Sight Seeing [The Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame]

[Quillon Hawke]

Continued from A Decent Corner

Quillon felt a flicker of irritation as he watched Seraphis interact with Sámiel, their flirtations unfolding with an intensity that felt almost out of place in the sanctity of the Hall of Stars. The way Sámiel held Seraphis’s gaze, the subtle movements, the lingering glances—it was as if he were deliberately trying to unnerve them, testing the boundaries of what was acceptable within their sacred walls. Quillon’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

Seraphis, for her part, regarded Sámiel with a bemused expression, her initial demureness giving way to a calculating gleam in her eye. She was not unaccustomed to flirtation, but Sámiel was a different kind of suitor—brazen yet somehow respectful of her authority, his words a mixture of reverence and irreverence. He had a quality about him that was both maddeningly charming and profoundly unsettling, as if he existed just slightly outside the bounds of what could be understood or controlled.

The corners of her mouth lifted in a faint smile, her voice cool and measured as she responded, “Your appreciation is… noted, Sámiel.” She emphasized his name after learning it, letting it linger in the air, studying him as one might examine a rare, curious specimen. “We in the Brotherhood welcome those who are moved by beauty, after all. And it’s refreshing to see someone who isn’t afraid to admire what is before them.”

Seraphis inclined her head ever so slightly, as if bestowing a gift of acknowledgment. Quillon was keenly aware of the way Seraphis shifted, standing just slightly closer to his Seeker, the subtle tension in her posture speaking volumes.

Quillon seized the moment to speak, hoping to regain some measure of control over the situation. “Sámiel,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of authority, “the Brotherhood’s teachings are meant to inspire reverence for the Ascendancy, to awaken a deeper purpose within those who seek it so that we might emulate them for the betterment of all.”

But even as he spoke, Quillon’s attention drifted to the far end of the hall, where he noticed Calliope—a recently raised Aethermancer standing with another Seeker.

Quillon felt a pang of pride mixed with something warmer, softer, as he watched her. Calliope was talented, a natural at her role, and he had taken pleasure in seeing her excel within the Brotherhood. He admired the way she embraced the teachings, the ease with which she summoned attention, and her presence seemed to radiate a quiet, understated beauty that always managed to catch his eye.

Quillon glanced back at Seraphis and Sámiel, his resolve momentarily shaken. He was proud of Calliope’s progress, but he couldn’t ignore the low flicker of something deeper, something personal. He’d recruited her, guided her, and now here she was, a blossoming talent under his care.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone,” he said, casting a lingering look at Seraphis before he took a step toward Sámiel. “Not long ago she was a Seeker just like you.”

Seraphis raised an eyebrow, her gaze following his as they moved toward Calliope. The faintest hint of a smirk crossed her lips as she returned her attention to Sámiel. "Veilwarden Quillon is… quite dedicated to his recruits," she murmured with an almost playful tone. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

She smiled at Calliope and her Seeker, “Hello. I am Veilwarden Seraphis,” she quickly interjected.

“And I am Veilwarden Quillon,” he quickly added.

Seraphis

[Mia Wolf]

Mia smiled at Cali's response. She was sincere in her answer and it was a good reason. "Good should come from magical gifts. Isn't there an old adage, with great power, comes great responsibility. A quote from Spiderman." Actually it was Uncle Ben who said it, at least originally, there had been so many Spiderman's since the originals, it was hard to keep track of things.

Three beautify people joined them and introduced two of them. Mia smiled at them and gave a half curtsy out of respect, Veilwarden sounded important. "Mia." She offered her hand but wondered if they would take it. "A pleasure Veilwarden's. Veilwarden sounds important, what exactly does one warden over?" But names could be names, just things made up and not have anything to do with such possible relation to the words used.

[Sámiel]

Sámiel watched with quiet delight as Quillon excused himself, his path drawn toward a nearby woman with a tenderness that was as obvious as it was endearing. Sámiel’s emerald gaze followed him for a moment, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint, amused smile. The Veilwarden was trying so hard to maintain his composure, but Sámiel could feel the subtle tug of personal affection beneath his disciplined exterior. It was delicious to watch.

Meanwhile, Seraphis’s sharp eyes were still on him, her curiosity mixed with an almost imperceptible edge of possessiveness, as though she too wasn’t entirely willing to let him slip away so easily. Sámiel basked in their jostling for his attention, the quiet contest between two beautiful and compelling individuals. It was a game he was familiar with, and one he enjoyed far too much.

As Seraphis made a remark about Quillon’s dedication to his recruits, Sámiel turned back to her, his smile widening, warm but with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Dedication is admirable,” he said smoothly, his voice low, his words wrapped in velvet. “But the true joy is in the interplay of devotion and desire, is it not? The spark when belief becomes personal.” His gaze lingered on Seraphis just long enough to let his words tease her before flicking briefly back to Quillon.

A ripple of curiosity tugged at him as Seraphis gestured for him to follow. He allowed himself to be led further into the sanctuary, his stride smooth and languid, his eyes taking in the details of the temple with the intrigue of someone both enchanted by its beauty and skeptical of its purpose. Every sculpture, every flicker of projected light overhead, every reverent glance cast in his direction from those they passed—it was all part of the theater, and he relished his role as the enigmatic outsider stirring the pot.

As he approached, Sámiel’s attention was completely engulfed by the figures awaiting them. Calliope, whose delicate beauty and gentle grace radiated from across the room, was speaking animatedly with another woman—Mia. Where Calliope was light and ethereal, Mia was shadowed and sharp, with a dark edge to her aura that intrigued Sámiel almost instantly. Her features were striking, framed by dark hair and bold, angular lines, her movements calculated and purposeful. She had the air of someone who knew exactly who she was and wanted others to know it, too.

But it was the blonde who struck him like a blow. The connection was immediate and visceral, as though a thread buried deep in the fabric of time had been tugged. Her face was unfamiliar, yet the shape of her eyes, the way her lips moved, the scent of her body—it all felt maddeningly familiar, like a memory clawing its way to the surface.

“Greetings,” he said, the salutation rolling off his tongue as though it were a secret he had known forever. His eyes flicked briefly to Mia, his smile broadening as he nodded to her. “Two more stars in this ever-expanding constellation. Truly, the Brotherhood has no shortage of beautiful believers.”

Before they could answer, he gestured one slender, graceful hand at the grand space around them. “I admit, I am curious. It’s one thing to hear of it, to admire the beauty of your faith.” His eyes glinted with a dangerous kind of amusement. “But I am far more interested in seeing it for myself. Show me what your Brotherhood is capable of.”

He stepped back slightly, his body language open and inviting, though his tone carried the weight of a dare. His gaze flicked between them, lingering longest on Calliope, though Mia’s dark allure didn’t escape his attention. Meanwhile, Seraphis and Quillon watched on. He folded his hands behind his back, tilting his head ever so slightly. “After all,” he added, the faintest smirk gracing his lips, “a skeptic can only be convinced by what they see with their own eyes.”

[Calliope]

Cali laughed at the comic book reference, taking no offense at what some here might have taken as irreverence. She had never seen the point of elitism when it came to the sacred, preferring faith to be understood in whatever way best connected. The words were wise no matter who was remembered as speaking them. It made her think of her little brother, who always seemed to have some retro obsession, but the memory was short lived as she caught sight of Quillon’s new direction. Her smile grew when he not only noticed them, but began to make his way over. Seraphis and the stranger followed at a more sedate pace.

“Quillon was the one who first introduced me to the Brotherhood,” she leaned to explain quietly to Mia in the moments before they arrived. Her smile was naturally buoyant in greeting, its encouragement reaching Quillon first despite his somehow managing to introduce himself last. She turned naturally to defer to the Veilwardens, intending to allow them to answer Mia’s question. She would say nothing of Mia’s confessions about her memories, of course. If the woman chose to share or inquire to that end, it was entirely up to her. Either way Cali stood close by, in quiet and encouraging solidarity. Though she had always been in awe of Quillon's ardent passions and Seraphis's cool mystery, she was aware that the two of them in the same space could be somewhat liked opposing magnets.

But it was the stranger amongst them who commandeered and swallowed the attention. His voice was velvet, its timbre enthralling in a way she had only ever heard in the Luminar himself, yet unsettling too, in a discordant way she had never experienced. Cali glanced at Mia, touching her arm in quiet apology, but her composure remained unruffled by the interruption. Such demands were not unusual, and he seemed to pose the question largely to her, though she could not fathom why. It was natural to want to see the power the Ascendancy had returned to the world, and sometimes it was even obliged by those with the gift for it, but there was a performative edge to his stance and tone. One that suggested he had no intention of allowing himself to believe, but simply wished to be entertained by players on a personal stage.

“The eyes are the least of the senses,” she said. The lilt of her accent softened the words into lightness. Her eyes twinkled a merriment unphased by the impossible challenge. “And a sceptic will always search for the explanation, no matter what he sees.”

Only charlatans responded eagerly to a call to prove themselves. As she had told Mia, faith was an answer of the heart, and the Brotherhood a doorway for those willing to step through and explore its secrets. Cali had no gifts to share but her own compelling nature. With a gesture both playful and sincere, she delivered the dare back to him: palms upturned and held out gently for him to take if he wished. He had taken a step back from them, as though settling back for a show, and would need to return to close the divide. “Will you close your eyes?”

[Anton]

Answers. It seemed like in some ways everyone was seeking answers. That in itself was the reason for religion. People yearned for something to believe - something to hold true to - something that gave purpose. On stage, Anton felt that purpose. Even in the classroom, it was there. Music gave everything meaning, but there had to be more. There had to be something deeper.

Coming from a successful run of L'Orfeo had lifted Antons spirits, but with the curtain closed, things seemed to darken, both literally and figuratively, as fall gave way to the Russian winter. And in the midst of this time of death, arose the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame. What drew Anton here, he didn't know, but he slowly entered the grounds, looking at the Monument of the Conquerors of Space. Almost a hundred years had passed since mankind first flew above the heavens. So long ago, yet in the grand scheme of things so recent.

Anton continued, finding himself at the statue of the Ascendancy. A man - now seen by some as a god. At first Anton had been skeptical. In some ways he still was. Yet he was here, seeking answers for questions he didn't know he had. How could a man be a god? As he thought about it, he thought about the opera he just performed. The story of Orpheus and his quest to find his beloved Eurydice and bring her back from the clutches of Hades. What if they had existed? What if Hades, Orpheus, and the entire pantheons of entire ancient faiths had foundations in reality. If men had the powers that the Ascendancy exhibited, would they also not be worshiped as gods?

Anton kept moving through the gardens. People stood at the entrance to a hall, looking much like guards. They took notice of him, but did not bar him entrance to the hall. Unsure of where to go, he got out of the way of the entrance, but kept looking around, in awe of the building itself. A group of people, several women and a couple of men gathered together in conversation. Anton did not try to listen in, merely kept looking around the room, wondering if this was where he would find what he was looking for.

[Quillon Hawke]

With his Seeker’s attention divided between Seraphis and Calliope, Quillon turned his focus toward Mia. Her reluctance was evident in the tension of her posture and the guarded way her eyes flicked around the room. Yet, the fact that she was here at all—standing in the heart of the Sanctuary—spoke of a mind at least partially open to the unknown. He knew well how curiosity often worked its way into doubt and, eventually, into belief.

“We Veilwardens are custodians, defenders, and guardians,” he began, his voice low and measured, each word weighted with solemn authority. “In this case, of the Veil itself.” His tone carried a deadly seriousness, one that hinted at responsibilities that transcended the mundane.

He paused, watching her reaction, knowing his words would undoubtedly spark more questions. That was the nature of seekers—questions layered upon questions, each leading closer to the answers they didn’t yet know they were looking for. Sámiel’s request for a demonstration, though not surprising, was more direct than most. Visitors to the Sanctuary often sought proof, yearning for glimpses of what lay beyond their ordinary perceptions. Quillon felt the weight of the request and knew it could not be dismissed lightly.

“The demonstration you seek is not uncommon,” he said, his gaze briefly sweeping over the group. “Rituals take place here daily at twilight, and twilight is nearly upon us. It is the hour when the stars of the Sanctuary guide us, and as the world shifts from one phase into another, so too does the Veil move and stir.”

With that, he took command of the group, his posture straightening with quiet authority. The rich fabric of his robes swirled around him as he turned, the subtle sound of it brushing the marble floor adding weight to his movements. “Allow me to show you something,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding.

He led them across the expansive hall, its open spaces alive with subtle light that danced across the ceiling like reflections off water. High above them, the Sanctuary’s state-of-the-art holographic system displayed a dazzling array of images, each one breathtaking in its detail. Many depicted the Ascendancy’s miracles—moments of divine intervention immortalized in light. But one stood apart from the others, a projection that seemed to pulse and shimmer with a life of its own.

Quillon’s attention sharpened as he approached the image, his steps slowing as his eyes caught those of another Seeker nearby. A subtle nod beckoned the onlooker closer, silently inviting them to bear witness to what was about to unfold.

“This,” Quillon said as he stopped beneath the towering projection, his voice dipping into reverence, “is the Veil.”

Above them, the hologram depicted the Ascendancy himself, his back turned to the viewer as though he were gazing into the mysteries beyond. His arms were raised, and from his body radiated a stunning web of fine, colorful threads, shimmering like the strands of a spider’s web caught in sunlight. The wires, impossibly delicate and in constant motion, seemed to coil and stretch outward, undulating as if alive, an artistic representation of the Ascendancy’s godlike magic.

Quillon lifted a hand and entered a command into the holographic interface embedded in the pedestal before him. At his touch, the image began to shift and descend, drawing gasps from those gathered. The Ascendancy’s form seemed to shimmer and glow as the projection became more tangible, closer, almost as though he stood among them. The luminous threads emanating from his body reflected off their faces like fine beams of light.

Quillon reached out absently, lifting a palm toward the glowing threads. His fingers traced a line along the projection, the light glinting off his skin in a way that made it seem as though the magic itself had reached out to meet him. His gaze remained fixed on the image as he spoke, his tone lowering to something almost reverent.

“A veil covers an unseen world,” he began, “like a mist or a disguise, concealing it from the eyes of most. But some of us… myself, Seraphis, and others among the Veilwardens… can glimpse beyond it. We are among the honored few, chosen to guard this unseen place, to protect its mysteries and enforce the laws set forth by the Ascendancy. And those laws…” His eyes flicked to Sámiel, then back to the hologram, “…are carried out by the Luminar.”

He let the words settle, his hand dropping back to his side as he turned to look at Calliope. His gaze softened for a moment as he recalled the first time he had shown her this same display. She had been full of questions then, her curiosity fierce and unrelenting. It was a memory he cherished, one that came rushing back with the same pride he’d felt at the time.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a figure emerging from behind Calliope, stepping into the light of the hologram. Quillon straightened instinctively, his expression tightening with formality as the familiar silhouette approached.

“Speaking of,” he said, his voice low, and he bowed his head deeply. “Allow me to present… the Luminar.”

The figure that approached radiated authority, their steps measured and deliberate as they came to stand in the light of the hologram. Quillon’s reverence deepened as he stepped aside, his attention shifting fully to the figure now commanding the room. Whatever light Sámiel or the others had drawn from him was now eclipsed by the presence of the Luminar, whose every movement seemed to embody the will of the Ascendancy itself.

[Luminar]

Theron entered the Hall of Stars with purpose, his stride measured and deliberate. The message from Seraphis had been brief but precise, summoning him from his more pressing duties to greet the visitors who had found their way into the Sanctuary’s inner sanctum. Though it was not uncommon for him to appear in the Brotherhood's magnificent atrium, his role was far greater than engaging in idle conversation or fostering curiosity. That was the work of the faithful—those like the Embers, who played their part in the ever-burning flame of the Ascendancy’s reach. Even the smallest sparks could kindle belief, and belief was the Brotherhood’s most valuable currency.

The Veil hologram, glowing and intricate, dominated the center of the Hall as it so often did when Veilwardens demonstrated their sacred purpose. Theron allowed his eyes to flick toward the dazzling display as he approached. He understood its power, not just as a tool of instruction, but as a symbol—a vivid representation of the Veilwardens' connection to the unseen. Their role as bridges between the physical and metaphysical realms was vital, but Theron existed on a plane above even them. It was he who communed directly with the Ascendancy, he who had named the divine channeling as “the Veil.” It was Theron who had prophesied the coming of a new age, heralded by the Ascendancy’s power. And it was Theron who had written the Celestial Codex, the Brotherhood’s most sacred text.

His appearance was no less a statement of his position. While his robes bore some similarity to those of the Veilwardens, his attire was unmistakably distinct. Draped over his shoulders was a modernized cape that balanced perfectly between drama and elegance. The deep black of the garment was accented by fine golden threads that lined the seams, catching the light as he moved. Beneath it, an amulet rested against his bare collarbone, a talisman of authority nestled in the open collar of his tailored shirt. The design was understated yet regal, a testament to his role as the Luminar, the highest earthly emissary of the Ascendancy.

As he entered, the Veilwardens—Quillon and Seraphis—immediately turned toward him with reverent precision. They bowed deeply, their gestures imbued with the respect his presence commanded. Theron, in turn, nodded once, a slight inclination of his head that both acknowledged their devotion and reinforced his place above them. His gaze moved past them, briefly brushing over the Aethermancer before finally settling on the Seekers. He noted there were now three of them. It was precisely this state of being—caught between wonder and hesitation—that the Brotherhood sought to cultivate in new recruits.

Theron’s voice, when he finally spoke, carried a depth and resonance that seemed to fill the Hall. “Sapere aude,” he intoned in Latin, his tone both commanding and inviting.

Without hesitation, the Veilwardens lowered their heads once more and responded in perfect unison: “Docendo discimus.”

Theron brought his hands together, steepling his fingers in front of him as his piercing gaze swept over the group. “Only one who dares to know,” he continued, his voice steady and deliberate, “will find the truth of what they seek.” There was a pause, deliberate and heavy, as if the very air in the Hall waited with bated breath. Then he inclined his head slightly toward the Seekers, his expression thoughtful yet unreadable. “Welcome, Seekers, to the Brotherhood of Ascension. Your journey has brought you to this place, and for that, you should take pride. Please, join us in the Chamber of Echoes, where only in reflections will you find answers.”

He gestured toward the adjacent space, the motion fluid and assured. The Chamber of Echoes was not far, its entrance subtly tucked to one side of the Hall of Stars. Unlike the expansive grandeur of the Hall, the Chamber was smaller, more intimate, a ceremonial site meant for deeper introspection and enlightenment. It was a place where words softened, where belief took root in the silence between sounds. Theron moved to lead the way, his steps slow and deliberate, offering the group time to process the invitation.

As they followed, the light from the Veil hologram flickered and danced across the walls, as if bidding them farewell and urging them forward. The transition from the Hall of Stars to the Chamber of Echoes felt symbolic, as though they were crossing from the realm of observation into one of revelation. Theron’s presence remained steady at the forefront, his posture straight and commanding, his aura one of unshakable purpose.

The silence stretched as they walked, broken only by the faint sound of footsteps on polished floors. Theron glanced briefly over his shoulder, his expression calm but contemplative as he observed the group. Seekers, he thought, were as much a test of faith as they were potential disciples. It was his role to plant the seeds of their belief, to guide them toward the truth of the Ascendancy. But it was up to them to decide whether they would take root. In the Chamber of Echoes, where reflections gave way to revelations, they would begin to find their answers—or they would leave, unchanged, shadows fading back into the light of the mundane world.

Either way, Theron would ensure they never forgot what they saw here today.

---

Sapere aude, Latin for “Dare to know”.
Docendo discimus, Latin for “By teaching, we learn.”

[Mia Wolf]

Mia was just in awe. Though she truly wondered if that was truly what these channelers saw, or if it was just a lie for them to perpetuate the religion they were preaching. There was no way to prove any of it, not that Mia was one of those who only beleived in what she saw. That would be hypocritical of her, because she obviously had things of her own going on that were not explained by the science of things. She couldn't not beleive Trinity was real. She'd never met her, never seen her, couldn't ever do that for without one there was not the other. But there was evidence of her change of this other. But... Mia shook her head and followed into the chamber of echos.

She watched an listened in stunned silence unsure of what to make of any of it. If any of it was real. Magic was obviously real she'd seen it for real. Maybe not the makings, but she saw that once had been a building was now a monument. She saw the results. But did this mean anything more to her? Or Trinity? or whoever else may lurk in the depths of her mind?

[Sámiel]

Sámiel

Calliope commanded his attention now, her soft accent carrying words that had a surprising weight despite their gentleness. Her demeanor disarmed rather than confronted, and her playful challenge stirred something deep within him, something both ancient and unplaceable. Her twinkling gaze and extended hands were not a show of submission but an invitation, and Sámiel felt the deliberate balance of her gesture. She wanted him to step forward, to meet her halfway, to cede ground.

It was clever. And dangerous.

Sámiel’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, one that carried a touch of amusement and something darker, deeper, simmering just beneath the surface. He took his time, letting the moment stretch out, allowing the silence to settle over the group like a veil. His emerald gaze fixed on Calliope, and for a moment, it seemed as if nothing else in the world existed.

“The eyes may be the least of the senses,” he said softly, his voice low and rich, “but they are often the first to betray the truth of what lies within.” He tilted his head slightly, his smile never faltering. “And you seem quite certain that I am merely a skeptic, seeking explanations where there are none.”

He took a single step forward, closing the gap she had so cleverly opened, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were stepping into a carefully laid snare and daring her to spring it. “You ask me to close my eyes,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with an edge of challenge. “And yet, you already see so much, don’t you, Calliope?”

His gaze flicked briefly to her extended hands, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. It was rare for him to yield any measure of control, but something about her—something familiar and haunting—compelled him forward. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers with the lightest of touches before settling into her upturned palms.

The moment their hands connected, the world seemed to lurch.

It wasn’t the expected stillness or vulnerability she had likely hoped to invoke in him. Instead, it was something visceral, electric, a jolt that sparked along his skin and seemed to burn its way through him. For the briefest of moments, Sámiel was not in the Hall of Stars. He was somewhere else, in another time, another life. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and smoke, and the world was alive with the clash of fire and frost. He could feel her presence there, intertwined with his, their connection fraught with a history too tangled to unravel.

His fingers tightened around hers instinctively, his expression flickering with something raw and unguarded before he forced himself back to the present. His grip softened just as quickly, but he did not pull away. Instead, he held her gaze, his emerald eyes sharp and searching, as though trying to decipher the meaning of what had just passed between them.

“And here I thought you sought to make me vulnerable,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. “But perhaps it is you who should close your eyes, Calliope. What is it that you see, I wonder, when you dare to look beyond the Veil? When you dare to look beyond me?”

He didn’t miss the subtle tremor in her hands, nor the way her composure faltered ever so slightly. Whatever had passed between them, it was not one-sided. The connection was real, undeniable, and it rattled him more than he cared to admit. But Sámiel was not one to retreat. Instead, he leaned into the moment, his voice softening to a whisper meant only for her.

“Tell me,” he said, his gaze boring into hers, “what did you feel?”

Calliope

She intended to redress the imbalance of his demand, but he made it a game of power – like somehow that step towards her became the stalk of a predator, and not the submission of an open heart. Cali loved the Brotherhood for the things it made her feel; things both within and beyond herself. Faith had no explanation, no reason; it was visceral, a fire lit to ward away the darkness – to cast away what might or might not lurk unseen in its shadows. Who could truly say they’d never felt it? That vulnerability in the pitch black of the night, eyes robbed of their comfort? Fear was as primal as faith. And perhaps as addictive.

“Windows to the soul,” she agreed lightly as he bandied words in that velvet voice. She didn’t mind the show if it was an honest one, and there was an intensity to him that only woke ardency in her. A battle of wit was not the same as a lazy command to be entertained, and she was curious for the challenge if his mind was truly open. Her smile was friendly, as warm and welcoming as with any Seeker. “So what truth do mine tell you? There is no trick.”

To close his eyes would be to make himself vulnerable for a moment; but to take her hands would be to share the symbol of community the Brotherhood offered in that fragile place of isolation. The flame in the darkness. Connection. He contemplated her open palms, and Cali only waited in patience for him to decide. She was asking for a trust he clearly suspected a trap in, but there wasn’t one – she wasn’t intending to unman or embarrass him, and there would be no shame if he declined. She’d simply let the moment pass. Though as she watched him with the same avid attention as he watched her, she did not think he would refuse her. There was already a hook there, somewhere; she saw its effect on him, if not its cause.

His touch was uncertain at first; as soft as moth wings fluttering against the light. Until it wasn’t. For whatever it was she felt Cali’s eyes widened, her hands jerking backwards in the same instant his clamped down like a vice; each gesture cancelling the other out. It was only a second before his grip relaxed, and she did not pull away again, though there was the faintest tremor in her arms as she stared back at him. He hadn’t in fact closed his eyes, but it wasn’t what she was thinking as the pierce of his gaze excavated her own for answers. Her pulse sped; she could feel it pounding in her temples, making her muscles quiver. The shock of something unexpected, something beyond the ordinary realm, held her in thrall. It was an unnerving and electric fear, but one that also felt like a calling. To what she did not know.

It was both divine, and terrifying.

It wasn’t her business to glimpse beyond the Veil. She did not have the gifts of Quillon and Seraphis, no matter how hard she prayed for it. Her Voice ought to be blessing enough; there wasn’t another person in the Brotherhood who could coax the earth to flourish the way she did. But the challenge stirred something in her when he asked what she saw beyond. Desire burned anew for gifts outside her reach, for understanding a calling she couldn’t decode, and the mystery of a stranger who came here to mock the ritual which knit the Brotherhood together.

Cali’s chin rose as she stared back, curious and unwilted for all his intensity tried to crush. She regarded him like a puzzle she could not solve. Because whatever had occurred, he experienced it too – and was as unnerved, for all he claimed to be its engineer. He would not demand an answer in such a way otherwise. But if she had an answer to give, now wasn’t the moment for it, as Quillon's voice interceded. 

Sámiel

Sámiel held Calliope’s gaze as the tremor passed between them, his expression as composed as ever, though there was something sharp and raw in his emerald eyes. He felt her resistance, her hands jerking back just as his grip had instinctively tightened, and for a brief second, the world seemed suspended in that fraught moment. Whatever connection had flared between them, it was undeniable. Familiar, even. As if it had always been there, waiting for their paths to cross. Her chin lifted slightly, her strength rebounding quickly, and Sámiel couldn't help but admire her resilience. Most people crumbled under his intensity, but not her. She stood unwavering, staring at him as though she were the one deciphering his secrets. It was both infuriating and exhilarating.

When she spoke, challenging him to find truth in her eyes, he let his lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile. “Your eyes tell me,” he said, voice low and smooth as silk, “that you stand on the precipice of something you don’t yet understand. But you feel it, don’t you? The pull, the burn of something just out of reach.”

He leaned close, sensing more behind her eyes. If he stared hard enough, he could glimpse it just behind her irises. “And that terrifies you,” his joy in the discovery was palpable.

Before he could press her further, Quillon’s voice broke through, commanding their attention. Sámiel stepped back, the sharpness in his gaze softening as he turned to look at the Veilwarden. Quillon’s formality was a balm to the charged moment, though Sámiel caught the edge in his tone, the way he seemed eager to reassert control of the room.

Samiel slowly turned as the Luminar entered, his stride deliberate and regal. The air around him seemed to change with his arrival, as though he carried the weight of the Brotherhood’s purpose on his shoulders. Sámiel’s gaze sharpened, taking in every detail of the man before him. The dark, modern elegance of his robes, edged with gold, spoke of authority that required no explanation, and the amulet resting at his collar seemed almost to pulse with significance.

The title itself—Luminar—was enough to stir a flicker of amusement behind Sámiel’s composed exterior. It was lofty, dramatic, and utterly befitting of someone who had written their own holy texts. Yet, as the Luminar’s gaze swept over the group, pausing briefly on Sámiel, there was something undeniably compelling about him. This was not just another charlatan cloaked in mysticism; he believed in what he preached, and belief, Sámiel knew, was a force that could move mountains.

When he spoke, intoning the Latin phrase with practiced precision, Sámiel raised a brow, intrigued. The Veilwardens responded in perfect unison, their bowed heads a testament to their reverence. The exchange felt rehearsed, almost theatrical.

“Sapere aude,” Sámiel repeated under his breath, the words rolling off his tongue with ease, though his tone carried the faintest hint of mockery.

When he addressed the group, Sámiel inclined his head slightly, his smile faint but present. The Luminar’s words were carefully chosen, each one weighted to inspire awe and curiosity in equal measure. Sámiel could feel the eyes of the others on him, but his focus remained on their leader. The man’s presence was commanding, yes, but Sámiel wasn’t one to bow easily. Instead, he allowed his natural charisma to rise to meet it, his own aura refusing to be overshadowed.

When the Luminar gestured toward the Chamber of Echoes, Sámiel’s interest was piqued. The transition from this grand hall to something smaller, more intimate, carried an air of promise. Revelations, reflections, answers—the words were bait, but Sámiel found himself curious enough to take it.

“I must admit,” Sámiel said, his voice smooth and dark as velvet, “you’ve crafted quite the invitation. Reflection and revelation... Such lofty promises.” His gaze lingered on Theron, sharp yet amused. “I do hope the Chamber of Echoes lives up to its name. I do enjoy hearing the sound of my own dulcet voice.”

He stepped forward, falling in line behind the others as they began to follow the Luminar. The flickering light of the hologram caught his attention briefly, casting ethereal shadows across the walls. It felt like a farewell, though to what, he wasn’t yet certain.

As they walked, the silence stretched, broken only by the soft rhythm of footsteps and the rustle of the Luminar’s robes. Sámiel allowed himself to fall into step beside Calliope, his voice low as he leaned slightly toward her. “Does this Luminar of yours always make such an impression?” he asked, his tone light but laced with something more. The lingering connection between them still buzzed faintly in his chest, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was speaking to distract her—or himself.

When they reached the Chamber of Echoes, Sámiel paused just before entering, letting the others move ahead as he took in the space. There was something symbolic in the transition, something that stirred a deep, primal part of him. He glanced toward Quillon and Seraphis, then back at the room, his expression unreadable.

“Let’s see what kind of show they can conjure,” he murmured, his words a challenge to no one in particular. And with that, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the unknown.


((With Calliope))

[Anton]

Anton approached, but did not speak as the man - the Veilwarden - welcomed him into their fold. He knew he sought answers, but he didn't know the questions to ask. A strange feeling. He watched as the presentation began and could only feel disappointment. It wasn't that it wasn't impressive. It was, but he had expected more. Anton had been a part of a number of shows and he recognized one when he saw it. It was an attraction to bring in the masses.

That didn't mean the Brotherhood did not hold truth. It was merely that their method for bringing in people was more robust rather than the solemnity he had expected. There were two others here not of the faith as it were. A girl, awe radiating from her at the spectacle, and a man, who before the Veilwardens had done their thing had terrified the woman with him. He could feel the fear radiating from her. It put Anton on his guard with regards to the man.

Anton understood little of what they said, but it all came back to the image of the man before them. The Ascendancy. As Anton looked at him, his brow furrowed in a concentration. Anytime he looked at an image of the man, he felt something. It was that feeling that brought him here today. A feeling of deja vu - a sense they had once met, and their meeting had not been a happy one. Anton didn't understand it. He had certainly never met the Ascendancy, and he doubted he would.

The Luminar arrived, and began to speak, again, most of what he said Anton didn't understand. Then again, he had arrived late to the party, maybe he had missed some crucial talk at the beginning. Still he followed as they began to enter the Hall of Echoes, the only one seeming to speak was the man who had terrified the young woman. He certainly liked to hear his own voice. Anton followed in continued silence.