"Our timeframe is limited. So I must ask the permission of all three young masters for momentary control to transpose their presence out of the palace."
As Silen heard this, he felt something, a concern and question, but also something else. Seeming prepared for this opportunity, Eisler nodded to the man without hesitation, and in the next moment, she vanished from her spot.
Kaer similarly decided to follow Eisler's actions, but before nodding, he glanced at Silen. Silen, on the other hand, could only stare at him expressionlessly.
'What in the world is happening here?'
There was nothing in his memories to help with this question. So he could only seek the answer outward.
"Why am I being included in an event that is only for those of direct bloodline?"
The priest looked at him for the first time. It seemed to probe deep into him, though Silen could not observe its face. Then it spoke.
"The cause is unknown."
Taken aback, Silen thought about the possibilities at hand.
'Can I refuse? Should I?'
But a feeling enveloped him. A resentment he had within him. He found himself reflecting on a memory of her eyes. How they looked at him. How hateful she was. What disgust she had for him.
He felt like a worm under the weight of thousand mountains.
Even after finally being freed from her grasp, he was still bounded by her.
A memory that only brought rage within him.
But he was no longer incapable.
Even though only a moment had passed in reality, he had processed enough to reach a conclusion.
'Fixation on certainty and probability will only limit my development.'
To him, it was a rational decision not only a step toward authority if he succeeded, but also a chance to distance himself from those who knew the original Silen.
'I feeling like I will understand this strange emotion as I complete this pilgrimage.'
So without further delay, he nodded slightly at the priest, who was awaiting an answer.
In that moment, he felt a loss of consciousness
....
Standing alone in the nave was the priest who had just sent off three potential prospects, something he had done numerous times, thirty-eight to be precise.
Ever since he had forgotten his mortality, he seemed to forget nothing, especially the past. In that bittersweet past, he would find his beloved god.
But today, that did not seem to provide any comfort.
The vision of what he had witnessed seeped into his soul and mind. Reluctantly, he stood still in the memory. Nothing could stop the horror he had just seen. How could such providence be?
Though reluctant, he looked once again at his memory. Two young men and one woman, all three nearing the age of twenty, sat alone in the hall. He could clearly sense their level, what little pleroma they had.
All except one of the men, who seemed out of touch with reality. He could clearly see that this man had no pleroma at all a soul like that of a mortal.
As he progressed with the ritual, only the mortal man remained, looking at him and asking why he was there.
A question the priest had asked himself as well.
'Weren't there supposed to be only two pilgrims?'
When he stared into the man, searching for a trace of royal blood, he saw what he had mistaken for a soul.
Only now did he realize it was simply a silhouette—a transparent silhouette.
When he peered into the darkness of the imago-dei, he encountered something he could only describe as an abomination, an unrecognizable complexity manifest in darkness.
Such a soul could not belong to a living being! Even the monsters of the indefinite Abraxas did not mutate to such an extent.
Then a sacrilegious thought came to him: 'Perhaps the Abraxas itself would not be so unholy!'
As he retracted his gaze from the man, who still stared at him lifelessly, he felt fear for the first time since he had transcended. Until this point, he was unsure if he could even feel such an emotion, especially within the Holy Cathedral. Afraid to offend that being, he tried to be as formal as possible, keeping his distance from anything personal with it. All he could muster was, losing all emotion and authority over the conversation,
"The cause is unknown."
When the man nodded a moment later, the priest felt the church respond to him. Then he vanished.
For once, the priest felt a calmness settle over him.
"Oh Father of the Depth, Mother to all that is, lend me the beauty of our lost paradise."
He knew there would be no response to his prayers. After all, it had been an indefinite amount of time since the last god conversed with the world.
He knew the last conversation in exact detail, for it had occurred in his presence, within this location.
Pope Algehri stood right in front of the altar, staring at the divine monument as he usually did before beginning his theological works, only to faint suddenly.
Losing all composure, the Pope then screamed in pain, tore at his clothes and ears.
All priests in the vicinity ran to him some looking for signs of a curse, others trying to heal His Majesty, as pretentious as that sounds.
Yet nothing seemed to help him. It eventually took him months to fully step out from his residency and speak.
He said he heard a voice. A prophecy.
The voice said,
"Beware of the Furtive Serpent."
On that day, the whole world shifted. Every church received a similar prophecy, except for some that vanished completely from history and the face of the world.
To this day, the scar of that day remains on the world. People of that age called it
"The Great Unseen."
To the nameless priest, this day felt strangely familiar to The Great Unseen.
To himself, he asked a question:
"Is it a premonition, or godless madness taking over me?"