Sight Seeing [The Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame]

[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))