Chiseled into the marble are depictions of strange entities that once roamed the planet.

As they reached the entrance, the massive bell, adorned with intricate patterns of shadows, seemed to loom over them, its silence more ominous than any tolling. The air was heavy with the weight of the Unorthodox Church's power, and Absinthe's grip on the gifts tightened, his shadow rippling with an anxious energy. Melchior's eyes, however, sparkled with an anticipation that bordered on reverence, his long coat fluttering behind him like a dark wingspan.

Inside the grand temple, the whispered murmurs of the devotees grew louder, a gentle hum of expectation that resonated through the chamber.

Passing through the tall archway, the light from the artificial sun begins to fade as a domed ceiling covers their heads from above. Melchior glances up and notes the dozens of deities and entities painted on the ceiling, all looking down back at him.

Melchior can only recognize only a third of the beings painted above, mostly because a lot of them were killed during the Shattering War or forgotten a long time ago.

Further inside the temple is the chapel reserved for Saklos.

The two soften their footsteps as they step inside the Chapel of Veiler. Tall, shadowed arches rise to a vaulted ceiling, where intricate murals of eldritch beings and other cosmic wonders are depicted. Torches line the pillars, besides rows of pews with attentive faces, all of them looking towards Absinthe and Melchior's father, Arthur il Salinger.

The two, trying not to interrupt the sermon, stand in the very back. With a small wink, their father notes their presence.

Arthur's eyes, a piercing blue, surveyed the gathered crowd with a calm intensity. His voice, when he began to speak, was both soothing and compelling, drawing the listeners into a world beyond the mundane.

"Welcome, my fellow seekers," he began, his tone reverberating through the chamber. "Today, we gather to reflect on the nature of our patron, Saklos, and the path we tread as his followers."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the air. "Saklos, the God of Secrets, Knowledge, and Eldritch Horror, is not an easy deity to comprehend. His domains are vast and complex, often challenging the very fabric of our understanding. Yet it is through this challenge that we find growth."

Arthur's gaze softened as he continued. "Saklos teaches us that knowledge is not merely a collection of facts but a journey into the unknown. It is a quest for truth that often requires us to face our deepest fears and confront the darkness within ourselves. This is why Saklos is also the God of Eldritch Horror. He embodies the truth that wisdom comes at a price, and that price is often our comfort and certainty."

He gestured to the mural behind him, where Saklos was depicted in a cosmic form, eyes of infinite depth gazing into the void. "Saklos reminds us that the pursuit of knowledge is fraught with peril. It can lead us to places where our sanity is tested, where we must wrestle with the very nature of reality. Yet, it is in these moments of profound uncertainty that we find the seeds of true understanding."

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Arthur's voice grows firmer, infused with the strength of his convictions. "As followers of Saklos, we are called to be brave in the face of the unknown. We are tasked with uncovering the secrets of the universe, not for personal gain, but to illuminate the path for others."

"In this pursuit, we must also remember the importance of balance. Knowledge and power, when wielded without compassion and humility, can lead to destruction.

"So, I implore you, my friends, to seek knowledge with a pure heart. Embrace the secrets that Saklos reveals to you, but do so with the intent to better yourselves and the world around you. Walk this path together, mindful of the balance between the light of understanding and the shadows of our fears."

Arthur extended his hands, a gesture of unity and blessing. "May Saklos guide you in your quest for truth, and may his wisdom light your way through the darkest of times."

With that, Arthur concludes his sermon. The silence in the chapel isn't a negative response, but instead a tradition that shows their respect. Through their silence, they deeply reflect on his words.

As the silence hung in the air, Absinthe's gaze drifted away from his father, his eyes roving over the rows of attentive faces. He felt a pang of discomfort, his thoughts wandering back to the ruined city outside, the remnants of a war that still simmered in his veins. The weight of his family's legacy bore down on him, the expectations of being the next leader of the Cult of Saklos suffocating. He glanced at Melchior, who seemed entranced by the sermon, his eyes shining with an unwavering devotion.

The silence was finally broken by a low, rustling murmur, as the devotees began to file out of the pews, their footsteps echoing through the chapel. As the last of the devotees disappeared from view, Absinthe's gaze snapped back to his father, Arthur, who stood at the podium, his eyes fixed on the intricate stone carvings adorning the walls.

Afterward, Absinthe and Melchior walk down the center aisle, passing through rows of followers before standing in front of their father.

"May Saklos guide you, my sons," Arthur says with a small smirk, "I'm glad you could make it in time for my sermon."

He points to the long pole in Absinthe's hands, "Why do you have Mr. Rolf's herding rod?"

"Ah…" Absinthe felt the weight of the metal rod in his hands, he had forgotten he was still carrying it. He tosses it to his father. "Do ya mind holding on to it for me? Mr. Rolf comes in the evenings, doesn't he?"

Arthur catches the pole with a nod. "Hah, if only my sons would come in for evening prayers too."