The two figures who had just arrived above the square stole the High Priest's breath away. The drums fell silent, and the ritual was suspended by their mere presence.
They wore long black robes that reached down to completely conceal their feet and the shape of their bodies. Not even a single fold gave away the position of their legs. Their masks were even more unsettling. They had no eye sockets, no contour for a nose, and no opening whatsoever for a mouth. They were perfectly smooth surfaces, reflecting the light of the ancient artefact like mirrors carved from stone.
The first drum fell silent while the echo of the second was still reverberating. The remaining musicians stood motionless, their hands suspended above their instruments, unable to decide whether they should continue or remain silent.
The beams of light from the identifier no longer pointed towards them. For a few moments, the artefact hovered between the two figures, slowly rising until it reached the level of their heads. No one understood what was happening. The silence became so profound that the faint hum of the crystal could be heard from every corner of the square.
It neither fell nor shot away. It simply vanished. Many looked up too late. The artefact had already climbed hundreds of metres above Anita when it exploded overhead. The blast rang out with a deafening roar. An immense flower of colours spread across the sky, bathing the square in impossible flashes of light and capturing the gaze of everyone present.
For several seconds, no one could breathe. The people of Anita looked back and forth between the sky and the two figures. The visitors whispered to one another, asking what was happening, but no one knew the answer.
High Priest Norac did not react immediately either. His knees gave way before his thoughts did. He collapsed heavily onto the stone, unable to take his eyes off the final streaks of light that were still drifting down from the heavens. The stories he had learned over an entire lifetime suddenly fell into place with such force that they emptied the air from his lungs. The two colours, the identifier, the explosion.
— High Priest Norac. — There was no longer any doubt. — He whispered to himself.
He jerked his head up.
— High Priest Norac, they are the Last Two Envoys! — cried a young priest from the capital, his voice breaking as he struggled to finish the sentence.
The Masters of Ceremony reacted with the speed born of fear. Their voices spread across the square, ordering everyone to kneel before the Envoys.
The command advanced like a Bessel wave. Those closest to the altar were the first to obey. As they knelt, they revealed the row behind them, whose members understood the gesture and copied it almost without thinking. Then the third row followed, and then the next. The movement continued to spread until it reached the far edges of the heptagonal square, where the last spectators were still trying to understand what was happening.
In the surrounding streets, a different murmur began to rise. Those who had been unable to enter the square pushed forward in an attempt to get closer, while local residents emerged from their homes. The doors of the taverns were left standing open, merchants abandoned their stalls, and even a few children climbed onto rooftops in search of a better view of the altar.
The Temple Knights had to deploy swiftly at every entrance to prevent the crowd from continuing to flood into the square. While the entire city changed around them, the Last Two Envoys remained exactly as they were, suspended above the altar, utterly motionless, waiting.
For a brief moment, silence reclaimed the square. Only the muffled sobs of a few children and the wind stirring the temple banners remained.
Then one of the two figures moved. It was neither an abrupt nor a solemn gesture. They merely inclined their body slightly forwards and slowly turned their featureless face towards the High Priest.
When they spoke, they did not raise their voice. Even so, every syllable reached the furthest corner of the square with perfect clarity.
■— Remove the offerings. Let none remain beside the altar. —
The High Priest remained motionless for a moment. His breathing was still uneven, and his knees throbbed from the fall, but this was no time to dwell on either. He slowly lowered his head in obedience and tried to rise. The weight of age made his legs protest. Two young priests hurried to assist him at once, supporting him by the arms while repeatedly glancing towards the two figures suspended above the altar.
Only once he had managed to stand upright did his breathing begin to steady again. He turned to face the square.
— H.P. Norac — Remove every offering. —
His voice rang across the square with the authority befitting his office. The Masters of Ceremony immediately began repeating the order.
— Remove the offerings! —
— Every family is to collect whatever they brought! —
— Leave nothing around the altar! —
At first, the area surrounding the altar scarcely changed. Dozens of suits of armour, carved statues, spears, flowers, and clay vessels still lay spread across the ground, forming an immense circle.
The Temple Knights reacted immediately. They deployed into a wide perimeter around the ring of offerings and began opening narrow passageways through the crowd to prevent people from pushing. Little by little, the faithful moved forwards, many of them still visibly afraid, until they reached the objects they had laid there that morning.
Some carefully reclaimed sheathed swords. Others lifted wooden carvings of Tolmas and the Envoys. There were those carrying chests, jewellery, embroidered cloaks, or small family tools passed down through generations.
Half an hour later, the immense circle of offerings had begun to disappear, leaving wide open spaces around the altar. Only then did the two Envoys descend until their feet rested upon the black stone.
They did not do so with solemnity, nor with the reverence that any priest would have shown upon setting foot on such sacred ground. Almost simultaneously, they sat down at opposite ends of the black stone.
One let a leg hang over the edge while resting a forearm upon the opposite knee. The other sat sideways, letting the weight of their body rest upon a single hip.
The High Priest waited several minutes before gathering enough courage to step forwards. Every stride felt irreverent, and every breath sounded too loud to his own ears. Once he judged himself to be at a respectful distance, he slowly bowed his head.
— H.P. Norac — May we be of service to Your Excellencies in any way? —
No reply came. The two masks remained fixed upon the square. The old man stood perfectly still, uncertain whether he should withdraw or try again.
One of the Masters of Ceremony, believing he understood the situation better, made a discreet gesture with his hand. A young priest hurried up the temple steps and returned shortly afterwards carrying a silver tray. Resting upon it were two cups of wine and a small jug decorated with gold leaf.
He approached slowly. His hands trembled so badly that the wine rippled inside the cups. Kneeling at the foot of the altar, he raised the tray with both hands.
— If Your Excellencies so wish... — said the young priest.
The figure seated on the left slowly raised a hand. The young priest brought the cup closer, but the Envoy did not gesture towards it, nor did they push the tray away. They merely held out an open palm for a brief moment.
The priest understood the gesture at once. He immediately lowered the tray and shuffled backwards on his knees until he had regained what he considered a respectful distance. The other Envoy did not even turn their head. They never so much as glanced at the wine.
— They do not accept honours. — murmured an elderly priest.
— Nor do they refuse them. — another replied.
Time passed, yet the priests continued waiting for another command, while the Temple Knights remained motionless, watching over the square. No one abandoned their post without good reason. Then, without warning, one of the masks slowly turned once more towards the High Priest.
It was the same voice that had delivered the first command.
■— Return the children to their parents. — they said, pointing towards the children prepared for the sacrifice.
The old man bowed his head so quickly that he nearly lost his balance.
— H.P. Norac — As You command. — He immediately turned towards the Masters of Ceremony. — The seven children! Return them to their families! At once! —
The priests disappeared into the temple at almost a run. Inside, the atmosphere was entirely different from that of the square. The seven families were still waiting for the sacrifice to be completed. Some mothers could barely remain standing. Others clung silently to their husbands, their empty gazes fixed upon the great closed doors. Nothing could be heard except uneven breathing and the occasional muffled sob struggling not to break the silence of the temple.
When the priests reappeared carrying the seven infants once again in their arms, no one understood what was happening. The mothers looked first at the children and then, bewildered, at the priests.
They expected to hear the customary words and receive the small vial containing the sacrificial blood. But no vial appeared. One of the priests stepped forwards.
— By order of the Last Two Envoys... your children are being returned to you. —
For several seconds, no one reacted.
The first to understand was a young mother. She let out a cry that was somewhere between laughter and tears before rushing forwards, almost snatching her daughter from the priest's arms. She held the child against her chest so tightly that the little girl awoke and began to cry.
That broke the stillness of everyone else. The other mothers did the same. Husbands dropped to their knees, embracing their entire families. Others buried their faces in their wives' hair so that no one would see the tears they could no longer hold back. Ever since their children had been born, they had known how this day would end. Never had they imagined they would leave the temple with them still in their arms.
Outside, upon the altar, the Last Two Envoys remained seated exactly as before. They did not watch the families' reunion, nor did they seek a single gesture of gratitude. They remained perfectly still, their gaze fixed upon the square, as though they were still waiting for the moment to pronounce their next command.
An hour later, the stone paving could be seen once again for the first time since dawn. The Temple Knights repeatedly patrolled the perimeter, searching for anything that had been left behind. Whenever they found an object, they called out loudly for its owner. If no one answered, they set it aside before continuing to clear the square.
With every passing minute in which the Envoys spoke not a single word, the silence grew heavier. Even the murmurs eventually faded away, and when only a handful of scattered offerings remained upon the stone, the High Priest realised he could not allow them to wait any longer.
— H.P. Norac — Everything that remains in the square is to be removed immediately! If its owner has not returned to collect it, discard it! Do not keep the Last Two Envoys waiting! —
The order spread across the square with a different sense of urgency. The last remaining objects disappeared quickly and, for the first time since dawn, the immense ring of stone surrounding the altar stood completely clear.
Even so, the Last Two Envoys remained motionless. They did not utter a single word. They made no gesture whatsoever. They simply remained seated upon the altar as though the passing of time held no importance. No one in the square even dared to sit down or rest.
Ten minutes later, both Envoys rose to their feet almost simultaneously. The movement was so perfectly synchronised that no one could have said which of them had stood first.
The scribes had been waiting for over an hour with their quills prepared. Some held their wax tablets against their chests; others had already unrolled parchments across small wooden boards, their inkwells uncorked and the tips of their quills freshly moistened.
Another ten long minutes passed before one of them finally spoke.
■— At last, you have fallen silent. —
Many lowered their heads.
The other stepped forwards and spoke with the same calm composure.
●— Attention. — The men holding parchments looked up. — Everyone who can read and write, prepare to write.
The university scholars, the temple chroniclers, the copyists, and the nobles stepped forwards almost together until they formed several rows before the altar. Some held wax tablets; others gripped open parchments that the wind threatened to fold over.
No one spoke. The silence lingered until the last scribe had taken his place. Only then did one of the Envoys slowly sweep their gaze across the front row.
●— What you are about to write must be copied without altering a single word. It shall be copied and sent to every city in the world. — Not a single scribe looked away from the parchment before them. Some swallowed nervously, while others adjusted their grip upon their quills. — From this moment onwards, new rules and new laws shall be proclaimed. —
For several minutes, the only sound that could be heard throughout the square was the scratching of dozens of quills copying the Envoys' latest words. Some scribes hurriedly reread every line, comparing them with those of their neighbours to ensure they had not omitted a single word.
When silence once again settled over the square, High Priest Norac gathered enough courage to approach the altar once more. He advanced slowly, as though every step demanded more effort than the last. Once he judged himself to be at a respectful distance, he bowed his head again.
— H.P. Norac — My Lords... — He waited for several seconds. — Then... there will be no more sacrifices? —
Silence spread across the square once again. Norac felt his heart pounding violently against his chest. The Envoy who had been dictating the new laws slowly turned their head towards him.
■— A mere insignificant insect such as yourself... — The voice remained as calm as ever. — ...dares to question the word of the Envoys? —
Norac stopped breathing. Not a single person in the entire square dared even to raise their head.
The other Envoy took a single step to one side. Without taking their eyes off the High Priest, they absent-mindedly rested the palm of one hand upon the altar. Without uttering another word or making any further gesture, the black stone began to crack beneath their fingers. The fractures spread silently across the entire surface until the altar itself lost its shape.
The stone collapsed in upon itself, crumbling into a fine black powder that the wind immediately began to scatter across the square. The immense block of rock that had stood at the heart of that place for centuries had vanished.
The Envoy withdrew their hand without so much as glancing at the drifting dust. Their gaze remained fixed upon the High Priest as he lowered his head.
Aquí tienes la traducción manteniendo el mismo registro, el formato de diálogos con guiones largos y usando H.P. Norac de forma consistente.
The other Envoy broke the silence.
■— No more sacrifices. — Their voice carried across the square with perfect clarity. — Not of man nor woman. Not of boy nor girl. Not of old man nor old woman. Not of animal. Not of monster... All blood sacrifices have come to an end. — No one replied. The Envoy slowly surveyed the square. — I see that you still do not understand when I speak. —
They repeated every one of the new laws with the same calmness and in exactly the same order. The scribes copied the entire text a second time, far too frightened to trust their first transcription.
When they had finished, the Envoy once again let their gaze sweep across the square.
■— Is there anyone who has not understood these laws? — The silence was absolute.
●— Have they been understood? —
The question was addressed to the entire square, yet only one person answered.
The High Priest dropped to his knees once more.
— H.P. Norac — Yes... yes, my Lord. They have been understood perfectly. —
The Envoy slowly raised a finger. That small gesture alone was enough for one of the scribes to realise he was the one being summoned.
Clutching the freshly written parchment, he hurried to the foot of the altar and fell to his knees. Holding it above his head with both hands, he waited for an order.
The Envoy did not take the document. Without taking their eyes off the square, they made a slight gesture towards the High Priest. The scribe understood immediately. Turning on his knees, he offered the parchment to Norac, who received it with both hands as though it were a sacred relic.
●— Read. —
The High Priest bowed his head in obedience. He slowly unrolled the parchment and began reading the new laws aloud before the entire square.
Not a single scribe dipped their quill into the ink again. They all remained motionless, listening as their own words were read back to them.
When the reading came to an end, the Last Two Envoys slowly began to rise above the square. Their feet left the stone with the same effortless ease with which they had descended upon the altar hours earlier, and little by little they gained height without making the slightest gesture. Their long black robes remained perfectly still throughout the ascent. Tens of thousands of people watched their slow departure without taking their eyes off the sky. No one left the square. No one dared to break the silence.
Norac stepped forwards. For two hours he had measured every word and every movement for fear of showing the slightest disrespect towards those two beings. Yet the moment he realised they were about to disappear forever, every trace of protocol vanished from his mind. He raised his voice with all the strength his lungs still possessed.
— H.P. Norac — Wait! —
But the two figures continued to ascend with the same unhurried calm. The old man felt that this was the last opportunity he would ever have to ask a question.
— H.P. Norac — Who will guide us when you are gone? —
For a few moments, no answer came. Only the wind crossed the square, setting the temple banners fluttering. When the two figures had already risen above the rooftops, one of them spoke without turning their head.
●— Seek the Logos. —
Norac tried to repeat the unfamiliar word.
— H.P. Norac — Lo... gos? —
The Envoy remained silent for a few moments.
●— Seek... the one who is, the Lamb, and the Shepherd. —
The words lingered over the square, yet no one could grasp their meaning. Neither the High Priest, nor the scribes, nor the scholars of the university had ever heard those names before. Even so, all of them understood that they were to seek someone they ought to know.
Norac raised his voice once again.
— H.P. Norac — How shall we find this Lo... gos? —
The answer came while the two figures continued drifting slowly away above the city.
●— Do not be afraid. You are not orphans. — They paused briefly before continuing. — You will not be alone in your search.
■— There are already those who know the way. —
Neither of them spoke another word.
They continued to ascend until they became two tiny black silhouettes suspended high above the skies of Anita. Soon afterwards they vanished into the clouds, and silence once again spread across the entire square.
For several minutes, no one was capable of uttering a single word. Thousands of people continued staring at the place where the Last Two Envoys had disappeared, as though expecting them to return at any moment. The scribes still held their quills between their fingers. The priests remained on their knees. Even the children had stopped crying.
At last, it was the High Priest who found the courage to break the silence. He walked to the edge of the temple steps and looked out over the crowd before slowly raising both hands.
— H.P. Norac — The Last Two Envoys have blessed us with their presence! May this day remain forever in the memory of our children and of our children's children! Let the Festival of the Foundation begin! —
The square took a few moments to respond. Then the drums echoed once more beneath the temple porticoes, the bells began to ring, and the musicians resumed the melodies that had been interrupted hours earlier. Merchants returned to their stalls, and the streets gradually filled with voices once again.
Yet the conversations no longer revolved around the festival, but around the words they had just heard. Some debated who this Logos might be, while others struggled to recall each of the new laws.
As the city slowly recovered its bustle, the seven families left the temple with their children in their arms. The priests who only a few hours earlier had been preparing to lead them to the sacrifice now bid them farewell with deep bows, unable to hide the emotion still written across their faces.
Only after the great doors of the temple had been closed, and the murmur of the square barely reached the interior, did Norac gather the Masters of Ceremony, the senior priests, and the scribes. He slowly unrolled the parchment across the stone table and spent several moments studying the final words spoken by the Envoys.
— H.P. Norac — From this very moment, every temple in the kingdom shall devote part of its resources to a new mission. I want our archives, our libraries, and our scholars to search every corner of the world. Discover who this Logos truly is.