Nama? What business you have with the Goddess of Fate and Death, boy? Whatever, listen carefully. The Gods aren’t to be trifled with light-heartedly. They are different from us mortals, boy. They are incarnations of concepts and as such lack our restraint. Of course, there are those you would call “good”, shining paragons of mercy or justice or whatnot. But think about it. A God of Justice will always deal out his judgement, and he will do so without doubt, without remorse, without mercy. You see where i am going with this? You cannot reason with an avalanche, boy, you cannot expect a tornado to spare you. Now imagine that applied to a God of Earthquakes, or one of Malice. That’s what Gods are. So be careful when you trade with them, understand? It would be a bother to drag you out from whatever mess you put yourself into, and i am not sure even i could, so you’re warned.

From the lessons of Gorren An-Tudok to his disciple

Gorren managed to reach the other side of the square before his impatience got the better of him.

“Are you really not going to tell me?” He grumbled.

The Goddess, walking at his side and a little behind, touched her mask with a bony finger, head tilted in a quizzical manner.

“What could you possibly refer yourself to?” She asked, her tone all innocence.

Gorren grunted with irritation. “There’s even a reason for your being here?” He growled.

All he got as answer was a minute shrug.

Planting his gaze on the road ahead, he redoubled his pace. That phantom’s reticence was exasperating, as well as his inability to do something about it, but he refused to let it get to him. He needed to keep his cool, he needed to think.

As he entered a street, he crossed a shambling, stooped figure. A cat worth of bones decorated him, thrust through sallow skin and mangy cloth or dangling from a strange scaffolding of quasi-rotten wood that the man had affixed to his back. His left arm had been blocked into a raised position who knew how many years earlier with a moltitude of straps and now was the color and the consistency of gray bark, withered and useless. The hand was cupped around a bit of dirt, from which a green bud sprouted out.

Gorren recognized the man as a Bonespeaker, the walking altar-priests of the Goddess of Death.

Unseen to him, Nama brushed the man’s shoulder with an almost tender touch. Immediately, the man shuddered to a stop. Panting, he turned rheumy eyes toward Gorren.

The mage ignored him, and walked past. Thankfully, the priest didn’t stop him, and after a while he heard his steps continue toward the square.

Free from that distraction, he started to think.

Gorren wondered about what Brother Erm told him, how his church allowed for other religions to exist. That was a plain lie, he could attest to that personally, but the man had seemed honest enough. Maybe, as decades passed, after having the certainty that another Catastrophe wouldn’t happen, the goons of the Flaming Light had relented in their zealotry?

He found it hard to believe. Their precepts insisted too much over their own righteousness to develop that kind of tolerance. He wondered how much of that religious freedom came from Blackstone’s reliance over commerce rather than the Flamelings’ acceptance of other points of view. Despite all their influence, he had learned that the city was held by a secular Governor, independent, at least in theory.

The voice of Nama interrupted his train of thought. “Does it disappoint you that they weren’t the rabid zealots you expected?” The Goddess asked. There was no mocking, only a vague curiosity.

“I am still unconvinced about that.” He growled with irritation. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. They hunt my kind. They are my enemies.”

“They do it thinking they’re serving the greater good.” Nama replied smoothly. “Wouldn’t you do the same? Many would think that it’s brave the one that sacrifice one to save a hundred. Also, i’ll make you know that the Church of the Flaming Light does an unreplaceable job in the assistance of the poor, the sick and so on.” She shrugged. “After all, they built a Kingdom from the ashes of a civilization. They are a pillar of these lands. Would be right to oppose them?”

Gorren gritted his teeth, hatred flaring. “It has never been a matter of rightousness.” He hissed. “Only vengeance.”

“That would make you quite the villain.” Nama clamly pointed out.

Images of death and despair and flame flashed through Gorren’s mind. He didn’t even try to banish them, bathing in the anger and hatred they inspired him. “And so be it then.” He growled.

The Goddess didn’t reply.

For some moments, they walked in silence. Gorren left the memories wash over him, drawing hateful strenght from them. He eventually banished them away in a remote corner of his mind to focus back on the present.

“It doesn’t adds up.” He murmured after a hiel. The Goddess didn’t give sign to have heard him, but he didn’t care. “I know what i’ve felt, and that presence didn’t match the image that the priest had of his God. Also…” He rubbed thoughtfully at his beard. “Their doctrine is too convenient. I could see a religion form behind that brotherhood and generosity bit, but that insistence over order and treading the known path... These lands have indubitably suffered much from the regression. Absolute peace is surely something they desire, and a stable, immutable order must sound pretty appealing to the people. Considering their economic level, they hadn’t the chance to change their lives anyway, so it probably doesn’t feel like they’re losing in freedom. This doctrine feels like it has been built just to spread fast by exploiting the trauma left by the disaster. And the Flames were so quick to seize the opportuniy given to them by the catastrophy, so rapid to rally the people…”

“It could have formed with the years.” Nama interjected. “A set of beliefs formed in answer to what the people wanted or needed.”

Gorren shook his head. “Maybe if there was no God behind it, but i know what i’ve felt.” He set his gaze. “No, it’s all too convenient, and only an idiot wouldn’t see it. There’s someone pulling the strings, and that someone is telling a bunch of lies to these people.”

“It’s a big guess.” Nama noted, drawing a snort of contempt from him.

“We’ll see.”

“What do you think to do now?” She chuckled as Gorren threw her a glare. “Alright, alright, i won’t pry. Good luck anyway.”

And just like that, she was gone. Gorren didn’t even feel her disappear. She was simply gone. For all purposes, there never was someone walking to his side.

Gorren huffed in annoyance. If only she spoke clearly, if only he could know what hers and the Gods’ position was about all of this. They couldn’t be the ones pulling the strings, it wouldn’t make any sense. They were already well-respected in Truvia, and this catastrophe only brought their own cults down. But then… ah, it was no use.

He huffed again, and walked faster.

To his relief, the two “guests” were already gone when he arrived to the mansion. He barely paid heed to a dazed-looking Trich’s reporting of niceties and courtesies and whatnot, while Krik snacked on what remained of the cake, before going to his study and slamming the door behind him.

His minions had assembled for him a man-sized apparatus formed by a series of brass and copper tubes attached to what looked to be a large telescope. The Oculus was keyed to Gorren’s Mana signature. For anyone else, it would have been just an inert tool. If the need arose, it could be easily made to pass for a complicated tool meant to study the skies.

Throwing cloak and jacket aside, Gorren activated it.

Lines of brilliant blue ringed the tubes as Gorren infused the machine with his Mana. The apparatus fizzled once, then settled into a soft hum.

Gorren put his eye against the spyglass. The Flaming Light’s detection barrier, that had felt like a distant impression with his naked senses, through the instrument appeared as a inter-connecting, brilliant lines into a haze of golden energy..

Gorren hummed as he ran his hand over what looked to be only ornaments engraved in the metal. They glowed softly as he brushed them, twisting and turning as he adjusted the vision.

For some time this went on, the mage busy studying the twisting currents that formed the spell.

This is strange, he thought. That detective field was built strangely. It was crude when it came to its functions, meaning to track bursts of magic, but that crudeness was accompanied by sophistication, namely when it came to its range and to its ability to pass unseen. For that reason it had been easy for him to elude it, while he had needed a specialized tool to perceive it well enough to study it.

It was like two people had been working on it, an apprentice with just a vague grasp of the mechanism, and a sage, with decades of experience.

Why is this?

A work born from an incomplete understanding, maybe? But no, if the builder had enough knowledge on how to weave the Mana currents to reach such a high level of stealthiness, it shouldn’t have been a problem to do the same when it came to the detection ability as well. The two disciplines sprouted from the same basic theory. Stealth was more difficult to obtain that the former, in fact.

Except… if they were just copying blindly from another source, without really understanding anything of the process.

Bah! Other questions, with only vague theories as answers.

Gorren kept working, but found his focus spoiling steadily. His thoughts kept returning to what the priest had told him, and what he had told Nama. If he was right, if there was a design behind everything that had happened during that century, it meant also that there was a person, or more people, with the longevity, knowledge and ability to guide it, an unseen hand able to steer the passages of decades and the falling and rising of nations.

Who are you? Who is my enemy?

Could it be a fellow mage? Longevity of that kind could be easily obtained through alchemy and magic, if you had the knowledge and the means. The possibility disgusted him, but he didn‘t discount it. There was plenty of madmen amidst the few that could call upon that level of ability.

Still, even a God could bestow long life over servants, trusting them to act where he couldn‘t. The presence he had felt seemed to make this one the most likely option.

But if it’s like this, why haven’t the other Gods intervened with their own servants? Why hasn’t Ur?

The Unseen King kept himself aloft from the quarrels of his kind, but he had always showed the interest to keep a balance of sort in the influence they had over the mortals. A God that tried to shatter that balance by seizing everything for himself would attract his attention without a doubt, as well as his rebuke. And no God could defy the King.

Gorren tore himself away from the Oculus with a sound of disgust. More questions, and no answers! And like this he couldn’t focus! What was even the point?

Fuming, he looked outside. The sun’s position told him that two hours had passed. Plenty of time before nightfall yet.

Restless, he started to pace the room. All that had happened that day, all the unaswered questions and now the rising doubts had unbalanced him, leaving him unable to focus enough to get back to his work. He thought about returning to the compound for the day, but he discarded the option just as quick. His troubled mind would follow him there.

Unable to focus on a single thing, he kept pacing.

All the dark thoughts and images that costantly tormented him started to return to the fore of his mind. Once again, he saw the chopping blocks and the burning libraries, heard the screams and the despair. The walls suddenly seemed to loom threateningly over him.

Anger and hatred and despair surged, but he stiffled them. He needed to do something, he needed to have answers. But where could he find them?

There is a place…

He thought about it for some moments, weighted the possible dangers and rewards. Then, he made his decision.

In a frenzy of activity, he put back the Oculus in its dormant state, took back jacket and cloak and stormed out of the room.

He found Trich and Krik before the stairs leading to the basement, handing isntructions to the workers.

“I am going out.” He grumbled.

Surprised by his sudden arrival, the two looked at loss.

“When are you returning, Master?” Krik bluterd out, probably more out of instict than real intent.

Smart boy. He didn’t ask “where”. Gorren wouldn’t tell him.

Despite the thoughtful question, the mage found himself short of patience. He wanted to be out and moving.

“When you see me. Hold the place while i am gone.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, and stormed away.

The hot summer air was suffucating, but getting out of the house felt wonderful all the same. Snorting against those weakling’s reactions, Gorren trasformed, and flew away.

The rushing winds helped him to cool down a bit. More calm, he thought about his intentions, weighting once again risks and rewards. There were risks, but when was that any different? And exploring that place remained his best bet to finally uncover something concrete anyway. Yes, he was going to do this.

Convinced, he sped through the sky.

The Truvian ruins close to the village were just like he had left them, a bunch of broken rocks choked by vegetation.

Gorren landed on a tumbled-down wall, and expanded his perceptions.

Once again, he felt the lingering energies. They wrapped around everything like a thin coating of snow. He found his previous assessment to be correct; they were of a vague kind, like mud in a riverbed, impossible to use to carve theories about what had left them.

The action of time, or something else…?

Focusing, he found that the energies didn’t stop at the surface. They went deep into the ground, eventually converging into an underground mass. He was impressed by the size of it; it had to cover the entirety of the ruins and even some parts completely covered by the vegetation.

An underground facility?

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. It was usual for Truvian mages to build some of their structures with underground levels. It helped to focus the energies of the land, and made for containment of certain specimens more effective.

Gorren sharpened his focus. He felt numerous presences, as well as various types of energies, but everything was bundled together, and drowned in the same energies on the surface, only in a much higher intensity.

Irritated, he drew back from his scanning. If he wanted to make sense of what he felt, he would need to go down there. The lingering energies were too confused for him to understand from the surface.

Jumping down from the wall, he trasformed again. A giant lizard took the place of the hawk, and sped with reptilian quickness between the ruins.

The energies’ chaotic flux meant that Gorren couldn’t just follow them to the entrance of the underground. He had to search every buildings, razed or not. Thankfully, he could narrow the places he needed to search by singling out where the energies felt stronger. A higher intensity could be the simple result of chance, but just as well a run off of those buried in the underground.

Eventually, he found a fissure under the ruins of a buildings. Whatever cataclysm had hit the place had also uncovered its foundations. The combined work of time, elements, the massive oaks that had taken over what remained and, Gorren suspected, some earthquake, had opened up a small passage leading underground.

Gorren stood atop its entrance, looking down in a darkened pit. He could feel the run off of energy blowing against his scales like an invisible draft.

His tongue flickered out as he thought about this. There was power emanating from underground, enough to be dangerous even for him. Also, the chaotic energies kept him from getting a clear picture of the place. There could be even more danger, lurking unseen.

He made a mental snort. There was always danger. It only meant he would have to be careful.

There was a blur of movement, and he disappeared inside the fissure.