The Saint of Igdur's sharp golden gaze lingered on Finnian and Rancent. The air still bristled with his presence, thick and heavy with unspoken judgment.

Rancent could feel the lingering remnants of Ether he'd inadvertently stirred-the threads trembling at the edges of his senses.

"I will not warn you again, Darrow," the Saint said, voice cold and deliberate. "These teachings are not for reckless experimentation. They are sacred tools, reserved for those under the proper path."

With that parting statement, the Saint's presence receded. The room, still thick with tension, slowly eased back to normal. Finnian exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the Saint's aura fully faded.

"Well," Finnian muttered under his breath, "that could've gone worse."

Rancent rubbed his temples. "Worse? We almost got annihilated by that guy."

Finnian chuckled. "Welcome to learning magic, it's a contact sport."

Rancent's frown deepened. "If this is what it takes, I'm not sure it's worth it."

Finnian's expression sobered. "You felt it, didn't vou? That connection? The potential?"

Rancent reluctantly nodded. Even under the Saint's crushing presence, there had been a moment where the swirling threads had responded to him, fragile but unmistakable.

"That was only the first step," Finnian said, sitting down once more. "Next, we start learning how to read the threads, decipher their meaning, and translate them into something usable."

Rancent's brow furrowed. "Decipher?"

Finnian gestured to the faint remnants of the sigil still flickering in the room. "Ether isn't just energy. It has a language. Sigils are its words. If you can decipher them, you can command them-but only if you understand their balance."

As Finnian spoke, the faint threads of Ether shimmered, forming complex patterns around them.

They spiraled and knotted into abstract shapes, some flickering with chaotic energy, while others held rigid, orderly forms.

"Here," Finnian said, extending his hand toward a glowing sigil in the air. "Try clearing this one first.

Focus on the edges-the outermost threads-and feel where they're tangled."

Rancent hesitated but followed Finnian's instructions. His Ether sense was still faint, like listening to a conversation through thick glass. He could barely make out the threads' intricacies.

"Breathe," Finnian reminded him. "Don't force it. Just observe."

Slowly, the threads came into focus. They shimmered with faint hues, and Rancent could see where they knotted unnaturally. Carefully, he extended his intent toward the tangled section, not grasping but guiding it apart.

The sigil shifted, and a sudden clarity washed over Rancent. A single word echoed in his mind: Anchor.

The realization hit him like a spark of lightning. The sigil wasn't just a shape-it was a command, a manifestation of an ability waiting to be unlocked.

"You did it," Finnian said, his voice tinged with surprise. "You decoded your first sigil."

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Rancent's breath was unsteady. "It said... Anchor."

Finnian's grin returned. "Good. That's your first ability-Anchor. You're already resonating with Cekros."

Rancent flexed his fingers, still buzzing with the aftershock of the discovery. "So, what now?"

"Now," Finnian said, "we test it." He stood and gestured toward the center of the room. "Manifest the anchor. Focus on that word-Anchor-and visualize it latching onto the space around you."

Rancent inhaled deeply, summoning the word in his mind. Anchor. His Ether flared, and suddenly an invisible force latched onto the room. The air thickened, movements becoming sluggish and deliberate. Finnian's normally fluid steps faltered as if gravity itself had doubled.

Finnian laughed, the sound strained. "Yep... that's definitely an anchor."

Rancent's eyes widened. "I did it?"

Finnian shrugged his shoulders. “How the hell should I know? I’ve never witnessed a Cekros Devotee up until now. The only people that actually devote themselves to deity’s are of higher power and haven’t taught us things like this. But, with the secret technique we learned from the Saint, we learnt how to also identify curses and abnormalities in energy and bodily injuries.”

[So, what he was saying is that he made the concept of sigil deciphering all based off the concept of weaving? Damn, Finnian was a natural!]

Rancent thought.

"I guess you did it," Finnian confirmed. "But remember-it's not just about locking things down. It's about balance. An anchor can stabilize the things it’s attached to. Take yourself as an example. Through mastery this ability can become even better if used correctly.”

“Well, what does it exactly do other than just slow others down?” Rancent asked.

“Well, the deity you resonate with is related to order and balance. So if we connect this physically, it might slow the person down inside the domain. But mentally, it inflicts peace and truth upon the people inside of the anchor. If you attach someone to the anchor by visualization, you could probably ground someone. Think of it as a support or kind of healing technique.”

Unfortunately, little Rancent’s brain could only comprehend so much. “I can try, let’s see…”

Before Rancent could even use Anchor once more, Finnian pulled out a book, returning to his childlike ways.

“Before you use it, can I document what I have witnessed so far? This is a moment in history! The first Cekros devotee in the Julius Fowleri Church of Igdur and Cekros! And to first at sight see the abilities of a fresh devotee.. I’m just bathing in excitement!”

Finnian had finally let go of his cool and composed behavior, becoming a child once again. But, Rancent didn’t read a lot of books, so he was confused.

”Uh, sure!” Rancent cheered.

As Finnian flipped open his book, the pages fluttered like excited wings, and his pen hovered over the page, eager to record every detail. Rancent shifted uncomfortably, his mind still reeling from the activation of Anchor. The room felt oddly suffocating now, as if it was aware of the weight that had been added to their training.

"Alright, Rancent, hold still. Let me document the first known Cekros Devotee," Finnian said, his voice practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "I need to capture every nuance! You know, for science!" He glanced up from his scribbling with a grin, then continued feverishly writing, oblivious to Rancent's growing discomfort.

Rancent scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to handle the situation. "So, uh... what happens now? I mean, do I keep doing this? Do I learn more?"

Finnian paused, pen still in midair, as if considering Rancent's question for the first time. "Well," he said, tapping the edge of the book thoughtfully, "this is only the beginning. You've unlocked your first sigil, which is impressive. Most people take months, even years, to begin resonating with their deity. But for you... this is just one of many you'll learn. Cekros is all about balance. The Anchor? That's just the tip of the iceberg."

“Hm.. You seem very excited for a rule breaker, yet you’re interested in me who’s devoted to a Deity of order, and balance. Isn’t there some contradiction here?” Rancent said deviously. He raised his shoulder and grinned, like a sly fox.

“Speaking of, isn’t it nighttime now? I must of been knocked out from long in that place back then. I’d rather not visualize it again,” Rancent chuckled.

“Ah yes, of course.. I never got to show you the sleeping quarters, but I’m sure there’s a spot for you somewhere.” Finnian replied.

“Thank you, Finnian.” Rancent had smiled, but he looked to the side as he blew out the candle that had kept the light resonating in the room. He walked alongside Finnian as he thought about Maeve.

They walked down the halls, finally reaching the sleeping rooms, and laid their eyes to rest.

“Goodnight Rancent.” Finnian whispered.

”Goodnight, Fin.”