...yet night does not last forever.

The sage of the shrine wakes to meet the rising sun face to face. As the first beam of light is thrown across the sky, she begins the morning prayer Dah' bûn, which all sages of The Ivory Shrine must perform. Line after line she recited from memory towards the peeking sun. She felt comfort knowing that far across the desert her brothers and sisters were performing the Dah' bûn themselves. Some of them had prayed to the sun for enough years to go blind from exposure- This was widely renowned as a sign of true devotion, a physical manifestation of one's allegiance to the Natural Gods. They are the few souls entrusted to the highest secrets of the Mazar Cultus.

As a young girl beginning her journey on the path of reverence, the sage was overcome with desire to lay her eyes on the contents of the upper sanctums. Perhaps the locus of all the greatest secrets ever guarded, those hallowed upper chambers were accessible by only the sages of the shrine. The appeal was undeniable for the girl. She pictured herself one day in the sacred garden she'd heard whispers of, sipping on clear water and lazily reading tomes in the sunlight. 'What an immature notion!' she later thought. The responsibilities of the sages she found to be manifold, and the matters of both secrets and picnics came to seem trivial.

The sage reflected on the paths she had walked, and the opportunity given to her by the Natural Gods to pave her own way in life. The Dah' bûn soon ended as the sun had fully emerged.

The sunlight did not greet the Young King gradually, gently, as it did the sage. It flooded into his eyes as he was jerked awake by the insistent call of a familiarly infernal voice. "Sire! Sire, we must soon be on! The guard is up and saddled!" It felt as if some kind of rite had just been rudely interrupted, a sacrilege that would quickly get you excommunicated from a place of worship. The idea of his men equipped and waiting gave the Young King impetus to rise, however difficult.

"There, I'm up," The Young King said as he emerged from his tent, fully geared and prepared to move. "About my steed..." He trailed off as he looked around the site, seeing not a single soul about but Archelos. A dour expression came to his face. "Thou lie! The guard is still asleep!" "A king-to-be should set a good example for his men. Think of the respect they'll have for a ruler who wakes so early!" The Young King was taken aback, yet at once unsurprised. He muttered "gargoyle" under his breath and swiftly marched towards the nearest location of warmth in the frigid morning air- The Sunken Stone.

Even the uncovered structure was not safe from Archelos' presence. Anon, he came to find the Young King in the site before a flaming sconce. He was focusing the whole of his cognitive power on remembering the dream that he was rudely awoken from. But the general had other plans, it seemed. "Oh august one, I've come to inform ye that the King's Guard is finally set to move. Ye must only give the word." Alas the Young King didn't yet want to leave this site that mystified him so. Archelos insisted. "Sir, there is word spreading among the men that ye do not care for the needs of the empire. We should make haste and deal with this issue in the south promptly." The Young King sighed, nostalgic for distant, unchained days. "This is my motherland, Archelos. Thou do not understand what it means to me to be back here." "Then ye should be just as ready as I to quell this issue- The issue with your people, mind ye." There was a truth in his words, the Young King thought to himself. He did have a duty to the people of this sacred land, his mother's land...

***

The company was on the move again, down through the dunes. The Young King held tightly to the sides of the sage's saddle, pressed against her robed back. "I suppose it's preferable to walking," he muttered begrudgingly. "I'll accept mine terrible fate- For the sake of mine people." "Ha! Your sacrifices are immense, oh hallowed and honored Young King," the sage said with a smile. The Young King suddenly paid heed to the horse he rode on. "What a striking shade. One of the finest I've seen in these lands." The mare's coat had a brilliant gold sheen, reflecting light like wind through fields of wheat. "I believe her coat sets her apart from all her peers," the sage started. "She matches perfectly with the sands, does she not?" The Young King agreed, before feeling a familiar gaze set upon him from across the company.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Old Archelos's voice squawked: "Sage of the shrine, how go the affairs of your domain?" "There is peace all around, thankfully," she responded. "Thou have eyes in this land, do thou not?" The Young King asked, with antagonism in his voice. "Thou should know exactly how..." He was stopped by the sage, who disdained petty arguments. "Young King, we need not make issues where none are necessary. I am quite all right with divulging matters of our temple," she said. As she resumed, the Young King went back to peering deeply inwards-- Focusing his mind.

The horses trotted along. The woman spoke of sacred times of year, and mass pilgrimage to the Mazar Cultus at such times. She spoke of ceremonies held to mark the recent moon cycle, and the masses present-- The largest assembly in years. The Young King beamed with happiness at this news. "How is the Ivory Temple itself, venerable sage?" he asked. "If ye mean in regards to construction, Koalaf Hajar is well underway," she reported. "When complete it will cross this entire Northern Span, high above the storms of dust and sand which we have lost many envoys and caravans to over the years." "Thou say a bridge across the whole of this endless desert?" Archelos exclaimed. "Ha! Oh sage, how absurd of thee. Such a lofty project wouldn't even be feasible by the Empire-- Granted with our superior technology! How do thou ever dream of building such a thing?!" The effrontery on display was unexpected, and all mouths went quiet. The eyes of the Young King and all his Guard turned to the sage, expecting a retort to the General's impudence.

"Starting from the bottom, stone by stone."

There was silence all around but the noise of hooves on sand. She hardly seemed bothered by the general's words. "If the Natural Gods will it, it will come to fruition," she added quietly.

Besides the usual murmur of the soldiers, the Young King was first to speak. "I think it's only fair that we now share some news of the capital, Archelos. It is still as conflict-ridden and oppressive as ever, is it not?" The general grunted, sensing the attitude, and not wanting to match it. "All of thou old aristocrats are alike," the Young King exclaimed. "Thou can't even suppress dissent in thine own cabinet!" He was clearly upset by Archelos's words towards the sage. Finally, the old general spoke out: "End this talk at once. Why would ye speak of internal politics in front of outsiders, boy? Such information is restricted to members of the circle only!" "All that thou figureheads hold sacred are secrets-- Lies. It's no wonder there's such distrust in the government when you withhold the truth," the Young King said. This bickering would've continued if the sage did not put her foot down and say, "Your augustness, I believe you misconceive the nature of secrets." This took him by surprise, and his anger was replaced with tentative pause. "Do elaborate, sage."

The Young King's image of secrets was dark truths, veiled by shadow and gloam. Much of his adolescent frustration was placed on those unknowable truths hung just out of reach, whether by his father or any else within the circle.

"In the temple we know secrets to be a natural force. We are taught all the ways in which secrets are held by those venerable six for the benefit of humankind. And when encountering secrets, we are taught to contemplate why truth is withheld in the first place. Consider this lesson, if you would."

The Young King considered this deeply, pushing aside the frustration he felt due to Archelos to reach a point of meditative consideration.

"But secrets are not nearly so noble in excess-- This is why balance must be struck with truth. Balance in all forms is the ruling philosophy of Mazar Cultus, as you know." She's correct, the Young King thought. Balance was an unavoidable principle when studying the Gods. "So," she continued, "Once past what is most dangerous about secrets-- the feverish emotions they may spurn-- only then the truth may be revealed." "Equanimity brings one closer to godliness," the Young King posited. It was a thought mimicked from a book he once read. He closed his eyes and continued his deep thought.

Secrets... Secrets... Not dark truths, shadows and gloam, but the next page-- Unknown, if only for the time being. And the contemplative Young King, with peace and understanding in his heart, felt a chill down his spine. Finally granted sight beyond the walls of his dream, what he found there made him realize that some things should stay secret.

Volleys of fire-- Pestilent miasma-- Crumbling towers-- And an unplaceable voice exhorting: On! On! On to Mazar Cultus!