They are few, those allies of my past.

But they are valued and you can trust them.

-Note within the hidden journal.

The tower that held the Council of the Pantheon was awe inspiring. Settled within the noble Fershya district lovingly called the Gilded Towers, the Seat of the Council cast a shadow both physically and figuratively upon the area. A glistening monument hewn from white marble; delicate lines of gold filigree crawled up its walls like a million vines reaching high. Unlike Sherya towers, it had no neighbouring structures to support it. Instead, it was built as a spiral that jutted up towards the sky. As though some giant had taken a city wall and, like parchment, rolled it between their fingers until it was a thin cone spiralling upwards. Each crenellation rose with gilded tips along its seemingly endless rise.

Gardinal stood at the base of this tower, feeling utterly unworthy. This was the seat of the greatest warrior priests of the realm. The men who had sat in attendance here throughout the past two thousand years of Terminian history were the greatest legends of this kingdom’s history. Standing in the shadow of it all, Gardinal couldn't help but wonder what he was doing here.

“You were commanded.” He muttered the reminder to himself. “You had to.” The sense of unworthiness had fallen upon him the moment he caught sight of the grand tower. Ever since, he had been constantly reminding himself why he was coming. Now he stood before its grand entry, the massive gold and silver doors towering above him. Each was nearly three times his height, the gold on the right carrying a carving of the True Father Seratos in his glory wielding his sword and scale. On the left, in silver, stood the comforting visage of the First Mother Ethinia, cradling the moon with her thin blade in hand. The Weeping Blade of the Mother it was called, the weapon she only ever drew once, at the end of the Daemon War. It was the hope of every golden hammer to never have to wield their weapon in combat, but if they did they would do so with the sorrow and decisiveness that the Mother had in her first and only battle. And to do so always in the protection of others. Gardinal breathed heavily, then threw his weight against those magnificent doors.

They opened with a smooth grace, Gardinal’s balance being thrown off by the large doors swinging with ease. He should have guessed that the craftsmanship of every inch of this place would be far better than he had gotten used to in Southshore these past years. That thought was driven home as he beheld the antechamber before him. If one could call such a huge place an antechamber.

The room itself was at least two stories tall. Its domed roof painted to depict the movements of all the heavenly shapes of the gods. The First Mother’s moon and the True Father’s sun glistening in gold and silver. Surrounding them, their children, exaggerated in their sizes but glistening in their own rights.

“Excuse me, I believe you must be lost?” A nasally voice asked Gardinal. Turning to the voice’s owner, Gardinal found a stuffy looking Sherya man. He was older with streaks of white in his long braided blonde hair, and his eyes were half-hidden behind those ugly spectacles that had so recently become popular among scholars. He sat behind a small writing desk, with several large ledgers splayed out before him. The cool gaze the man shared with Gardinal was enough to make him think it was winter again.

“I uhm… I’m here to speak with the Golden Hammer.” Gardinal responded.

“Is that so? Well let me just…” The Sherya plopped open one of the large ledgers and flipped it open to a page marked with a gold silk ribbon. He scanned down the page muttering to himself about “upstart Khazimi.” And “who do they think they are joining Ethinia’s…” The man stopped mid sentence and looked up at Gardinal. Lowering his spectacles the man stared at him. “Your name?” He asked in a suffering tone.

“Brother Gardinal.” Gardinal responded, then added. “Of Kin Belnur.”

The man rolled his eyes at the addition and continued his mutterings before tapping the paper twice with his long metallic quill. “Ah. Well, it does seem you have… procured a meeting with His Grace.” The man rose from his chair and motioned for Gardinal to follow. “Come on now, follow me. And don’t go wandering off. I don’t want to be stuck tracking down some lost Khazimi.”

Gardinal followed the man down the long white marble corridors. The near crystalline polished flooring gave a dizzying sensation as they walked along. What must have been hundreds of alcoves carved into every wall were filled with as many religious artifacts from all nine faiths. Just the sight of so many relics left Gardinal with his mouth agape. Instead of being overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence of it all, Gardinal decided to recede into his thoughts.

Gardinal certainly had enough things to think about. Every time he walked out that door with Her Radiance left behind, he was left feeling anxious. It didn’t help any with how odd that Count had been acting lately. He had been coming into the house late at night, and Gardinal could swear he had seen blood stains on the man’s cloaks the past few nights. Then there were the times Gardinal had returned home to Vallerian praying to the First Mother with Her Radiance. What was he supposed to think about that? Gardinal figured at the best it was the man finally coming around to The Prophetess’s words. At worst though? Gardinal didn’t let his thoughts stray too far.

The past few days he had been nervous about digging too deep into his thoughts. It had a habit of finding its way back to that night with Jösef Silverarm. Though it made sense to think about it now, he figured, considering that was the reason he was here. Gardinal adjusted the strap on his shoulder that held the shield fastened to his back. It was so light he often forgot it was there. Though he was worried about its usefulness if he had to use it in combat. Could something that light really be of any help?

Then there was that arrow. He’d been having nightmares about that. Arrows formed of smoky shadow raining down from above. Whoever had shot that arrow had cut down one of the world’s most powerful wielders of the light in his prime. Would Gardinal be able to do anything if the man behind those arrows came for him?

“Here we are Brother Gardinal.” The Sherya stopped in front of him and Gardinal came to a sudden stop as well. “Do mind your manners within. You are meeting with His Most Illustrious Grace the Golden Hammer. Try your best not to fall into habits of lesser peoples.” The Sherya sneered before knocking on the door. Gardinal would have felt insulted by just about anyone else, but he had spent a lifetime being ridiculed and detested by Sherya. This was nothing new to him. The Sherya tended to be protective of the Ethinian faith, and of its institutions. A Khazimi member of the clergy that came from a richer family than them had long ruffled feathers.

“Presenting Brother Gardinal, of the Kin Belnur.” The Sherya announced, pushing open the door and ushering Gardinal in.