Absinthe and Melchior glance at each other, feeling the heat rise in their cheeks. The latter clears his throat before replying, "Ahem. We've been diligent in our studies. I mean, we passed the Written Exam last week, didn't we?"

Their father leans back on the covered altar behind him and casually crosses his arms. Absinthe takes a quick look at the tattoo on his right hand. It's an eye, representing the all-seeing nature of Saklos, encased in a swirling vortex, representing the unknown. These two make up the Sacred Emblem of Saklos.

"When will you let me use the grimoire, Father?"

The two brothers look to Arthur, who is silent in his contemplation. With a snap, the tattoo on his right hand glows a shade of violet, before a small tome appears on the air, floating.

The Grimoire of Saklos twirls around Arthur's index finger as its pages flutter like a paper accordion.

Arthur catches the book and holds it towards Absinthe.

"This is what you desire?"

Absinthe pauses trying to grasp at the right words to say. "Yes. I need its power to aid myself and Mel in the… near future."

Their father snorts and responds, "You mean to use the Grimoire of Saklos for Vivil Sanatoria's Practical Entrance Exam?"

With a loud snap, the book vanishes and Arthur adds curtly, "You may ask me again once you have a better reason. Did you not listen to my sermon? 'We are tasked with uncovering the secrets of the universe, not for personal gain, but to illuminate the path for others.' You want the grimoire's power for the sake of wielding its power. This is what led my father, Farou, astray."

"Is it so wrong to say I want the grimoire to protect me and my brother?"

"Farou il Salinger had things he wanted to protect too."

With that final word, silence erupts from the three.

As the stillness hung in the air, Absinthe's gaze faltered, his eyes dropping to the stone floor. The weight of his father's words pressed upon him, the comparison to his grandfather's ambition a bitter pill to swallow.

Melchior's eyes, too, seemed to cloud, his features somber. The shadows cast by the flickering candles seeming to deepen, as if the very darkness itself was listening to their conversation.

Arthur's expression remained unreadable, his face a mask of stone, his eyes piercing. "You will leave for Aetheris Magna, The East, tomorrow, as planned. The Practical Entrance Exam awaits. Are you prepared?"

Absinthe's thoughts swirled like the shadows on the walls, his mind consumed by the weight of his family's legacy. He couldn't help but feel a flutter in his chest as he met his father's gaze, the sound of his own heartbeat echoing through the silence. "Yes, Father," he forced out, "We're prepared." Melchior's nod mirrored his own, the brothers' movements eerily synchronized.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing the veil of uncertainty. "I expect nothing but excellence from you both. You two represent all of the Unorthodox Invokers."

"The way you word that makes it sound like we enrolled out of our own volition."

Their father strokes his thin beard as he chuckles dryly, the sound echoing throughout the chapel. "True, but Lysander… excuse me, Headmaster Eon personally reached out to me regarding you two. It's been ages since he visited Misest."

Stolen novel; please report.

"Besides," Arthur continues, "if you two weren't interested in the outside world, you wouldn't have studied so hard for the written exam. For that, Headmaster Eon personally traveled all the way here, but this time you'll be heading out far to the east for the Practical Examination."

Before Arthur can say another word, Absinthe senses a familiar fist steamrolling towards his head.

'Shit!'

Gritting his teeth and swiftly ducking, Absinthe barely avoids a blow that seems to rip through the still air of the temple.

Arthur heaves a sigh as he sizes up the owner of the fist. "Was that necessary, Brother Carlson?"

He laughs as he leans backwards, narrowly avoiding a kick from Absinthe, who springs up from the ground.

Brother Carlson ruffles his cropped hair and straightens out his robes as he steps away from Absinthe.

Although, his black veil manages to always be perfectly positioned no matter what situation he's in.

"Of course! I had to make sure that my students won't lose their touch when they head East. By Saklos the beauties there are out of this world!"

He puts his arm around Melchior, whilst chuckling.

Melchior laughs awkwardly as he removes the arm around his neck. "Brother Carlson, that might be…"

"Very unbecoming of a monk, yes," Arthur finishes with a sigh. "You may leave now, Brother Carlson."

"Ah, Lord Salinger, I'm only letting the youngins know what they're getting into," he replies with an easy smile as he runs his hand through his cropped black hair. "If you wish me to be more honest, then I'd say underneath all that glamor, the East is an absolute nightmare! Take that from someone from Appius. Watch your backs, Young Masters."

As Brother Carlson's words trailed off, the atmosphere in the chapel grew heavier, the shadows cast by the flickering candles seeming to twist and writhe like living things. Absinthe's gaze met Melchior's, and for an instant, they shared a silent understanding, a sense of trepidation that neither dared to voice aloud.

Arthur's expression remained impassive, but a hint of displeasure creased the corners of his eyes. "Brother Carlson, your... enthusiasm is noted."

Brother Carlson steps back into a deep bow, before leaving the chapel.

"He's always a riot," Absinthe comments as he watches the monk's dark robes grow smaller and smaller into the distance.

"Speaking of him, where's Sister Sappho? Mel and I wanted to see her before we left."

"Somewhere near the orphanage. She's helping lead the choir prayers with some of the other folks. After you two say goodbye to the others, get your suitcases and return here. I'll transport us to the nearest aetherRail then."

"No prob," Absinthe replies as he begins to make his way toward the chapel's exit, with Melchior following behind.

The shadows from the curved, painted ceiling dissipate as the light from the artificial sun lands on their skin again.

The two step down the marbled stairs, passing through followers who want to enter the temple.

To avoid more barrages of gifts and trinkets, the brothers take the alleyways; they navigate their way through dark corridors, hidden from the artificial sun.