"Lord, our God Almighty, Most Holy and Highest of Virtues, bless us, Your servants on this mortal world so that we may do Good in Your name against those who would deny Your almighty power. Let us, Your servants, damn them to the lowest depths of Hell Below so that the Devil may rend their souls apart and take them to the Fires for justice for their crimes. Bless us, Your servants, so we can continue the Good Work in Your name. Bless us, oh Lord, our God Almighty, as we prepare for the end. Sarem."

Eadward Crius rose from his prostration before the small altar in his dormitory and licked his thumb and forefinger. Wetted, he used them to snuff out the lit candles on either side of the redwood table and, in their place, lit the incense sticks with a match so that their purifying smell would fill the room. After this, he reached over to caress the wooden figure of his God, smiling as his thumb traced the intricately carved details of the Almighty's face. He felt tinges of goodness come from this figure, and he knew it to be his God acknowledging his love - unending and unbreakable like the Sword of the First Saint that lay within the bowels of the cathedral. Eadward stood up from his altar, giving one last look-over of the items he had placed on it for his daily prayer. The figurine, drawings of landmarks, words of blessing from Saint Dain of Bisalor, a bloodletting knife for the nightly ritual, and beads gifted to him from the Matriarch Cardinal herself.

He smiled at each individual item and then turned to retrieve his robes that hung in his mahogany wardrobe set at the foot of a simple bed. Maroon red silks with purple-velvet lining, the chest adorned with various iconography collected from Holy Sites across Central Khirn and the Divine Road - as north as Veoris's northern mountain walls and as south as Belanore went before being cut off by the Secluded Reach. Along the arms ran scripture of the Great Texts of Saint Dain of Bisalor; Saint Robarl of Eljeon; Saint Pyria of Norhice. Three exemplars who served God Almighty, like Eadward Crius now served King Aslofidor the Seventh.

Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he remembered the glory days of his return from the Divine Road with the newfound knowledge in his heart of God's blessed energies and how he had convinced the King to use it for the betterment of his land. Arcaeno, as the masses called it. Magik, in the words of the Third Saint. Damnation in the eyes of the fools who opposed its usage, none more foolish than the very man who outlawed it in Central Khirn. Aslofidor the First, risen to power hundreds of years ago and leaving a legacy of squalor and devolution. For God was his kingdom found, even before it was reduced to a single nation surrounded by four others who had split off to follow their own ways. Yet, how could they achieve this goal if they refused to use the very energies God Almighty had left on earth for them? Something the old Dynasty before Aslofidor understood. Now, under the rulership of his wiser descendent and true heir, the five kingdoms of Aslofidor, Dekun, Tahrir, Veoris, and Belanore could reunite and reforge the great dynasty that the First had intended to leave behind.

Eadward wiped the tears of joy from his eyes and slipped on his robes over his comfortable black tunic, clasping his hands together under the sleeves instinctively and meandering to the simple oak door of his austere dormitory. Pulling it open, Eadward expected to be greeted only by the warm, incense-filled air of the cathedral's underground tunnels. Instead, he was met by a gathering of no less than ten priests, hooded and dressed in white-green robes with their heads slightly bowed, pressing the base of their palms together in front of their chests - the tops of their fingers curled inward to touch one another. The sign of prayer for God Almighty, their hands forming a cage with which to ensnare any blessings He felt willing to impart on his worshippers. It was an old tradition of gesture, a sign of strength and the willingness to take what was given. It had been slowly integrated into the new religion over the past seven years, overtaking the once insultingly simplistic sign of clasping one's hands together on their knees. Eadward had convinced the Matriarch Cardinal, who had shared the Divine Road with him many times before, that this was far more appropriate for the new world that would come of the arcaeno.

"Your Excellency," the leader of this ten addressed Eadward, bowing his head deeper in reverence for the man. There was a quiver to his voice as if he was shocked that he was standing so close to a man he clearly regarded with the utmost respect.

Eadward removed one hand from his sleeves, grinning brightly, and held it up to calm the man's growing amazement. "Calm yourself, Luminance," he said with a small laugh. "Rise and tell me your name."

The man did so, though the others behind him remained singularly bowed in greeting. He was young, showing the olive-skinned features of a Tahririan, and tall with a slender fighter's body visible even under his robes. "My name is Ahsar, Your Excellency," he said, forcing himself from bowing again. "It is an honor to meet you in person, Bishop Crius."

"I seek no such honor, Luminance Ahsar," Eadward laughed again. "Tell me why you are here, especially with so many others."

The men and women behind the young priest sucked in stifled breaths at the acknowledgment. Ahsar cleared his throat. "We have been instructed to meet with you as part of our transference process from Kauis. Bishop Erdinç felt that you were the most qualified to acclimate us to the cultural differences between Tahrir and Aslofidor."

Eadward's smile brightened. "The good Bishop Erdinç thought highly of me then. I would not say I am the best, but I am capable of doing this, yes. I was just on my way to eat breakfast in the dining hall if you would like to join me."

Ahsar nodded fervently and turned to the nine behind him, saying something in Tahririan to make them lift their heads and lower their hands. Eadward parted the group and began walking down the long, winding tunnels of the cathedral's underbelly. Torches, banners, and plaques lined the walls, dormitory doors, and study room archways in great number. Such was the number of lit flames that the passageways were given as much light as they would from a hundred glass windows on a summer's day. Behind him, Eadward heard the priests whisper and mutter to themselves in awe of the path they walked. He understood why, for he had been the same way when he first walked them some forty years ago. Though the surface building was indisputably large, it was the halls underneath that truly marked it as one of the larger constructs in the city of Holmgan, stretching from Sortberg Point to Kyolvar Square. A total stretch of seven miles, with the lowest levels housing the greatest relics reclaimed from the Divine Path's forgotten holy sites. The Sword of the First Saint; the Codices of Revelations; the Swiftwind; The Lambent Scrolls; the Crystal Ambition; the Devoted Tears of Vedetta Maerwynn. Powerful relics, if not for their supposed abilities but for their history and the inspiration they have on the believers. It was with the Lambent Scrolls that he had created the Lambency - or Lambent Order, as some liked to call them - and gave them ultimate jurisdiction as the law keepers of the kingdom. Only the Matriarch Cardinal, the King, and Eadward himself had control over the chivalric knights. Fifteen of them constantly patrolled the cathedral, giving Eadward a slight amusing thought of how the priests behind him would react to the knights in black and orange plate armor.

This thought was taken by the scent of sweets, savory meats, and fresh ales being poured into wooden mugs and small metal cups. He led his newfound group into the dining hall beneath the cathedral, relishing with humor at their enamored response to how elaborate it all was and how large it was in comparison to the halls and rooms. Personal coats-of-arms of past kings and queens, banners of various noble houses that became prominent in the church, and strips of parchment with scripture written on their length stretched across the expanse of the hall. The most prominent of the flags was at the far end above the door leading to the kitchen, portraying the lion-drake sigil of the Aslofidor family. Dining tables of hard black wood lined the center in a row of five, with ten black wooden chairs to either side. On the tables were platters of food beyond fantasy, plates of polished steel, silverware shining in the light of the candle chandeliers above, and various holy books - and associated editions for historical comparison. Most of the seating was taken by white-robed members of the church, though one dining table had roughly enough space for the Bishop and the priests at his heel.

Eadward motioned to the seating and led his band over to it, giving nods of acknowledgment to each priest who greeted him with gleeful smiles. He sat down and, after making sure his plate and silverware were not previously used, grabbed strips of bacon, a small chunk of softened butter, some slices of bread, a few links of sausage, and two cream-filled pastries. The priests looked to him after sitting down as well, their faces furrowed at the amount of food he had taken for himself. Eadward snickered and bit off a chunk of a sausage link.

"Let me guess, Tahrir has yet to learn of the dietary changes the new regime has made?" he asked, to which they all nodded. "I thought so. Well, as you are to learn, the church has decreed that enjoyment of food, sweets, even ale-" he motioned to a passing server who filled his cup. "Is not sinful. God gave us the knowledge to create these wonderous, tasty delights. And with the world outside of the city's walls slowly succumbing to the necessary changes from which we are to build the new world, we should enjoy every bit of it. Would you not agree?"

He took another bite and locked eyes with Ahsar, who looked nervous and chewed his lower lip. "Your Excellency, is it not said that the Devil Below created these types of pleasures to lure our immortal souls to his clutches? Are we not risking damnation by indulging so freely?"

Eadward laughed heartily, having been asked the same question a hundred times before. "Luminance Ahsar, you have a lot to learn and a lot to expect. We are no longer a land of stagnation and fear. Of the arcaen or evolution with it. Fear of delights and enjoyment of life. No more. One can dedicate his life to God Almighty, pray every day, serve in every mass, make pilgrimages up and down the Divine Road every year, and still enjoy a bit of breakfast." He took a larger bite of a sausage link and a deep gulp of his ale for emphasis. "Fear of that and declaring it as sin is for the fools like Duke Oudet, damn his name to Hell Below for all time, wherever he be."

Ahsar was still apprehensive. "But, Your Excellency, the Chronicles of Minloda - the founding text of our religion - said these things. Are we to go against the word of our founder?"

Eadward sighed, dropping his mirthful grin and placing down his mug. "Luminance Ahsar, I understand that Tahrir is perhaps more dedicated to the serving of God Almighty than even we Aslofidorians, but rest assured that...we are going against the word of our founder. Our founder was not Aslofidor Minloda. He was merely a misguided interpreter of our true founder. God Almighty founded us and delivered us from ignorance during the greatest period of time in Central Khirn. From before Minloda."

"You speak of the Vamourin Dynasty?" asked one of Ahsar's compatriots, a woman of dark complexion and beautiful features. Southern Tahririan, Eadward assumed. "Were they not destroyed by Minloda and decried as sinners?"

"They were, but falsely so. Tell me, Luminance-" he stopped to learn her name.

"Sireen," she answered, bowing her head lightly as her voice became taut. "Luminance Sireen."

"Luminance Sireen," he repeated, finding himself dragging the name out in an almost fatherly tone. "Aslofidor Minloda was confused. According to his text, he heard the Word of God in his mind. To create a lasting legacy from which a world of true faith could rise. Yet, look at what happened under his rule. The Vamourin Dynasty was destroyed and his attempt at a unified kingdom under God Almighty became fractured. Hell Below, the Veorisians went on to worship totems and animal gods. The Belanorians fancy trade with E'aura. And we have been in conflict with the Dekunians for as long as anyone can remember. Yet, when Aslofidor the Seventh - our glorious King - took up the mantle of his forefathers and accepted the knowledge that my fellows and I learned during our pilgrimage to the lost holy sites, he unified us once more. Tahririan, Dekunian, Belanorian, Veorisian, and Aslofidorian all in the same room, under a singular purpose of evolution and development with the blessed energies of God Almighty. The same ones that Aslofidor Minloda decreed as sin and evil. The same ones he let roam unused, wandering as simple-minded things without purpose."

Sireen breathed shakily, watching as Ahsar and three others reached for food on the platters. "Would you not say that...using it has done exactly what Aslofidor Minloda predicted? The world outside the city is-" Sireen began to say.

Eadward cut her off. "-Growing more and more decayed, I know this. It is one of the main arguing points our church's opponents use against us. Yet, they cannot see that the world as it is must die for it to grow again. You see, the blessed energies of God Almighty have two steps to it that many fail to recognize. The first is the death of the world as it is. The rotting of the land overgrown with stagnation. The next is regrowing it into something beautiful with lush, verdant vistas and huge tracts of land for farming and development. Truly glorious."

Sireen began to breathe slower in controlled bursts. Her eyes darted to her compatriots and to the food they still apprehensively devoured. "So...the destruction of the land is necessary then?" she asked. "Will it spread to our homes as well?"

Eadward nodded and took a huge bite of buttered bread. He talked with his mouth full. "It must if our homes are to heal. After that, I imagine we will move beyond Belanore and Veoris to the lands far north and far south. And then, perhaps, even to E'aura. Wherever God's Will is required. We must turn our world into a phenomenon of faith."

The young woman no longer breathed, her eyes fixed on the Bishop with a mixture of dawning agreement and pre-existing reverence. Then, slowly, she reached for the platters of food and smiled brightly as she ate the delights. Eadward shared her grin and, after having servers pour them some ale, toasted to their initiation into the new church.

The city of Holmgan was a spectacle unlike any other for the new priests. Eadward could tell this by the looks of awe on their face, despite knowing they had made the journey through it to reach the cathedral. A walk of approximately thirty miles from the nearest gate. On that journey, they would have seen wonders such as the Golden Tower, the Healer's Hold, and the Manor of Guilds. Where Eadward was taking them was in the opposite direction towards the furthest and southmost - along with being the primary - gate of Holmgan. The King's Barrier, it was called, the main protective gate of those living within the three-hundred-foot tall walls. Though the three other gates for the western, northern, and eastern roads were equal in their defensive capabilities, it was the King's Barrier that was the most famous.

Eadward hummed a tune as he walked the wide street leading away from the cathedral that spired into the sky like a carriage pierced with javelins. Ahsar kept his band under control, limiting their wandering urges and occasionally asking the Bishop a question or two on a particular landmark they passed. Eadward answered each question with genuine enthusiasm, detailing a short-hand history of it and the importance it held in modern culture. He also stopped to pass on blessings and gratitude to the citizenry who made the sign of God in respect for his service. Some even offered him baked goods - his love for the stuff widely known throughout the city.

"It's so much different than it did south of here," one of the priests commented.

Eadward stopped to look back as saw the aged man looking up. Following his gaze, Eadward took note of the clear expanse of the sky and frowned, silently - secretly - bemoaning the fact that outside the walls - outside the shield of faith the church had put up - the world was a desolate scape. Necessary though it was, as he explained to Sireen, it still saddened him that so many people were caught in the fires of Duke Oudet's short-lived rebellion, their lives upturned in the decay wrought by the faithful and the force of arcaenomancers sanctioned by the King. Eadward resumed his walk, the priests' rapid footsteps hot on his heels. Before long, after passing rows upon rows of homes, taverns, brothels, inns, smithies, and stores, the eleven faithful reached the open square behind the King's Barrier. Hundreds of people filled it, standing guard at merchant caravans or temporary pop-ups to sell their wares. Guards in coats of mail wearing the colors of the King kept order in the packed place, bashing their shields to break up the occasional brawl, leading away ne'er-do-wells to some less clustered location, and hauling off thieves for lock up. Eadward was proud that they did this all with little issue.

"There are so many people," whispered Sireen. "How do the guards keep such order intact?"

"They are men of the King," Eadward answered simply. "They do their duty in his name, just as we do ours in God's name. Now, all of you, come with me. We are going to the top of the wall. I want to show you what we are fighting for."

Atop the wall, three hundred feet in the air, the young priests and Eadward Crius looked out across the landscape that still remained green, dotted with trees, farms, roaming traders, hunting camps, and small pocket communities in the distance. Birds and animals ran freely across the fields of grass and colorful flowers. The roar of noise from the city behind them and the rush of nature before them mingled in an inspiring castrophany of sound. Eadward grinned wider than a knife at the lovely sight, once more feeling tears in his eyes.

And then there came a cry. Happy, joyous, yet demanding. Eadward turned around and walked to the other side of the wall's battlements that peered over the city. Below, he saw that the square - having seen him rise to the top with his small flock of students - had filled with the faithful wishing to hear from him. A sermon on a day where none was scheduled. Wishing to hear his words of promise and glory - of the coming new world and all the golden light they would bathe under God's mercy and love. Ahsar and Sireen stood by him, craning their necks to see the distance down and how far the crowd spread through the immense square. Sireen had adopted an overwhelmed breathing. Ahsar was silent in his stupefaction. Eadward's eyes flashed with passion and adoration for his flock and he called for the rest of his new students to stand by him as well. The guards atop the wall with them, so dutiful in their roles, stopped only for this moment, bowing their heads as Eadward held up his hands in the sign of God and was mimicked by those below. He opened his mouth, and the words poured freely into the air like a pitcher of wine. His voice was silvery and commanding and fatherly.

Cheers of devotion could be heard for miles.