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?