The crackling of flames was the only thing breaking the silence in the Obsidian Halls. Shadows flickered across the walls and floor, shifting to the whims of the fires.
“An unfortunate turn of events.” His father leaned back on the throne, resting his head on the cold, obsidian backrest. “You are not at fault, Midhir. Stop looking at the ground like a guilty puppy.”
Midhir flinched. “Father-“
“You are not at fault.” The Emperor repeated, his voice snapping like a whip. “Do you question my judgement?”
He breathed out slowly. “No, I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good.” The Emperor closed his eyes. He remained silent for a few moments before opening his eyes. “Come, look at this.” He gestured at Midhir to approach.
He was holding a small, glass vial filled with what looked like water. It’s wooden cork was tightly sealed. “Holy water, she called it.” He raised his gaze to meet Midhir’s. “Do you think her god blessed the Spring of Sun-Touched Waters?”
Midhir stopped two steps below the throne. Blessed water… It seemed absurd. “No.” He bluntly replied. “I find it hard to believe any god would just… bless anything, let alone a spring far from its places of worship.”
His father raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why is that?” His calculating gaze was watching every minute difference in Midhir’s expression.
“I don’t think the Sun God is what they think it is.” He hesitated, seeking the right words. “Once their worship started, the nation shut off its borders and ceased communications with the rest of the realms. Centuries passed, all without trade, cultural exchange, without even knowing what was happening around them. What kind god would want this for its people?” He wondered – did they even know about the An’Larion disaster before they stepped foot in the Empire?
“Perhaps ignorance is truly bliss.”
He looked away. His father’s piercing gaze made it clear—he wasn’t just talking about the Theocracy.
“Putting that aside for now,” the Emperor finally turned his gaze towards the vial in his hand. “Concerning yesterday’s events.” He raised his hand to stop Midhir before he could speak up. “I have already told you, you were not at fault. I want to hear your thoughts. Considering everything you have experienced regarding this cult so far, what conclusions can you come up with?” His lips curled up into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Show me I can trust you to stand by Ilya’s side.”
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Midhir’s gaze snapped back to his father. His lips parted, but he stopped before he blurted out anything. Whether his father found him at fault or not, something unacceptable had happened while Derwen Hold was under his command.
Pressing his lips together, he paced back and forth on the second step. “Since the first day they appeared, the cultists had this helmet – an artifact of the dark ages.” Where had they found it? No, that didn’t matter right now. Conclusions, he reminded himself, focusing his thoughts on that single word. “Every time we came across them, their leader – and the helmet – was with them. They’ve been surprising us with their resourcefulness. Always appearing in unexpected places, travelling seemingly too fast and getting ahead of us every turn of the way.” He stopped pacing and turned to face his father. “It’s safe to assume that they’ve been using the same method they used to break into the dungeons for a while now. That might be how they entered the thirteenth district in An’Larion as well.”
His father’s expression remained still.
“We will probably learn more from the captured cultists, but it seemed to me that they have a powerful resonance caster.” He paused, frowning. That wasn’t the first time they had come across a powerful resonance cast by these cultists. “They interfered with crystal tools once before,” he muttered, furrowing his brows. He cast his mind back. Twice in Bareon they had prevented the use of crystal tools. At the time, he was sure the caster was killed by Alistair’s hands, but perhaps he was wrong.
“Very few people can interfere with crystal tools.” His father narrowed his eyes. “Even fewer if it was over a vast area.”
Midhir nodded. It was a rare ability because the Empire refused to teach it to fledgling resonance casters. Even against an enemy, it was cruel to deprive them of healing, and lifesaving supplies. That resonance did exactly that.
“Less than a handful of people, I’d assume.” Midhir muttered. “I remember reading the reports, two resonance casters were killed in Bareon – I saw one die with my own eyes and read the report of the other one.” Decoys? Perhaps, or they were truly there to fight, but their deaths were used to hide the truth. Perhaps they were simply unlucky, and their deaths were made to serve a purpose.
“Creating such passages that twist reality itself must require a great deal of power as well.” His father’s words hung in the air for a short while.
“And the attacks that came afterwards.” He scowled. “Their power was similar to that of their false priestess – manipulating the forest, attacking with vines, roots and branches, but unlike her, they used real plants, not the chalk roots of the monuments.” He folded his arms. An apprentice of that woman, perhaps?
“What do you make of their plan?”
Midhir flinched. “It’s madness. They are blinded by faith – the old gods will not grant them ascension.” He clenched his fists. “Father, if they succeed, our humanity will be lost. They can’t be allowed to proceed.”
The Emperor met his gaze. “How would you stop them?”
Midhir gritted his teeth. This was the difficult part. They moved so incredibly fast because of their reality-twisting resonances, and that was probably how they continuously damaged the veil as well. “I would follow the damage done to the veil.” He breathed out. “Repair it as best we can.” He pressed his lips together. “We can’t ever catch up to them if they can just escape like that… so I’d prevent them from ever being able to cast such a powerful resonance.”
His father raised an eyebrow. “And how would you do that?”
Midhir’s gaze shifted to the ring on the emperor’s finger.
