The heavy oak doors of the cathedral slowly swung open, letting the golden morning light into the hall. The dust motes dance in the air like tiny gold leaves in the sunlight.
Thousands of boots walked over the white marble floor, and the sound of their steps echoed through the area. Inside the large hall of the cathedral, the air was filled with the smell of jasmine and expensive beeswax.
Children looked around the hall with a shocked expression on their faces. The vaulted ceiling in the hall makes the ceiling look very high.
While everyone was busy chatting with each other, a row of twelve acolytes marched down to the center aisle.
They all carried silver censers on long chains, swinging them in a perfect rhythm. Clouds of sweet, white smoke billowed out, clinging to the acolytes' clothes.
In the front row sat the nobility; they all wore silk robes. Their face was full of pious humility, but their jewellery on their body caught the light with every moment, brightening the area.
Behind them stood the commoners. Farmers with calloused hands and smiths with stained skins, praying to the god.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, their breath creating a collective warmth which reduced the morning chill of the Oros.
At the far end of the nave, the great icon was there. It was the statue of the father, carved from a single block of translucent quartz.
Behind it was a massive circular window which allowed sunlight to hit the statue, making the entire altar glow with an eternal, blinding radiance. The light only falls every morning at a specific time, making it a miracle to every commoner.
The choir began to sing, a low humming sound that seemed to resonate with everyone in the hall. It was the sound of the empty dawn.
The High Pastor emerged from the side door; his robes were so heavily embroidered with gold thread that they started to clank like armour as he walked.
He slowly stepped onto the marble dais and spread his arm wide open, with his back to the people.
The humming stopped, and everyone stopped and looked at the pastor. Even children don't dare to play anymore. Everyone's attention was on the pastor.
The pastor slowly looked up to the central heart of the Statues and started to speak in a low voice.
"Before the first stone was laid, before the first drop of rain touched the ground of Oros, there was only the god's dreaming."
The pastor's voice was a rich baritone that filled every corner of the hall without effort.
"He drafted in a sea of silver mist, alone but not lonely. In his mind, he saw the forests. He saw the rivers. He saw your faces, every one of you, shining like a star in the dark."
A woman in the third row closed her eyes, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. She clustered a small medallion of flame.
"But God knew that beauty cannot exist without a witness. He knew that for a garden to flourish, there must be someone to tend the soil. And so, he decided to wake up from his dream."
The pastor turned and reached for a bowl held by an acolyte and threw a handful of fine silver powder into a brazier. The flame turned into a very beautiful, vivid blue colour.
"With a voice like a thousand thunders, he spoke the word of life. He said, 'Let there be a firmament to hold my child,' and the ground rose to meet his feet, from everlasting."
The crowd let out a collective sigh. The imagination was very vivid; they could almost feel the vibration of the earth forming beneath them.
The pastor turned around and walked towards the edge of the dais, and his eyes locked onto the individuals in the crowd, making them feel as if god himself was looking at them.
"He didn't stop at the mountains. He reached into the sun and pulled forth the golden threads of light, weaving them into the first souls. You are those threads that were woven by his very fingers."
An old man in front leaned on his cane, nodding as the pastor spoke. It was as if all his joint pains had vanished in the presence of God. The place gives him a feeling of being loved by god, making him forget all the worries.
"But the father was wise. He saw the great void lurking at the edges of the world, a cold, empty place that hated the warmth of his creation. He knows his children would suffer; he knows that his children need protection."
The tone of the pastor changed slightly, as if entering an intense part. The acolytes began to light the candles, one by one, until the altar was a sea of flickering orange.
"He reached into the center of his own chest and took a fragment of his eternal heart. This is what he called The First Spark. It was the purest flame, a fire that doesn't consume but creates."
The pastor picked up a small ornate lantern from the altar. Inside was a flame so steady it looked like a solid jewel.
"He gave this Spark to the first among us. The Great Heart Guard. He told him 'Go forth and light the path for my children. While this fire burns, no shadow shall touch them. While this fire burns, I am with you."
As the pastor spoke, his voice became louder with emotion. All people began to kneel one by one. The sound of thousands kneeling was like a drumbeat.
"This is our legacy," the pastor said with a voice full of passion. "We are keepers of the morning! We are the inhabitants of the light! Oros is not a place of struggle, but a place of triumph!"
The choir returned, this time with a triumphant swelling of brass instruments. The music was loud enough to vibrate the glasses on the wall.
The pastor then began the blessing of the flame. He moved from person to person at the railing, touching their forehead with a drop of warm, scented oil.
"The Spark is in you," the pastor said to a baker. "The Spark is within you." He told a soldier.
The sunlight shifted as the morning progressed, the beam from the window moving across the crowd like a literal hand of God.
The pastor returned to the center of the altar. He raised the golden chalice once more, the wine inside reflecting the blue fire of the brazier.
"Walk out from these doors today and look at the sun. Know that it is a reflection of your own soul. You are the masters of the world. The shadows are nothing but the absence of your will."
He took a deep breath, his face glowing with a favor that seemed almost supernatural.
"The Hero is coming! The Heart-Guard is eternal! Whenever the night grows long, the father shall send a new spark to lead us. We have nothing to fear, as we are his beloved child."
The final hymn began. It was a soaring melody that made the heart race. The heavy incense smoke swirled in patterns that looked, to the faithful, like dancing angels.
The pastor turned and bowed low before the icon, signaling the end of the High Liturgy.
The people began to stand with faces flushed with newfound energy. They hugged each other, saying the 'peace of the flame'.
As they filed out of the Cathedral, they looked at the sky of Oros. It looked blue, vast, and welcoming. They felt a sense of invincibility.
The heavy oak doors closed slowly behind the last of the congregation, sealing the warmth and the music inside.
Outside, on the steps of the Cathedral, the sun was bright, but the wind was beginning to pick up, carrying a faint, unnoticeable scent of something.