A year had passed since Valerius's unnerving return, a year of relentless vigilance for Elias. Now five years old, his inner world was a maelstrom of intricate thought, cloaked by the seamless innocence of childhood. The close call with Valerius in his room had cemented a brutal lesson: his secrets, particularly the burgeoning Bible, demanded absolute discretion. Yet, Valerius's constant, pointed scrutiny also served as a perverse form of motivation, a sharp reminder of the oppressive dogma his words sought to dismantle.
In the stolen hours of night, or during long stretches of the day when his tutors presumed him to be engaged in childish pursuits, Elias had toiled. His initial crude ink, a mix of berry juice and soot, had been refined. He discovered that a specific blend of pulverized charcoal, a touch of lamp oil, and water yielded a stable, dark pigment. The unused parchment, carefully hoarded and retrieved in small batches from the forgotten storeroom, was slowly but surely being filled.
His physical hand, though still small, had gained remarkable dexterity and endurance. What had once been agonizingly slow transcription was now a fluid, if painstaking, act of creation. He wrote not in the common tongue of this realm, but in the language of his past life—English—knowing it would remain unintelligible to Montala's priests. This wasn't merely a document; it was a blueprint for a different kind of reality, a distillation of universal truths and rational spirituality that transcended any specific world. He estimated he had completed approximately seventy percent of the foundational text.
He had structured it into logical sections, beginning with the Prime Mover and the fundamental laws of existence, before moving into the principles of human conduct and societal organization. His goal was not to create another set of rigid commandments, but a guide for rational thought and ethical living.
One section, often revisited, was what he called "The Book of Creation and Natural Law":
"Behold the universe, a tapestry of intricate design, woven with precision and order. The Prime Mover, the Great Architect, did not intervene with whimsy, but set forth immutable laws that govern all. The sun rises and sets, the seasons turn, the waters flow – not by a fickle hand, but by a perfect mechanism set in motion from the beginning. To seek to understand these laws, to uncover the secrets of the cosmos, is to pay the highest tribute to the Architect's genius. For in understanding His creation, we understand a facet of Him."
"Every cause has its effect, every action its consequence. There is no magic that suspends the natural order without an equal and opposite cost. Those who claim to bend reality without adherence to its intrinsic structure are either deluded, or they draw from a wellspring that demands an unseen toll. Truth lies in observable patterns, in the consistency of existence, not in the fleeting spectacle of the inexplicable. Seek understanding, for ignorance is the true veil that obscures the Divine."
Another significant portion was "The Book of Human Conduct and Societal Harmony":
"The Great Architect endowed sentient beings with reason, conscience, and the capacity for empathy. These are the true instruments of His will, not fear or blind obedience. Therefore, let your actions be guided by reason, tempered by compassion, and rooted in the understanding that all beings are interconnected, threads in the same grand tapestry."
"Justice is the fair application of the Architect's laws, reflecting the inherent balance of the universe. To deny another their just due, to oppress, to exploit, is to disrupt this balance, and such disruption brings discord, not harmony. Seek equity, not dominance."
"Mercy is the understanding that all beings err, for perfection belongs solely to the Architect. To extend compassion, to forgive, to offer aid to those who falter, is to mend the broken threads of the tapestry, restoring balance and fostering growth. Forgiveness is not weakness, but a profound strength that allows for rebirth."
He paid particular attention to the concept of love and interpersonal bonds, knowing how crucial it was to counter Montala's hypocritical practices:
"Let love be a bond forged in shared spirit and mutual respect, a reflection of the unity intended by the Architect. To cleave to one, and to cherish that bond above all others, is to build a microcosm of perfect harmony. For in true devotion to a single chosen spirit, one learns the profound depth of commitment that mirrors the Architect's unwavering presence in all things."
"Betrayal of trust, deception, and the exploitation of another's spirit for personal gain, these are antithetical to the Architect's design for human connection. For such acts unravel the very fabric of society, creating chasms of distrust where bridges of understanding should stand."
As he wrote, Elias felt a profound sense of purpose. This wasn't just revenge against Montala; it was an act of creation, building a true spiritual foundation for a new world. Each word was a step towards a future where reason, compassion, and natural law might truly govern, where a society could flourish without the crushing weight of manufactured faith. The parchment on his lap was his silent weapon, more powerful than any sword, capable of igniting a revolution not just in kings' minds, but in the hearts of men. He just needed to survive long enough to finish it, and then, somehow, bring it to light.