nothing.
So far, the Sanctuary had given him only one definite answer: he did not belong here. He was an invader, a demon who was a threat to the sanctity of their recluse. Someone, who better leave sooner rather than later. For if he did not, the wolves would surely devour him first.
Perhaps he should’ve never sought entrance. Perhaps, he should’ve just entered the veil with the limited information that he now had. This or that. He was certain that he would regret both.
He closed his eyes, as the ceiling remained the same; it would not change; it would remain dull and cold, just a place where one would lose their sight, a place on which one would paint their own emotions, doubts, and worries, and if one were lucky, their dreams and hopes. Most aren’t so lucky.
And what he saw on that ceiling, wasn’t just its dullness, but what he saw within the nothing; the dark globe. Cold, empty and so very lonely. Why must dreams die?
Ash traversed the streets of an empty city; great towers ruined and brought to rubble, walls once high and mighty now just a memory of safety. A labor of love disgraced and left at the mercy of erosion; a proclaimed freedom left to rot.
He stood alone on such a street and looked ahead. Remembering what once had been. He had built this city; he had made it great. He had given freedom to all men and life to those who were destined to die. A merciful god, who had led his people to a haven, where they all might live in bliss and peace; no longer would wars and the ills of gods dictate their lives, for they were free to live and die as they pleased.
Yet, it was all in ruins. Empty. Dead. A graveyard of hope. Of freedom and salvation.
He shook his head in shame. What had they done? What had we done? Aren’t we not to blame?
The golden sun laid its warm rays upon his skin of scales. A golden butterfly flew past him, so free and beautiful, to flutter without a thought of fear or an understanding of who you are; there are no doubts. It was free as it flew. It was free, as it died.
The butterfly scorched by flames fell to the ground and became one with the rubble.
He had done so to so many of them. Not butterflies such as the one that now lay on the cobbles of the street, but his people, them too he had scorched; them too, he had murdered.
So lonely was the corpse of the butterfly, but the ash took it with it, and the wind carried away the dead.
”Ash, just ash—our words and those we were supposed to lead and protect…” He looked at him, and our eyes met as he asked, ”I wonder when given all the choices a man could make, would you choose goodness or the comfort and ignorance of blissful evil?” The wind grew greater, a howl that pierced the ears with its sound, and ash covered everything that one could see…
A violent cough that felt like it would rip either his throat or lungs apart woke him up. His room was filled with a terrible smell, and his vision was made hazy by what seemed like smoke. Kanrel looked for the cause of this smoke, the cause of his discomfort. Was it fire? Was the whole damn place aflame?
He frantically looked around his little room and soon found the cause of all of this. Vaur’Kou’n sat not too far away from him, with a pipe in his hand; they inhaled deeply and blew smoke at Kanrel’s face. The smell was disgusting, thick and foul, a musty smell.
”Took you long enough.” Vaur’Kou’n said after a while, ”It feels like I’ve been sitting here for hours. There really isn’t anything more boring than looking at you, you see.”
”And I think I know this better than most. You are quite dull. And I don’t just mean your monkey brain under that hairy monkey scalp of yours.”
”It is just that… You must be quite average for a human, look-wise, I mean. You aren’t ugly enough to be interesting because of it, nor are you a considerable beauty, not even in an exotic sense. Instead, you are as dull as your personality… Like the taste of room temperature water.” Vaur’Kou’n explained and took another long hit from his pipe; he blew the smoke at Kanrel, which caused another fit of coughs.
”Get up, will you? Or shall I insult you the rest of the day? We can do that as well; I have much to say, you see, but it would instill within me great boredom, as I know for a fact that you’re far too afraid to utter even a singular response.” The Atheian sighed, ”Dull, indeed.”
Kanrel got up and sat on the edge of the bed; he closely peered at the Atheian. ”I never expected this from you,” he said.
”This?” Vaur’Kou’n asked.
Kanrel produced a smirk. ”This level of enthusiasm. There has never been anyone, not Darshi or Atheian, who has awaited me to awake, just to spend the day with me.”
”If I could feel touched, I am certain that I would be. I wonder… would I feel loved?” He asked and got up from the bed, promptly leaving his little chamber, where an Atheian sat coughing his lungs out.