The one who presides over knowledge? Does he mean the God of... oh, I almost said his name. Fiona caught herself, a jolt of fear running through her. She hoped a partial thought wouldn't be enough to draw His attention.
But what did the prince mean? The God of Knowledge was unwell? "Your Highness," she asked, her voice a whisper, "are you saying that the God of Knowledge... has fallen?"
"We are not yet certain," Henry replied, his voice low. "The oracle only said that knowledge and words have been tainted by an unknown madness, and that to touch them is to risk insanity. Several of a certain god's celestial servants from Mount Celestia have already departed for His divine realm, the 'Hall of Knowledge', to investigate."
The mention of Mount Celestia brought to mind the three great gods who resided there: the God of Justice, the Lord of Dawn, and the Lord of Order.
Just as she was processing this terrifying information, the summons light pulsed on her wrist. The gathering. But she was at a royal ball. It would be rude to leave.
"Lady Fiona?" the prince prompted. "Care for a dance?"
"Oh, Prince Henry," she said with a practiced, regretful smile. "What would your dear Tina think? She is a good friend of mine, and I could not bear to make her jealous." She curtseyed. "And my father is expecting me. I must return home."
"Very well," the prince said, disappointed but understanding. "Give the Duke my regards."
Ephram Krell sat at his desk in the Gray Keep, inhaling the calming smoke of a lit filter-paper. He looked at the book before him. Why did he feel such a constant, seething rage lately? Such a desire to destroy? He felt as though someone else was living in his head.
A knock at the door. "Enter," he said, and Archbishop Barnaby walked in.
"Reading again, Ephram?" the old man said with a warm smile.
"Knowledge makes one strong, Your Grace," Ephram replied, reciting a church tenet.
"Indeed it does," the Archbishop said, his eyes twinkling. "Read more, my boy. Read, and you will find you possess infinite power."
The words sounded... odd. But Ephram dismissed it. He asked, "Your Grace, is there news from the church? I heard many of the outlying bishops have been recalled."
"A divine ordinance, my boy," Barnaby said calmly. "Our Lord is preparing to bestow a great blessing, a mass Grace upon his faithful. You will not need to travel to Kaedar for now. Wait here for the Grace. It will help you break through to the Legend tier."
A mass Grace? The God of Knowledge hadn't performed such a ritual in thousands of years. The last time was to empower his clergy during the cataclysm at the end of the Third Age. Something was very wrong.
As the Archbishop turned to leave, Ephram saw it. Just for a second. A mass of writhing, squirming tentacles sprouting from the old man's ears. He blinked, and they were gone.
"Did I... did I see that correctly?"