As the Young King and his escorts navigated through the desert, five agonizing days passed. Despite the dread it inspired, he hung onto his secret dream with white knuckles and gritted teeth. Every day, the monumental tower lifted in the horizon. What once was a symbol of hope and unity to the Young King now made him feel an intense trepidation.

Finally, the party reached the backside of the temple and began to round the side. The Young King surveyed its condition, and could find no noticeable changes since he was last in the headland. He breathed a sigh of relief in the long shadow. "Hold!" Archelos barked. The aural layer of hooves in grass deadened, revealing behind it total silence. "Where is our welcome? The sages always greet us here, under the arch." The trepidation reemerged. Is the Mazar empty? Have the sages abandoned their domain? Have they all been slaughtered? The Young King's head was afire with horrid imaginations. The group, warily, continued towards the entrance with swords drawn. What they found inside was wholly anticlimactic: Everything seemed to be in working order-- Sages were shuffling about, their murmurs echoing throughout the great hall. Verily, the silence outside did not bespeak the atmosphere within.

As the party rides their horses through the gathering hall, past the sages and their colossal effigies of the Natural Gods, the Young King can't shake his feeling of unease. Something is off. Although it has been over a week since the holy day of congregation, there are still offerings strewn about. The sages move with a particular weariness like castle stewards. Some seem too fatigued to even acknowledge the presence of the King, despite his royal escort. Or, is it that they turn from their ruler in shame?

Whatever could be the root of this unease? The Young King wondered.

Suddenly- A robed man with a silvery beard and clouded eyes stepped out from an alcove. He closed in on the group with a serious expression. "Sheathe your weapons in the presence of the Gods, soldiers!" "Jhawla!" The sage exclaimed as she leaped from her horse, towards the man. The two met in embrace. "Jhawla, I do not understand. You have returned to the Mazar?" "Alas, due to very serious circumstances. We have much to speak of, Drya. In fact," He started as he gestured to the party, "We all do." "Firstly, sage, why were we not welcomed entering thy temple?" Archelos asked, eternally a champion of hospitality. "Do thou not see the Young King among us-- Thine appointed ruler?" "No sir, I do not." Archelos swung his wicked skull back to the blonde horse, finding that the august one had dismounted. Before the general mobilized, the elder sage stopped him. "Let him roam, Sir Archelos, for there is no danger within these walls. Presently I possess news of most importance..."

***

The Young King would never tire of walking these ancient, firelit corridors. The air was thick with power and piety. From hall to hall he wandered, rediscovering the beauty of the Ivory Temple. In one chamber he encountered two dozen sages in prayer, opposite a sprawling depiction of The First God. Next he passed the lower library, a chamber full of codices. The Young King spent much time here as a boy, reading stories of heroes and villains. Next he continued around a corner and up a narrow flight of stairs. He knew where this path would lead him, manifesting in an excited gait. Every step was full of wonder and fervor. This was a back route into one of his favorite parts of the shrine... The hall of discourse, the largest room above the ground level of the tower. This round chamber is a place of conference and discussion for sages of the shrine. The hall of discourse is adorned with a great circular dial carved into the ceiling. It is dedicated to the Fifth Natural God, with depictions of the sky and the heavens sewn throughout the ornamental features. The Young King gazes at it for some time, deep in thought.

Anon, footsteps came from behind. "Young King." "Oh, sage, please give me more time here. I was relishing in this silence." She ambled to his side, gazing along with him. "It is mesmerizing, is it not? Here, allow me to sit with you." A novel idea came to the young man's mind. "Tell me sage, which of these seats belongs to you?" "I shall lead you to it if only you will listen to my tale." He happily agreed to this arrangement.

They found the seat, labeled Drya, and the Young King sat with permission of the sage. This was likely the smallest scale of discourse ever performed in the vast chamber: A seated young man and one kneeled woman.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Firstly, I will preface that this tale is unlike my others. Secondly, it is gravely confidential, so listen heedfully and hold fast your faith." He nodded eagerly. "At Qharisaqhar we spoke of how our Urd came to be. The First, The Second, and the envisioning of being. Have you considered, however, how reality prior to being would appear?" "Quiet, mine senses tell me." "Quieter than even silence," she stated, pleased with his response. "Truly 'twas incorporeal. A deep, dreamless slumber." "Who was it that slumbered?" The sage paused, understanding the weight of what she had to say: "A Seventh God, the progenitor of all to come... It is true, the rest could not exist without the Seventh. The ruler of everything unknowable-- That which lies beyond our dreams, and behind the veil of death: Vast and total nothingness."

The sage soothed her audience of one, sensing tension. "Do not be afeard Young King, for presently this God holds little power. You having never heard of The Seventh is proof of this."

"Why do you tell me this?" He asked slowly. The sage continued. "In times of yesteryear, heretics lent unholy sacrifice to The Seventh. It took centuries for the Mazar's forefathers to wipe out this heresy altogether. Accounts of these prohibited arts and the God they honored have since been eradicated. Here, in the sealed holy libraries of Mazar Cultus, the last existing record persisted under the close watch of the upper sages: The Tome of the Antecedent. The dire truth, too the reason I repeat to you this story, is that the tome has altogether vanished."

"What?" The Young King uttered, standing from the seat. "When?" "During the aforementioned congregation. There was a great bedlam, or so my jhawla tells me." "This cannot be! What may happen if such forbidden knowledge reaches the people?" The sage, too, rose to her feet. "The codex may be read, studied... While nothing eventful may result from this theft, there is possibility of the accounts spreading among the tribes. One day soon, the Seventh may even be worshiped once again. Surely Young King, you understand why this demands swift action. For the sake of Urdhiin, something must be done. The tome must be found, lest the antegod one day reigns again."

***

Retreading the halls, the Young King's step shifted from one of excitement to an apparent determination. No matter what comes next, or where in the lands this tome has gone, one thing is certain, he thought. Before all else, I will rid myself of old baggage. This particular old baggage was arguing with the sages when the Young King came across him. "August one, thank goodness ye are safe. I believe these witches plot regicide, beginning by separating your highness from his guard!" Archelos flared with contempt at the old robed sage, who spoke next. "We only ask for your help protecting our homeland. If we truly are a kingdom of the Empire, it is in your interest to stop the enemies of our nation from gaining power. I implore ye-- Go, seal the border, and report to your sovereign that we are in danger." A fine idea, thought the Young King. The general clearly did not share his sentiment. "I will not entertain this foolishness! August one, saddle your horse and we shall depart. I order you, promptly-"

"Archelos, that will be enough," the Young King enunciated. "For all mine life I have endured your chokehold, resisted the grasp of your power-- At times I have even loved you. Today you must finally let me go." "What is the meaning of this?" Archelos asked. At that moment, in the eyes of the sages, the young man seemed to grow three times in size. "I will not be leaving this temple. You will. As the king of this land, even appointed against mine own will, I have a duty to protect its people. And, with the power appointed to me, I order you and your men to leave post haste to the border." The onlookers went quiet, waiting for the response of the general. "Quite unexpected-- Ye, giving me orders. But I will obey the word of my ruler, if only ye dost vow to stay within this temple. If peril truly is afoot, I imagine ye will be most secure here." "Certainly I will make sure of it," said the Young King's sage. "Farewell, Sir Archelos."

There, it is done, he thought as the General and his guard finally rode off. The act is over. Soft light streamed into the great meeting hall. The golden expanse of the land, Cortezum, was emblematic of freedom beyond all opposing forces.

As the horses cantered off through wild plains, Drya understood the true nature of this confrontation. All this long while, the Young King had the authority to order his baggage away. Only, he lacked the courage. "My king, 'twas a most impressive display."

The Young King came close to Drya, and whispered: "Meet me here at dusk. Our action shall be swift, and our parting, cloaked by night."

From this distance, in cold sunlight, it was evident that he was trembling terribly.