Searching the streets, Zan found many holy spaces. All of which were closed. A sign reading "Closed for Festivities" came to represent icons of false hope. Zan continued his search. Though he considered asking people for places of holy intent, everyone around him was too intoxicated, so he did not bother trying. They wouldn't know what he was talking about anyway, assuming he found a way for himself to be heard above the racket.

Finally giving in to himself, Zan covered his ears with his hands to block out the larger-than-life sounds of too many people partying. Finding a city guard near the edge of a large gathering, Zan got his attention, removed his hands from his ears, and asked, "Good sir! Is there a holy space close which focuses on the self?"

Although the guard looked at Zan he did so uncomprehendingly. Zan tried again. And once more, the guard blinked. This time he cupped his ear in the universal gesture asking for Zan to repeat himself. City or rural, Zan had seen that gesture many times in his youth. For Zan was not good at expressing himself. Getting in close to the guard and yelling, Zan repeated himself for a third time, saying, "Holy space -- focus on the person?"

Practically yelling this time, Zan made himself be heard. The guard replied, "Oh! Why didn't ye say so?!" His voice was booming and easily cut through the roar of the festival. "Just follow the roads until you see the white bricks."

Zan thanked the man for his time and went off. He recovered his ears to deafen the sound.

White brick? Zan asked himself. What was that all about?

Though Zan had never heard of white brick denoting holy spaces, what would he know? As a country bumpkin, very little. His community priest had come to him and his village during the peace. Walking along the jostling winding streets, Zan felt very lonely and stupid. Ignorant. He felt like spending his whole life in the tiny hamlet of his abandonment was a mistake he had no control over. Oh! To start again, but to be born into an urbanite family with means! To dream...

Wandering for over an hour, Zan found no white bricks. Since the crowd had thinned some, he tried asking some people. As he thought earlier, unfortunately, everyone he asked was drunk or high on some drug. At a point, Zan wondered if every city slicker always stayed so intoxicated. How would they get their business done? Zan asked himself as he received increasingly unhelpful answers which ranged from the annoying ("WHAT?!") to the tedious ("Get away, you street rat!"). At a point in the night and by the grace of another guard's meandering route, Zan learned he was getting close to the professional district. "Continue that way," a guard told him. "You'll know if you're going the right way because you won't see any of the fun!"

"Fun?!" Zan yelled back.

"The people!" the guard said.

"Thank you!" Zan told the guard as he broke away. He recovered his ears and skittered off like a mouse looking for cheese.

Fun? People? Did that guard think people were fun? That wasn't Zan's prerogative or view. If the guard meant 'fun' as in being one-in-the-same with the festival, then why not merely say 'continue going in so-and-so direction until the crowd thins. Then you will be in the professional district.' What was so hard about that?

This time, Zan was not led astray; despite the swarm remaining boisterous in degrees he didn't favor, the guard had not lied. In the professional district, not even half of the people remained as were in the hospitality district. With less of the cacophony, Zan could finally take his hands off his ears without fear of having his eardrums blasted out. Once he took his hands from his side, a shiny took his attention on the ground. He scooted in closer to see a white brick.

'That's what I am looking for!' Zan exclaimed to himself.

Looking around, he saw no places of business which were open. It wasn't as though Zan expected any places of business to be open, but still. If this was where the holiest of spaces were centered, then why wouldn't any of them be open to the public?

As Zan thought on this question, he heard yet another racket during a night which already exceeded Zan limit on racket by whole oceans. He moved away from the sound -- or what he thought was 'away.'

Alas, his senses were slightly scrambled. Not only from the sensory loaded evening but from his exertion during the day. Incidentally, Zan collided right into the source of the noise. "Sorry!" Zan yelped.

Looking at who he ran into, Zan guessed the man was in his mid-thirties. His facial hair looked demure but youthful with thin black strands coating his face in a respectable style. On the ground all around were papers the man was handing out. Zan helped the man pick the papers up. He saw on the papers many words but also tiny images with arrows and drawings. His intrigue captured, Zan asked the man what he was doing.

"I'm handing out fliers for my church. I am part of a group who advocates for religious practice as a part of daily life. We honor all the gods, not only a handful or a pantheon," the man explained.

Zan's face lit up. "Exactly what I am looking for!" He yelled, not realizing his voice had grown in stature. "What are these images?"

The man looked at Zan with a face as bright and said, "The images are for those people who can't read. I give them a mini-lecture, hand them a paper, and if I do my lecture right, I hope they can intuit the images as being a transcript of my lecture."

"That's very neat. I can't read myself so this would be useful for me. Are you the head priest?" Zan asked.

"I am the head priest, yes. I don't want to come off as holier-than-thou, so I should say I am new in all aspects of faith and argumentation. I only just arrived out from seminary," the priest said.

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An honest man? Zan liked. "Can we talk in a quiet place?" Zan asked.

"Absolutely," the priest said. "Follow me to my church."

Like a puppy, Zan followed. The priest brought him back to an entirely white-painted mudbrick building. Unlike many church constructions which were fashion, if what Zan saw around him was any indication, this building's exterior lacked any steeples or ghoulish gargoyles. It was a plain, white building. It stood out like a sore thumb, nestled between so many places which could afford design and color, yet Zan liked the building. It was simple. It stood for something, he felt.

Entering, Zan saw a series of small circular tables filling a large room. With several chairs to a table, Zan estimated there had to be room for a few dozen people. The priest took a seat at a table and Zan joined him, opting to sit close.

"Before we begin, we should exchange names. Mine is Penne. What is yours?" the priest asked.

"I'm Zan," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Zan. What is on your mind?" the priest said, conversationally.

"Much. But I am not here to dish about my personal problems. Not today. I want to talk about the nature of the gods," Zan told the priest and then told Penne about his experience while unconscious. Remembering at the last moment social etiquette, Zan said, "It's nice to meet you, Penne," though he knew it came out sounding like a husked secret whispered by a ghost.

Penne smiled and said, "Wow! Quite the story! Geez... where do I even begin?"

Musing, Penne kept quiet for a moment. He started to hum and mumble to himself. Clearly, he was in deep thought.

Zan took the chance to say, "No rush. I have all night."

Chuckling again, Penne said, "Let's start here. With the prophecy, stuff. It is not the easiest thing to tell if someone is birthed with a prophecy. Thankfully, there is a tried-and-true route to discovering prophetic entanglements. It's called an Equalization Ceremony. Any religious institution of a certain size should be able to conduct such a ceremony. A church head or high-priest, or even a talented and well-trained secondary priest, could lead you through the ceremony. Unfortunately, I do not believe there is anyone in Hope-Ridge capable of conducting such a ceremony for you."

Hearing Penne speak, Zan's face showed his disappointment.

"Ah, don't be discouraged, my boy. I can call for a priest from my order. He will come at a time ripe for him and he will conduct the ceremony when the time is right. If you don't mind waiting," Penne said.

Elated, Zan said, "That would be great! Thank you! I do mean it."

"No problem at all. My church's high priest has not been to Hope-Ridge in a long time, so they are overdue. No problem at all. They will come, conduct your ceremony, and then spend far more time than they would like tending to the spiritual health of this city. Two birds, one stone, as they say."

"A cruel saying," Zan remarked off-handedly.

"I won't argue there. Though I will say, perhaps it is not cruel, per se? Maybe it marks the smart hunter? Everyone must eat."

"True. I have killed animals. For food and to make goods from their bodies. I do not like killing, though."

Penne sighed and said, "Who does?" As if he was thinking of a time long ago.

Waiting for Penne to speak more about his situation, Zan did not realize Penne was waiting for him to speak. Thus, they stood staring at each other for a long while, Penne waiting for Zan to speak, and Zan waiting for their interlocuter to speak.

Finally realizing what was happening, Penne took control of the situation and said, "I will put in that request, then. It will take a long time for the priest to come. Is there a way for me to contact you? Do you live in town or outside?"

"I live outside of town," Zan replied. "If it will take a while for him to come, should I simply check in from time-to-time?"

"That sounds fine. I will send off for the priest. You will come and check in on his status. If you miss the priest's arrival, though, I cannot say he will be back again anytime soon or if he would even be willing to conduct the ceremony after having missed it once already. Be punctual!" Penne warned.

Assuring him he would not miss it, Zan laid emphasis on how he would not be a stranger. To emphasize the point, his headset system notified him. [Journal Updated: Wait for and Check-in on Priest. Locale: Hope-Ridge]

Journal? Zan asked himself. What was that about? As he talked with Penne, he tried to activate the journal feature, but he couldn't. It required too much of his concentration. Whenever he gave mental impulses to activate the system and brought up his HUD menu, though he saw the 'scroll icon' within the row of icons at the center-bottom of his display, opening it required more effort than he could spare while he still talked with Penne.

So, he did what he had to and said to Penne, "Can you give me a moment? Just a moment of silence. I'm sorry. It's a head thing..."

Penne did not find this as abrasive as Zan thought he might find it. Normally, when he asked adults to give him a moment, he quickly learned why a teenager should never ask an adult to give him a moment -- because they didn't like it. Yelling, cussing, was what Zan typically experienced in his village. With the priest, he had but a warm glow to give.

Focusing again on the book icon, Zan 'opened' the small book-looking image.

Now his HUD showed not the statuses and conditions of his squad, along with the other information normally displayed when he focused, such as Power Levels, the map-in-miniature, and his headset picking up on rapidly moving objects and animals as objects of note, but with merely three scroll icons. Focusing on the one scroll a voice read out for him [War Journal] while the other scroll denoted [Order Journal]. The third scroll simply read [Personal].

Picking the war journal, Zan's vision filled with a vaguely book-like veneer which simulated how a book or scroll appeared while reading from it. What was on the veneer was a record of Zan's actions. He knew this because, despite the many, many words he did not know, the System read to him each and every word. He did not listen to the record in its entirety, but skipping around, the record went from his discovery of the command center, through every battle he ever participated in, and right up until recently with the airship confrontation.

Zan de-activated the scroll. He 'went back' to the default screen which showed him local information, such as the map and status. Zan liked the idea of calling this 'the home display.' Hearth is where the heart is, as they say. Blinking, Zan 'closed out' of the headset's overlay graphics, returning his vision of the world to how a typical person saw the world. Clean. No wisps of colored lines and boxes or portraits. Just nature.

"I apologize. I have things about me the normal person does not have," Zan said, cryptically.

Penne cared not. He continued his soft half-smile, more amused than smile, and simply said, "Worry not. I belong to a church which holds heterogeneity as a core value. Should you wish to join us, you will be in good company. And I assure you, the least strange!"

Penne laughed for a moment before settling down. "I shouldn't get ahead of myself! We still have that dream-state of yours to talk about. Care to tell me what worries you about it?"

"I don't even know where to begin! Really, I'm just want to understand my role in relation to the gods. If I had that dream, vision, whatever, then I want to know what it means, how the prophecy is involved, why I can sense holy magic--"

"Holy magic? You never said you could sense holy magic," Penne said.

"Oh? I didn't? I'm sorry. I can. Not very well..." Zan said.

"Truth time: few people who don't have a prophecy about them can sense holy magic. We should still confirm -- so I will still be contacting my order head -- but for the time being, I think we can work under the assumption you are touched by a prophecy."