After lunch, Kanrel set out on his way to visit the Academy. There were many things that he needed to do there; people that he ought to meet after such a long time. Roslyn went along with him, wanting to partake in the coming conversations regarding Kanrel's findings related to magic, as well as anything that might have to do with the new passages of the Book of the Heralds. She found herself needing guidance.
There was something strange about wearing a priest's robes. It had been too long since he had done so. What he had worn for the longest of times was the Atheian-made clothing, which was by far brighter than the old gray that he now wore. At least he felt warm enough, even as the days grew colder.
It was perhaps an hour past midday, but the world didn't seem much brighter. The Veil above made sure that the only light they received was washed red and never quite enough to walk around outside without some nearby source of light. Thankfully, the city was lit with lanterns, and the warm golden hue beamed from the houses onto the frozen streets of Atarkan. There was little snow, for priests had made sure early in the morning to be rid of most of it. Somehow, it reminded Kanrel of two things... The lantern lighters of N'Sharan, and those of the City of Creation and the City of Last Light, whom he had seen around a few times, walking around the edge of the Veil, lighting flashing gems to keep the shadows at bay.
Kanrel wondered if the Atheians had decided to leave their cities behind now that the Veil was gone from the Land of Shadows Below, or if they had decided to make their way east, to find the stairway and climb onto the lands they had inhabited thousands of years ago. He almost sighed; the idea that they might've left their cities sounded horrid... For if they chose to traverse for weeks, to reach the lands under heaven, what they'd come across instead of the green that he had told Y'Kraun about would be all white, all cold, all beneath a sun that had turned red. Then, they would have left their homes behind, only to come across the Veil once more. Yet, he supposed that it was their choice to make. They had the right. They had a right to claim some of the fertile lands that were above ground, if they so chose.
Kanrel woke from his thoughts only when Roslyn grabbed his sleeve. He had almost walked past the Academy's entrance.
"Will they let me in?" Kanrel asked, staring at the men guarding the entrance.
Roslyn shrugged. "You at least look the part. I'd suppose they'd let you in without a question... Besides, you're with me, and they've seen me walk to and fro many times by now."
"They might not remember you."
"Impossible! I have been told that I am an enchanting being... for a priest, that is."
Kanrel scoffed. "And who told you that?"
"Some students way back when..."
"Way back when?"
She coughed. "Around when I graduated."
"Oh? And when was that? Nearly ten years ago or so?"
Roslyn managed a smile. "So? I've also been told that I look exactly like I looked back then!"
"By who?"
"Myself," she said and pranced forth, toward the guards, who had looked right back at the two apparent priests just standing ten or so feet away from them.
Kanrel shook his head. Who could have been the person who had taught her such things? Surely, it hadn't been him. Instead, it must have been Professor Oidus, or another of her ilk.
Soon enough, Kanrel followed Roslyn, who had just walked past the two guards, giving them a polite nod as she entered the courtyard. Kanrel, on the other hand, was stopped.
"I haven't seen you here before," the guard said.
Kanrel blinked. "Of course you haven't... I have not visited for nearly two decades!" he said and tried to step past the guard, but the guard stopped him again.
"State your name and business."
He sighed. "I am Kanrel Iduldian, and my business is my own."
The guard peered at him. "Are you now?" He looked at the other guard and smirked. "I haven't heard that one before! Tom, this one claims to be Kanrel Iduldian! Should I let him pass?"
Tom, the guard, snorted. "Just send him on his way!"
The other guard turned back toward Kanrel and, with a smile, said, "The closest tavern is that way." He gestured past the priest, whom he didn't believe to be a priest.
"I see," Kanrel muttered. "I don't really fancy a drink, though..."
He sighed. "What if I at least prove the fact that I am a priest?"
The guard peered at him. "We don't accept palm readings here."
"Or any other forms of divination!" Tom, the guard, added.
Kanrel ignored their comments and prepared a code. It needed to be impressive enough to convince the guards. He envisioned what he wished to happen and activated the code. Suddenly, black smoke appeared, bursting into existence and spreading like the smoke of a campfire. From it, Kanrel shaped what first came to his mind... a seemingly endless stairway leading toward the heavens. On it, a small figure appeared, who climbed toward the sun.
The first guard gasped and stared in great wonder at the newly emerged sight. Tom, the guard, joined his friend soon enough, and they watched as the figure slowly suffered its way up the stairs.
Roslyn stood by, at the edge of the courtyard, her arms akimbo. In her eyes, a glint she herself must have forgotten about years ago.
Without another word of real protest, Kanrel walked past the two guards, releasing the codes he had formed, leaving the two in the silence of awe.
"They didn't trust you," Kanrel complained when he reached Roslyn.
Roslyn's brow arched. "Me? Wouldn't it be more accurate to say that they didn't trust you?"
"Of course not. I clearly look the part; even my hairstyle matches one's expectations," he said and walked past Roslyn, already knowing which way to go. There was a book he wanted to see at the Cathedral...
Roslyn shook her head and soon followed him.
The way felt strangely familiar. His legs walked as if in his stead, and he didn't have to guess where he was going. And so his gaze looked around, seeing the familiar sights of his past... The courtyard during winter had always been a somewhat quieter area; even when the worst of the snow was removed when it snowed, a layer of it was allowed to cover the grass. Students walked around, mostly regular students with their varied scholarly aspirations, with some novices sprinkled in between. The two different kinds of them, the ones that had gone through the Ritual, perhaps almost a year ago, now awaiting graduation and wherever the Priesthood wanted them to be stationed. Then there were the novices who hadn't gone through with the Ritual yet. Their eyes gleamed with such joy, and as Kanrel walked past one group of them, he could hear them talk about the lunch they had just had. 'Sweet and savory.'
Soon, they walked past a bench, one that sat in the shadow of a tall oak tree. The bench seemed newer; perhaps it had been replaced, and the tree... it might have grown taller. It probably had, but he couldn't quite remember just how tall it had been. But what he remembered was a summer's day, after their studies into Medical Magic, sitting on said bench, or another much like it, talking about the future, and where each one of them would like to find themselves stationed.
He wondered what Uanna and Wen ended up doing. Had Uanna become a faithful preacher in some village? Had Wen become an austere servant of the Angels, and found herself in some monastery far to the west, or down south by the Coasts of Zuria in some local temple?
Their way made past the now frozen pond. Seeing it, he couldn't help but remember the students he had seen skinny-dip in its often cold waters during the height of summer and its gracious warmth. Nudists, they were.
He almost stopped beside it. Now that he really thought about it, of course, those who would swim in the pond would be nude. It made no sense for them not to be. So to call them 'nudists' had always been somewhat wrong. It wasn't like they'd take a dip in the pond while wearing clothes, now would they? That'd be just absurd. Besides, having to wait for your clothes to dry when you'd very much need them the next day seemed like a bother. Kanrel shook his head and walked by the pond, Roslyn beside him, perhaps wondering the very same thing he had.
As they walked, only some students gave them a polite regard.
They stopped for a moment by the entrance of the Laboratory for the Study of Magical Energy. It was because of a pungent feeling that suddenly ran its course through him. The magic that protruded was rancid. Forcing him to collect his wits and instinctively cover his nose and mouth, even though it would do nothing to block the feeling. Kanrel quickened his pace for the rest of the way toward the Cathedral of Atarkan.
When they reached the cathedral itself, there seemed to be many more priests and novices going in and out of the building. At the stairs of the old structure, a herd of priests seemed to argue about the validity of the final few lines of the Book of the Heralds as well as what those words might truly mean.
"This could only mean the end of the world! For what else could it mean that an Angel could not see past it all? What else could such an ill omen as a red sun mean?" one priest argued. He kept pointing at the sky and its dark clouds with elevated movement.
"Brother, what if it is naught more than the departure of the Herald? Her coming death and the choosing of another?" another priest suggested. She clearly tried to calm down the rest.
"That doesn't make an ounce of sense! Through the Book of the Heralds, is there even one singular time when the Angel claims to lack the ability to see forth? No. There is none," a third priest chimed in.
Kanrel's expression darkened as he listened to their arguments. There wasn't much optimism going around. Only one person suggested anything akin to a thing that might be positive: "What if the Angel's words mean only that it is time for humanity to guide themselves through the course of history? That the Angels are taking a step back to observe and judge how they might fare without them?"
"Nonsense! Heresy! How dare you suggest that the Angels would ever abandon us!?"
Kanrel shook his head and pulled Roslyn with him before she could partake in the argument. They passed smaller groups of priests and novices, who had their own arguments and interpretations regarding what had just yesterday been revealed to the world. And inside, they came across a view which Kanrel had not seen but once in his lifetime...
In the house of their gods, where the statues and engravings of the grotesque Angels looked down at them, where the painting of the Herald standing in front of what Kanrel now knew to be the Sharan of Time, perhaps a hundred or so priests had gathered, kneeling before the painting, praying for perhaps salvation. A low mumbling that had turned into a murmur echoed against the stones of the main hall. There was no priest at the altar leading them; their sermon, their prayer had no lead.
In silence of their own, they made their way to the library, where now only a few distraught priests had gathered, some having just read the words, some about to read them, some buried in studies of the Book of the Heralds so as to find some guidance from earlier generations, who might give them even a fragment of understanding, or a faint string to grab onto, so as to stay afloat, when all there seemed to be was desperation.
Kanrel had to wait only a few moments before he had his turn. He reached the hundreds-of-years-old book and read the final lines. He read them again and again. And each time he read through them, his posture sank, for he had now confirmed with his own eyes the very thing that he had feared the most.
It had been he who had allowed this to happen.
Even when he had lost his faith in the Angels, and no longer saw them as worthy of him or anyone else. This still wasn't preferable to the bliss of ignorance.
Humanity wasn't prepared for this. And what Kanrel saw before him and all of humanity was simply the end of it all. There'd be no salvation.
You could not disrupt the cycle of empires. Much like the Sharan and the Atheians before them, all things must come to an end. No empire may survive the fickle nature of beings that had ascended to godhood through violence and conquest.
It is what he wanted to claim, much like Ignar had, and the rest of the Sharan did in the visions that he saw... but could he? Does the end of an empire begin with a singular man and his mistakes? Surely not. If he were a king, or if he were the Herald, then maybe, but he was neither. Yet somehow, he was the arbiter of it either way. It seemed that if there were such a thing as destiny for civilizations, and if its destruction was its inevitable ending, then he had been the singular loose string that then allowed its unraveling.
Kanrel sighed and turned toward Roslyn, who stared at him with eyes much like his own in this moment. They both knew it—she just lacked the full knowledge. For now, she might blame the Angels instead of Kanrel for what was bound to happen.
Kanrel stumbled away from the lectern, allowing the next poor soul to have their eyes gaze at the words of a god, who might as well have abandoned them. Roslyn helped Kanrel to take a seat near a wall; above them, a stained window depicting some angelic miracle that supposedly happened thousands or more years ago. If only such miracles could save them.
He buried his face into his hands and let the dread of having known fill him from within, but refused to let it spill over. No tears would he weep. He had no right to them.
- - - - -
They emerged perhaps an hour later out of the Cathedral. During that time, they had barely talked, and only exchanged a couple of words just as they departed. "I'm hungry," Kanrel had said, and they left for lunch.
The more Kanrel walked around the Academy, the more he was reminded of the past, and the more his memory rekindled, the more he recognized things, and the more his legs guided him through the journey, as though accustomed to a thing they had done a thousand times before... and they had, they truly had. For just how many days had he spent in the academy? Thousands, it had been.
They entered the building which held many of the restaurants and a couple of libraries which both of them had spent much of their time in during their studies. Back then, Kanrel had always preferred the campus cafeteria, though now, Kanrel found that he was forced to climb one story up and visit one of the restaurants. The cafeteria was meant for the students and the faculty. Neither of them fit either occupation, not for a long time.
The restaurant they ended up entering was a small one, and apparently it offered traditional Atarkaneen cuisine, meaning lots of stews and jams paired with said stews; not much fish or any other bounty of the sea or any other body of water. There were no expensive steaks or wines either, like in the one restaurant that had existed a few stories up. Kanrel wondered whether the restaurant still existed, and if Yviev had visited since the time when they had first truly talked to one another.
They got themselves a table, ordered a meat stew, waited, ate, paid, and left. There was no marveling over any of it—the two priests fed themselves the way one stokes a fire, and were gone as soon as it was done. If anything, Kanrel thought the cooks deserved pity. To labor over a stew for two customers who could return neither praise nor complaint, only the meager coin Roslyn paid in his stead. The art of cookery, wasted on the two of them.
They made their way toward the Academic Hospital, where, according to Roslyn, Yviev was most likely to be found.
The closer they drew, the more Roslyn talked, and the faster. "She took over from Professor Forsvarn, you remember Forsvarn, everyone had to study her work by my time, after she left for the Royal Hospital. And Yviev's..." Roslyn's hand drifted to her own shoulder, kneading it. "Yviev has a way of teaching. Of making you understand exactly how little you know. How useless you are, until you aren't." She tried to smile. "You'll see."
Kanrel said nothing. Much of what she described sounded far too familiar. He had known Forsvarn, and she had never been gentle with any of them. But he had also known Yviev, long before she became a professor, and tyrannical isn't what he would've described her as.
Sure, she had always been one to make lighthearted fun of others, and at the same time she wouldn't be offended if others made fun of her. It was never malicious, and nothing like Professor Forsvarn's... ways.
They stepped through the doors, entering a sort of reception area. Since there were two primary entrances to the hospital, this happened to be the one used by the students and faculty if there was need for any medical attention; thus, it was less used, but still there were some students sitting on cushioned chairs scattered around the room. The students seemed to be suffering from varying conditions, but mostly from the cold.
Kanrel could imagine the number of patients there'd be at the other entrance, but instead of making his way there to see if Yviev was there, he chose to lead the way and take them toward the office, which had once been Forsvarn's. He figured that she'd be either there or in one of the halls taking care of patients, and he knew that she wouldn't be down in the simulation chambers, since novices would be using them at this time of the day.
The door to what would now be Yviev's office was shut, and on the door handle hung a wooden sign that read: 'Only disturb during an emergency!'
Kanrel ignored it and reached for the door, but Roslyn stopped him. Their eyes met, and she let go of his hand, saying, "Maybe we could wait, instead..." She massaged her shoulder again, for some reason, and soon began eyeing the nearby chairs.
Kanrel scoffed and instead knocked on the door, but no one seemed to answer. So he knocked again, this time more loudly. Again, nothing. He went to knock for the third time, but the door burst open, and an angry woman with black hair and clear blue eyes stared out at him with her eyes ablaze. "What!?" she blurted out.
Kanrel managed to only blink.
The woman's expression darkened. "Fool! Can't you read? Or are you just too dumb to fathom the meaning of words?"
Kanrel chose not to reply, and instead studied the woman's face. She was definitely Yviev, though her temperament had somewhat... changed.
Yviev then looked past Kanrel and noticed Roslyn, who had tried to hide herself behind Kanrel. "Oh? Isn't it Roslyn, whoever-the-hell... Crawling back here after refusing my recommendation of staying here and working beneath me?"
"Are you here to beg for my forgiveness, or perhaps here to beg for that station that you so firmly denied?"
Roslyn shook her head. "No, Professor! I am–"
"No? Then why the hell would you dare to bring some random man to knock upon my door and not warn him of the consequences of first disturbing me and then wasting my time with silence?"
"Professor, I–" she tried again, but this time Kanrel cut her off.
"Is this how you have been treating your students?" he asked.
Yviev's gaze met Kanrel's, her eyes engulfed in annoyance, ready to turn into anger or even hatred. "And who the hell are you to comment on how I treat my students?"
Kanrel scoffed. "She was my student long before she was yours."
Yviev grimaced. "What does that..." Her voice trailed off, and her brows furrowed. "Kanrel?"
He spread his hands slightly and did a spin, stopping only to face her again. "The very one, as you might see."
Yviev stared at him, then glanced at Roslyn, who furiously nodded to her, confirming what Kanrel had just claimed.
"You're kidding, right?" she said, the tone of her voice becoming flatter by the word. Her expression fully changed, her annoyance gone, the flames extinguished, yet her brows remained furrowed. She looked straight into his eyes, then shook her head. "Your eyes, they are the same. But the rest," she looked up and down. "I mean, Kanrel was never a looker, and neither are you, so perhaps that checks out..."
"But he'd never shave his head. Imagine the humiliation? He'd only ever be compared to Professor Oidus, that dolt of a woman."
It was Kanrel's turn to grimace. "Indeed... I had not thought of the possibility... Just yesterday I still had my hair firmly attached to the scalp. If only I could simply regrow it, I'd do it. I fear that I might face Oidus today and have her comment upon what I've become..."
Yviev shook her head again. "It really is you, isn't it?"
"In the flesh."
"But why are you here?"
"To see you?"
"Why me?"
"Who else would I?"
"Your mother, for one."
"But she isn't here, is she?"
She looked down, then back at his face. "You have legs."
"Yes?"
"You can walk."
"Obviously."
"Then why aren't you on your way to Lo'Gran?"
"Because there are many people whom I have not seen in a long time... and it just so happens that Atarkan is between Lo'Gran and Jersten."
"I see. Well... Do you want to come in?" Yviev said in the end and stepped to make room for Kanrel to come in.
"Of course." Kanrel entered the room and went for the only chair that wasn't filled with things. Roslyn was about to follow suit, but Yviev stopped her gently, saying, "If you might fetch Professor Oidus for us, it would be appreciated... There are some things I'd like to discuss with Kanrel in private."
Roslyn looked past her at Kanrel, who looked around the room, not paying much attention to the two of them. She then met Yviev's eyes, the sudden gentleness in them, and nodded. She turned around and went on her way.
Yviev closed the door, then let out a long sigh before turning toward Kanrel. She leaned against the door. "Now... Why are you here, really?"