The Weight of New Bonds

[Nora Saint-Clair]

She stepped off the tram with a coffee in one hand, the other jammed into the pocket of her long coat. Dark charcoal, cut sharp at the collar, it was formal without being stiff. Beneath it, black jeans and boots with just enough heel to give her presence without flash. Her henley was deep rust, soft and collarless, buttons flicked open at the collar. Her hair was down on purpose falling in thick tresses, not too neat, not too wild. Her makeup was clean, matte, but her eyes were ringed in eyeliner, sharp enough to be taken seriously. 

The closer she came to the Sanctuary of the Ascendant Flame, the more that coffee cup felt like a lifeline. Her fingers were warm from it, steady, even though her heart stirred with something quieter than fear but deeper than nerves.

She passed the stone sculptures outside with barely a glance. She remembered the first time she’d come here almost a year ago now, under a different sky and under someone else’s orders. That visit had been secret, cautious, and very brief.

Inside, the Sanctuary smelled faintly of incense and cold stone. The air was still, the kind of stillness that made her feel like someone was always watching her. Morning sunlight poured through stained glass windows, casting fractured reds and ambers onto the tiled floor. She wasn't sure how to go about doing this, so she stepped forward mustering as much confidence as she could, and approached the first person she saw.

“I’d like to join,” she said simply, voice firm.

There. Said.

[Quillon Hawke]

Seraphis Arden
Veilwarden

PPC

An early riser, it was Sera who was on duty this morning. The Sanctuary was open 24 hours a day, with at least one Aethermancer or Veilwarden in attendance at all times to greet Seekers. The Veil might move a soul at any time of day or night and the Brotherhood would be prepared.

She rose to greet the penitent that wandered in the Sanctuary. The woman was unfamiliar to Seraphis, and her blunt greeting took her by surprise.

“Join? Of course, my child, what brings you to us?” She said, tone friendly, but inside she was beaming. Those who welcomed a new member to the Brotherhood were always rewarded with accolades.

She escorted the Seeker to a place they could sit and speak. “My name is Veilwarden Seraphis Arden. What is your name, my dear?”

[Nora Saint-Clair]

So that was easier than she expected. Did this cult just let anyone off the street join up? Seemed like a red flag to Nora.

She did allow herself to be escorted aside with as much flexibility as she could muster. She half expected this Seraphis lady to lock her up in a cubby under the stairs; there was just something about her she couldn’t place. It felt like they’d met before, but she would have remembered it.

For a split second, she pondered sharing a fake name before uttering, “Nora Saint-Clair.” It felt odd to admit out loud, but this woman was unlikely to recognize her family.

Seraphis nodded, but the way she looked at Nora made her feel as if she could read her like an x-ray. 

Then Seraphis said something that made Nora’s jaw drop slightly. “You’ve channeled before, Nora. I can sense it in you.”

“Um, yeah, actually. How did you know that?” Nora asked.

“It’s something us Veilwardens are trained to sense. I will teach you in time,” and she pat her hand. “How long ago have you channeled? Do you have the Sickness?”

Nora cleared her throat. “I’m not sure, but actually, I came here a while ago to help with the Sickness. That’s why I am back, I guess. To help others like you helped me?” She tried to say it as confident as possible.

Seraphis just looked at her as if she was the most patient person in the world, but behind those eyes Nora wondered what she was thinking. “Well, Nora, we are pleased to have you with us. Since you were previously a Seeker, you may undertake the Ceremony of Reflection whenever you’re ready, and your status will then be as an Ember, to carry the spark forward to your brothers … and sisters.” She added with a coy smile.

Nora suppressed a sigh. “What’s this ceremony about?”

“It is that one may demonstrate that they have confronted their innermost doubts and demonstrate the ability to self-reflect. Afterward, you will nurture the spark of the faith.”

Nora actively had to suppress rolling her eyes. Self-reflection? Innermost doubts? She was nothing but doubts!

“Very well,” she agreed. “Show me what to do.”

[Nora Saint-Clair]

The next day

Seraphis’s smile was the kind that promised both guidance and painful truth. “Well spoken, Nora. You have done the work. You understand that the journey begins not outward, but within. Come. The Flame awaits your reflection.”

She led Nora away from the main Sanctuary, through a low archway and down a flight of spiraling stone stairs. They entered a circular chamber in a level beneath the structure. It was a space designed for focus, with no windows and only indirect light spilling from recessed sconces that cast the room in shades of amber and gray. At the center lay a shallow, circular pool of still, black water, mirroring the single, intense flame that burned on a tripod stand beside it. The flame was unnaturally bright, radiating heat that was both comforting and slightly oppressive.

“This is the Chamber of Stillness,” Seraphis murmured, her voice echoing softly off the marble walls. “Here, the Veil is thin, and the truth of the soul is most readily accessible. The Ceremony of Reflection is not a test of knowledge, Nora. It is a moment of absolute, unblinking honesty.”

Nora felt the familiar stir of resonance from this other woman. In this room, it felt amplified, the way a tuning fork resonates when another is struck nearby.

“You have written about your doubts. Now, you must feel them,” Seraphis instructed, gesturing toward the pool. “The water in this basin is infused potent oils meant to stimulate the reptilian brain, a focus point. Kneel, gaze into the water, and let your mind open. Don’t fight the thoughts or the doubts. Simply observe them as they rise, as if they were bubbles surfacing from below.”

Nora knelt on the uncomfortable stone floor, the posture immediately forcing her to relinquish some of her rigid control. The floor was rough, unyielding. She looked into the black water. It reflected the ceiling, the flame, and her own face; eyes ringed with smokey eyeliner, mouth set in a line of forced composure.

“The greatest barrier to the Ascendancy is the ego,” Seraphis continued, circling the pool slowly, the fabric of her robes brushing against the stone. “He demands control. He demands separation. You confessed your arrogance, your inability to trust anything but your own mind. That is the point of failure. Now, let me see you truly confront it.”

Seraphis’s voice was fading, becoming a low, resonant drone, a sound that seemed to be coming from the stone itself.

Nora focused on the water, concentrating on the words she had written: My greatest darkness is arrogance. My doubt is that I cannot trust anything but my own mind. She focused on these words as she stared into the surface of the still water.

The focus was like a practiced meditative technique. She imagined herself standing alone against the Brotherhood, a lie wrapped around her like a coat. Her plan was dependent entirely on her own flawless execution, leaving no room for the unexpected. Arrogance. Finally, a future possibility, chillingly real: The faces of the people she intended to save, fading into darkness because she had chosen to operate in the shadows, choosing deceit over trust, refusing to accept any aid, any perspective but her own. She saw a flicker of the very thing she was fighting; the isolation, the absolute, singular control in her own methods. Arrogance.

The images were accompanied by a terrible, sinking feeling. A cold, paralyzing certainty: You are not strong enough. Your certainty is a delusion. You will fail them, because you believe you can do this alone.

It was a physical weight, pressing down on her shoulders, the truth of her isolated strategy hitting her with the force of a battering ram. She was trying to infiltrate a cult defined by shared faith and connection by committing the sin they claimed to despise: absolute, arrogant solitude. Then she imagined Claude’s face looking back at her, and Nora grit her teeth, her knuckles white against the stone. The old instinct was to fight it, to dismiss the images as hallucinations or tricks. But Seraphis's drone was insistent: Don't fight. Observe.

She forced herself to relax her shoulders, to breathe, taking in the musty, charged air. She let the weight of the doubt settle, refusing to flinch away from the painful truth.

Yes, she acknowledged internally, not fighting the feeling but naming it. My plan is arrogant. My trust is limited. I am risking everything by standing alone. I must stay connected to Claude. He is my cornerstone.

The crushing pressure eased, replaced by a clarity of thought so sharp it was almost painful. This was the alignment. The internal concession that her singular, isolated methodology was a weakness. She didn't have to believe in the Ascendancy, but she did have to commit to its shared framework. She was making a tactical decision to trade her lone-wolf approach for the power of a collective, even if that collective was her target. This was true self-reflection: recognizing a flaw in her strategy and demonstrating a willingness to change course.

Nora lifted her chin, her eyes still locked on the water, when suddenly, the surface of the water ceased to be a reflection of the ceiling. There were ripples flowing across the water, morphing her reflection in their waves. "I see it,” she whispered, her voice rough. "The solitude. I relied on it to survive, but it is now the very thing that will destroy my purpose.”

Seraphis stepped back into Nora's line of sight, her expression unreadable. She hadn't moved a muscle, yet the air shifted, the resonant drone of her voice stopping abruptly.

"And what will you do with this revelation, Seeker Nora?" Seraphis asked. "The doubt is acknowledged. How will the spark you carry ignite the path forward?"

Nora pushed herself up to a standing position, feeling the familiar, quiet hum of her channeled strength settle into a steadier rhythm. She looked at Seraphis, then past her to the singular, brilliant flame.

"I will commit to the path of the Ember,” Nora stated, her voice firm and ringing in the small space. The ripples continued to billow, though Nora wasn’t sure what disturbed the water. She continued to speak. “I will use this framework of shared strength. This 'connection' to temper my own fire. I will allow the light of the collective to illuminate the shadows I cannot see on my own.”

She was fully committed to the role. The lie was now solid, integrated, and layered on a foundation of recognized truth. Seraphis gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Then the ceremony is complete, Nora Saint-Clair."

She approached the pedestal with the flame, picking up a smaller, brass lantern with a thin wick inside. With a practiced, reverent movement, she dipped the wick into the main flame and pulled it out. The small lamp now carried a small, bright orange spark.

"You are no longer a Seeker, seeking only to find a path," Seraphis declared, the light of the small flame reflecting in her eyes. "You are an Ember. Carry this spark. Nurture it in the silence. Share its warmth with your brothers and sisters. Your path is now one of active illumination."

She presented the lantern to Nora, who upon accepting it the ripples in the water ceased moving, and the warmth of the water’s resonance now seemed to dissipate, but Nora wasn’t cold. She focused on the tiny flame inside the lantern like a fragile, intense concentration of her own focused intent. Nora took it, the moment anchoring her to the present, the light a physical reminder of the commitment she had just sealed.

"Welcome to the first step of the path toward Ascension, Ember Nora," Seraphis said, the smile returning, this time with a hint of genuine respect. "Now, we begin the real work."

[Seraphis]

Seraphis went to bed that night blissfully pleased with herself, the feeling settling in her chest like the gentle, steady heat of a well-banked coal fire. She had secured an Ember. Not just any Ember, but one with potential Aethermancer strength now bound to the Sanctuary's codex.

Her meticulous nature demanded order. Before allowing herself the luxury of sleep, she dispatched a concise, triumphant message to Quillon, already tasting the sweet envy he would feel. Then came the required due diligence: documenting Nora’s ascension, noting the precise moment she claimed the Ember’s spark. Seraphis then plunged into the digital archives, running a deep search on Nora Saint-Clair’s initial entry into the Brotherhood's orbit.

The historical records were strangely sparse, a jagged gap in the otherwise smooth tapestry of their documentation. Nora’s file contained little more than a timestamp and a single cryptic line: Entered Veil. Departed. No attending Veilwarden was specifically listed, no detailed notes on her immediate channeling experience. She had appeared one day, brushed against the raw power of the Veil, and vanished, a loose thread the Sanctuary had failed to catch. It was untidy, and untidiness chafed at Seraphis.

She made sure to flag this anomaly for the Luminar’s personal review. Ordinarily, a promising Seeker only warranted the attention of a senior Veilwarden, but an Ember with unexplained power fluctuation and a sudden, enthusiastic return? That was a signature that demanded the highest notice. Seraphis wrote her summary with professional clarity, emphasizing the irregularity of the previous visit and the unexpected depth of Nora’s subsequent commitment.

The response arrived almost immediately, pinging her Wallet with a crisp notification tone that always made her pulse quicken. The Luminar’s message was a single, concise phrase:

Good work.

A shock of pure, joyous pride ran through her. This wasn't merely validation; it was a physical dose of the warmth she craved, a confirmation that her tireless service and eye for potential had been seen and acknowledged by the man who held her deepest loyalty. She swiftly saved a screenshot of the words to her Wallet, a small, luminous prize to revisit later. She smiled into the darkness, the thought of Quillon’s grumpy reaction in the morning already sweeter than the best cup of coffee.

[Nora Saint-Clair]

The adrenaline from the Ceremony of Reflection had long since faded, leaving behind the crushing, dull ache of simple exhaustion. She’d eaten a bowl of warm soup in the Sanctuary’s refectory, fueled more by necessity than appetite. Now, all she wanted was the familiar, slightly chaotic warmth of the safehouse she shared with Claude.

The Sanctuary’s towering building receded behind her, a mass of cold, heavy stone against the city scape. She could still feel the residual hum of a constant, low-frequency buzz in the pit of her stomach from the ceremony. The day had been an intense performance, a tightrope walk between feigned devotion and calculated study.

Ember. The title felt silly on her, yet the commitment felt strangely solid. She frowned, tucking her free hand deeper into the pocket of her charcoal coat. All the chanting, the solemn rituals, the ridiculous, flowery pronouncements about the ego and the Veil Explained. It was all nonsense, a framework for control. And yet…

She remembered the moment in the Chamber, kneeling before the dark water. When Seraphis had forced her to confront her arrogance, the conviction that she could succeed alone, the feeling had been terrifyingly real. It wasn't the mysticism that convinced her, but the psychological precision. If the Brotherhood was this adept at cutting through a person’s defenses and finding a lever, then their power was less about divine light and more about human manipulation. It was unsettling, but also, grudgingly, intriguing. She wasn’t that good of an actress; to have survived the ceremony, she must have believed the core truth, even if she dressed it up in a lie about faith.

She pulled out her Wallet, the glow of the screen a stark, cold blue against the dark street.

A message from Claude: “Hope all is well, Sis!”

She quickly tapped out a reply with stiff fingers. “Good. On my way back. See you soon.” Almost instantly, another bubble followed her first message. “Are you even there?”

Nora waited, staring at the screen for a response while her thoughts drifted back to the last conversation she'd had with Seraphis, just before she’d left. Nora had been straightforward, asking if she could simply stay at the Sanctuary. It would make her cover and training infinitely easier.

Seraphis had been surprised. “Embers are not usually invited to take up permanent residence, Nora. Their duty is to carry the spark outward.” But Seraphis, ever the eager functionary, had promised to inquire, citing Nora's eagerness and remarkable potential.

The answer, delivered ten minutes later, had been a flat denial. No reason given.

“It is not unsurprising,” Seraphis had admitted, a rare flicker of something like disappointment crossing her face. “Typically, only established Aethermancers, the Veilwardens and those above are permitted to live on the grounds. But you have that potential. And certainly, once you reach the rank of Novam, the Luminar himself would have to consider it.”

The Luminar. The great unseen leader. Nora had heard this word half a dozen times today. The final authority, the man whose approval was the currency of the Brotherhood. And he was the one who had, without a word, denied shelter to a dedicated new member.

He sounds like an arrogant bastard, Nora thought. To have such control, to inspire such zealous loyalty in people like Seraphis, yet to be too important to even grant a reason for a simple refusal. It was the petty kind of aloofness that Nora despised. If you want zealous converts, you don't turn away the most eager ones. You exploit them.

Claude's response made her smile, forgetting about the Luminar. It was like he could read her mind.

“I am - are you hungry?”

"STARVING"

“Then a hot meal will be awaiting you when you arrive!”

"NOM NOM NOM"