The room was heavy with a long, suffocating silence.
Waelz stared straight at the priest across from him. The priest stared back, unblinking, over the table between them.
Gulp.
Waelz swallowed. From what he had learned, the condemner Delda and the deceiver Mahten of Ashmalut were two lesser historical figures who led peasants during the chaotic times of the Afghanhar Revolt, driving them to commit human sacrifice, profanities, blasphemy, murder, cannibalism, rape, and more throughout the state of Afghanhar. The actions and instigations of these two individuals were among the darkest ever recorded in COR North's history.
They were eventually captured and executed publicly, seven years later, at the royal square of Afghanhar. A prince of the royal family presided over the execution.
But there had always been a theory—one that spoke of a third man who was never captured.
"...So, you're saying I'm possessed?" Waelz asked plainly.
"Not necessarily... If you were, you wouldn't have been able to come to this holy place," Priest Devornor said, wiping the side of his glass.
Waelz's throat felt dry. He raised his glass and gulped down the water, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he set it back down.
"Because this is a holy place?" he asked slowly, suspicion in his tone.
"Yes—and more. This place repels hostile forces. Remaining here purifies them. If you were possessed, that thing would have done everything to prevent you from reaching this monastery. And if you had managed to enter, the senior priests would have immediately sensed the stench of cursed things clinging to you," Devornor explained in a grounded voice.
"So if I'm not possessed... then what am I?" Waelz asked, confused.
"Someone it is trying to groom... perhaps," the priest said quietly.
"Groom? Like—cat grooming or husband grooming? I don't understand," Waelz said, baffled.
"Priest grooming." Devornor's gaze sharpened. "You see, the ancient peoples of Dhanma Island, the Middle Flaeger Grand Dukedom, and many others once worshiped wild and ancestral spirits. These spirits constantly demanded sacrifices—some of specific kinds, others less particular but gluttonous nonetheless. Those were dark times for our world.
"These spirits cannot manifest their power directly in our realm, for they do not belong to it. So instead of forcefully taking blood and souls as they desire—an almost impossible feat—they would instead groom a special host. A willing host, trained and tempered over time to become their perfect vessel—their incarnation in this realm—who would carry out their will and their sacrifices."
As he spoke, Devornor's gaze grew sharper still. The darkness in the room seemed to thicken, the light to dim, and the walls to close in more solidly around them.
"And although most of these practices have been purged from the land, it doesn't mean all the spirits have been. You, my dear, may be one of those unfortunate few—one of their chosen incarnations."
"So what you're saying," Waelz whispered, scanning the dark corners and vents of the room, "is that I have an ancient, dark entity attached to me—following me and grooming me—without my knowledge?"
"Yes and no," the priest replied. "It's... complicated to explain. And I'm not entirely sure yet. We'll have to delve deeper next time."
"Next time?" Waelz asked, confused.
"It's been nearly an hour," Devornor said as he began arranging his notes. "I must attend to my priestly duties, report our session, and return to my assigned pillar. But worry not. I shall report this to the Demi-Father. On Friday, after mass, he will take charge of your case. It is settled, by the FATHER's name."
"La'epati," Waelz affirmed, rising and spreading his arms in a gesture like a hug.
(La'epati — replacement word for amen in Old Japhaen.)
He bowed and turned toward the door—when suddenly a voice stopped him.
"Wait."
He turned. Devornor was behind him, only a few steps away.
When did he get there? Waelz thought.
The priest extended his right hand. Resting on his palm was a pendant shaped like a miniature fortress, dangling from a simple chain. The pendant seemed to be carved from an obsidian-like stone—or was it metal? It was hard to tell.
"Keep this with you," Devornor said. "If you experience any abnormalities, it will help. With a faithful prayer, it can bring you miraculous relief."
He placed the pendant on Waelz's palm and closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer in Old Jephean:
"Jhain jet clheam shierke temko... lextea."
"La'epati," Waelz replied.
"Priestly Apprentice Vhoiad will lead you and your guardian back. See you at mass."
"See you at mass, Priest Devornor," Waelz said, opening the door and stepping outside.
For a brief moment, Devornor stared at the closed door. Then he sat back down, lifted his head slightly, and exhaled—his breath visible in the cold air.
Tugging two fingers into his collar and lowering it slightly, Devornor spoke in a deeper tone.
"Did you sense anything?"
"...Not yet," a voice answered from the corners.
"Not yet? Then after giving him this much information, the entity will probably act. Then we'll know if it's just trauma... or something else.
---
Outside
Waelz met his brother waiting for him beyond the corridor, and together they walked back the way they had come.
Apprentice Vhoiad awaited them, cheerful and respectful as ever.
"Priestly Vhoiad," Waelz began, "what's your relationship with Priest Devornor—if you don't mind me asking?"
Jenniel looked at his brother, slightly exasperated by how easily he spoke whatever came to mind.
Though truthfully, he too was curious—Devornor and Vhoiad seemed unusually close.
"Oh, I don't mind," Vhoiad said with a smile. "Priest Devornor was the one who brought me here. He found me by an abandoned well when I was a child and took me to the monastery's orphanage. Though he looks young, he's actually about forty-eight or fifty."
"Fifty!? He doesn't even look thirty-two! I thought he said he wasn't an old man yet!" Waelz exclaimed.
Jenniel was surprised too, though he managed to compose himself, showing no outward reaction.