“Have the Generasians arrived?” an aged voice asked in the darkness.

It crackled like old parchment yet boomed through the entire chamber.

The holy lights that illuminated the room seemed to flicker as it spoke, causing them to cast shadows over the statues towering in a circle at the perimeter of the room. There were six of them, each so ancient that Ussex—Thameland’s capital—had been nothing more than an empty field when they had been completed. They were titanic: well over forty feet high, yet sculpted with such detail that—if the Third Apostle had the audacity to rise to his feet and touch one—he would have felt every tiny fold in their clothing.

Five of the sculptures were a representation of the five Heroes: The Chosen looked brave, The Champion looked fierce, The Sage looked wise and The Saint looked benevolent. And The Fool…well, they looked foolish. The tallest of the statues stood across the room from the Hollow of Contemplation in Light’s Absence—the alcove from which the ancient voice of The First Apostle emerged—and it was carved in the likeness of Uldar himself.

A full twenty feet taller than the statues of The Heroes, Uldar’s had the great beard of an old, wise man; the body of a powerful young warrior, and the eyes of a kind child. Those eyes rested on the alcove, forever watching each time a First Apostle came down for contemplation.

The Third Apostle adjusted himself where he knelt on the floor—at ninety years, his knees could not take the stone tiles as well as they used to—and cleared his throat.

“We received word that they arrived the day before yesterday,” he said. “Accounts say they came peacefully and left Luthering for Greymoor without delay.”

“And what have they found thus far?” the First Apostle’s ancient voice inquired.

“We haven’t received word yet, First Apostle,” came the answer. “We only know that they set out to explore their lands for now.”

Silence.

“I see,” the voice sighed. “And young Tobias has not been able to convince them to allow our holy supervision within their land?”

“He has not,”

“A pity, but it is not the first time that the church of Uldar has worked with…unlikely allies. Either openly. Or secretly.”

“…it sits poorly with me that they are allowed on our lands to work their ways without our supervision, though. With no eyes upon them, they-”

“Have faith, brother,” the First Apostle’s voice encouraged. “If they have come to aid us, then they come by Uldar’s bidding. This too is part of his plan: whatever they reveal will benefit both our God and His great flock.”

“…may I speak freely, First Apostle?”

“As always. There is no need to bite back words between those that do His great work. Even if words are spoken hastily-”

“-He shall forgive all,” the Third Apostle finished the declaration.

“Thank you for your understanding, First Apostle. I know well the points you made in the midsummer meeting: by these wizards’ craft, we all may benefit in further understanding the dungeon cores. Such knowledge will elevate our…” he paused, searching for the right word. They did not come so easily anymore. “…comprehension of the cycles that define our land and its people.”

“Indeed, and this is not the first time that we have received the help of outsiders,” the First Apostle said. “Did Uldar not say to hold the hand of the one who calls the name of a friendly god, for in this fellowship is holy alliance found?”

“He did, he did, First Apostle, but these…wizards…they follow no Gods at all. They spit on all divinity as far as my understanding of them goes…though that is admittedly little. I shudder to think what they might do if they were to gain the wrong sort of knowledge of the dungeon cores. The Rhineans are our ancient allies, and we work well with them. But these godless outsiders…I do not know.”

“Uldar dictates that we gather knowledge and educate the people,” the First Apostle said.

“But I fear-”

“While the populace fears, we must not,” the First Apostle said in light warning. “Recall one of my predecessors—The First Apostle Aximus—and his fear of using the remains of dungeon cores for weapons and other items. That fear nearly led to our Order’s declaration of opposition to research into their use by the rest of our very church. Such fears almost caused a schism in our numbers, and yet now that ancient research serves to empower weapons for Uldar’s Heroes. Aximus’ fear was misplaced. We trust in Uldar’s plan, and He is a God who looks forward, not back on the past while wringing His hands in fear of change. It is not our place to lock Him in a golden cage and stop all progress forward out of our own fear. The research the Generasians do may serve to empower The Heroes and all of Thameland: they bring skills we do not have.”

“But they are unsupervised!” the Third Apostle cried. “I…First Apostle…could this not result in another General’s Folly?”

“It likely will not…such a thing is not easy to recreate, or it would have happened dozens of times more than it has during the cycles. They will not be supervised…but they will be watched, if not by priests then by layfolk. And if not from up close up, then from a distance. And…should they delve too deeply, then we will take action. Quiet action, as we have always done.”

His voice held a warning, a reproach for the thoughts already entering the Third Apostle’s mind.

“O-of course, First Apostle, I simply wish we could move more openly.”

“We all do, at one point or another. But, the entire purpose of our Order is to act, while—to all others—we simply do not exist. Have patience. Have faith.”

“I…I understand, First Apostle,” the Third Apostle bowed his head.

“Now, for other matters,” his superior said, and there was the sound of fabric shifting over ancient skin in the darkness. “How fare The Heroes against the ancient enemy?”

“In some ways they fare well, and in others, poorly. From what has been whispered to us, each of them excels in ability. Unusually so. Hart Redfletcher, The Champion seemed born for battle even before he was Marked. Drestra of the Crymlin Swamp, The Sage commands magic in a fashion unseen in many cycles perhaps due to her…” he paused. “…nature. Merzhin, The Saint is a towering example of the faith, able to call upon Uldar’s divinity so deeply that he might even rival The Traveller. And Cedric of Clan Duncan, The Chosen…proves to excel in all domains: a fierce fighter, a devout wielder of divinity, and a fine mage in his own right. His leadership is—by all reports—excellent, and he serves as both an example to the rest of The Heroes and all of their followers…”

“And this sounds like it is all good news,” the First Apostle said. “Do they still struggle with unity?”

The Third Apostle made a frustrated growl. “They chafe at each other like sand in one’s clothing by all accounts. Each has strong ability, but it seems that robs them of cohesion. Combine that with the…viciousness and stress of this cycle, and they struggle against the enemy more than they should.”

“Mmmmm, so not much has changed,” the First Apostle sighed. “Were that The Fool were found…I fear their ability to relieve tension and provide an anchor grows more necessary. Any leads on where they might be found?”

“Not so far. The churches have searched their records, looking for those born on the correct day and of the correct age…but none have proved promising. Much of Thameland’s children have spread across the Rhinean Empire and further abroad, and searches within Thameland’s borders have proven fruitless. And they will likely prove even more difficult now: with Generasi’s ban on priests, their territory would be the perfect hiding place. We had already swept Greymoor before their arrival and will station priests at their borders to ensure The Fool does not slip in, but…more likely, they are long gone.”

“Perhaps they reacted quickly and escaped before we could raise the barrier…this is a repeating of three hundred years ago,” the First Apostle said grimly. “All that is to be done is to keep searching and monitoring. Send some of our lay agents into Greymoor.”

“And priests as well?” the Third Apostle asked, hopefully.

“No, if they are detected then an international incident will arise and questions will be asked. Just make sure that High Priest Tobias continues monitoring them, then report whatever is found to me immediately…oh, and one more thing, any news on The Chosen’s negotiations with the fey?”

“None yet, First Apostle.”

“Mmmmm, such creatures are fickle. Sometimes friends to the great cycle and sometimes foes. Keep me informed so that we might shield The Heroes from any possible treachery.”

“By your command.”

“Now, return to your duties and leave this doddering old man to his contemplation. May Uldar’s hand ever be on your shoulder, Izas.”

“Thank you, First Apostle.” Izas rose to his feet and made the sign of Uldar’s hand over his chest. “May his hand guide you as well.”

The younger apostle left the chamber, climbing the spiralling staircase up through the earth. As he approached the higher levels of the complex, song reached his ears, calming his spirit. Hymns to Uldar drifted through the dark, extolling his God’s virtues and begging for his protections. According to the hidden books, the songs had not ended for over a thousand years.

“Sing on, brothers and sisters,” Izas said to himself. “We may need your cheer and devotion more than ever soon enough.”

Despite The First Apostle’s assurances, he felt…doubt within his spirit. Previous cycles had their own unique circumstances: some were more vicious than others, some had greater Heroes and some lesser, some had Fools that filled their role and others Fools who fled or engaged in treachery. There had been even cycles where outside help had come to Thameland in the form of foreign adventurers, and allies like the Rhineans. Less helpfully, wandering monsters sometimes attacked, like the cycle where a great dragon had come to Thameland, attacking both The Ravener’s spawn and The Heroes equally.

But this cycle?

Too many things had happened that were out of place.

The Fool’s disappearance. The competence yet lack of unity within the Heroes. Some of the Heroes’…unique natures. The extreme aggression from The Ravener. And now the coming of the Generasians.

All were unusual…and then there was The Traveller to consider.

The revelation of her sanctum had been a boon to most of Thameland: much of the populace had cheered the discovery and talked of how the Saint from three centuries past had reached out from beyond the grave to help them escape. Even the High Priest Tobias Jay had looked upon it as a boon, yet the portals within the sanctum defied all attempts to understand their origin.

It was unnerving. It was worrying.

By all accounts, The Traveller had been an eccentric: somewhat apart from The Heroes, yet abnormally close to The Fool until that Fool had disappeared. Then, after The Ravener had been destroyed, The Traveller had returned home and lived her life in near-hermitage.

Even her name—Hannah Kim—had been strange by Thameish standards.

And now it was revealed that she had been crafting a secret sanctum without confiding in another soul.

Such a thing was unprecedented, and Izas knew he wasn’t the only one shaken by it.

Too many changes…too many abnormalities in this cycle.

It was a bad omen.

Suddenly finding the underground chambers of Uldar’s Rise stifling to his lungs, he took a side passage when he reached the top of the stairs, not yet ready to join his brothers and sisters to convey the First Apostle’s word. Instead, he continued to climb through the dark until he emerged on a stone balcony on the outside of the escarpment.

A warm wind blew what little remained of his beard as he clung to a railing.

Around Uldar’s Rise—where their God had ascended to the heavens—the late summer weather was in full bloom. Far below, the village spread out: filled with those layfolk whose ancestors had been sworn to the most secret oaths and been given the most holy of tasks. Above, rose the barrier that separated this place from the rest of Thameland.

No Ravener-spawn, mortal or beast had set foot in this place without the apostles’ permission. Such as it always was.

“But for how long?” Izas asked himself. “Too many things move strangely. The times grow dark.”

Tapping on the rail, he gazed south: somewhere in that place, foreign wizards were stirring. Their curiosity would either help or harm…and he knew the ways of wizards better than any other in the Order. Quietly, he spoke an incantation: his magic circuit formed and a ball of flame came into being on his left. Next, he spoke a prayer:

“Holy Uldar, bless me with a flame to light the dark.”

Whoosh.

A second ball of flame appeared on his right.

He looked between the two flames that seemed so similar, yet had come from such a different source: one of mana and one of pure divinity. He willed each flame together until they twisted into a helix of fire that spiralled beautifully before his eyes.

This was the way things should be: the coming together of the ingenuity and strength of humanity in union with the might and benevolence of the divine. It was the right path: did The Chosen not exemplify this above all with his Uldar-granted mastery of both?

Yet, these foreign wizards rejected such a path.

Perhaps it was time that someone looked in on them before they grew too established.

Not just layfolk, but those who could easily put an end to any brewing disaster they found.

Someone with might.

“Someone like The Heroes,” the Third Apostle said to the wind.