The Great Observatory had been the immutable center of Titus's life since he was a boy. It was a place of serene order, of quiet contemplation, where the gentle hum of the Heartstone and the predictable dance of the stars were the two great constants. Now, the hum was gone, the stars were broken, and the halls of the Observatory echoed with a new, discordant sound: the furtive, angry whispers of frightened men.
As a junior acolyte, Titus tried to lose himself in his duties. He polished the brass rings of unused astrolabes until they gleamed, he re-cataloged scrolls that no one read anymore, and he swept the marble floors, his broom whispering across the vast, empty spaces. He clung to routine, a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood, while the sea of chaos churned around him.
In the days following the King's Proclamation, the priesthood had fractured. The King's terrible truth had not unified them; it had split them down the middle, creating a schism that grew wider with each passing hour.
The first faction, a small, somber group, remained loyal to the now-reclusive High Priest Theron. They were the thinkers, the librarians, the older priests who had felt the Great Silence most keenly. They accepted the horrifying new reality and had thrown their support behind the War of Knowledge, working tirelessly with the scholar Praxus in the sealed archives.
The second, and far larger, faction was the Purists. They were led by High Scrutator Ouen, a man whose ambition was as sharp as his intellect and whose voice was a fire of charismatic certainty. Ouen was a brilliant orator and a devout traditionalist, and he preached that the King had fallen into a heretic's trap. He argued that the being in the sky was their god, a stern and wrathful father testing their faith, not a cosmic imposter. To Ouen, the Covenant of Sacrifice was not a bargain with a monster, but a holy trial, and the King's Declaration of Defiance was a blasphemous act that was damning them all.
Titus was torn. His heart was loyal to Theron, the man who had been a father to him. But his soul, steeped in a lifetime of scripture and reverence, recoiled at the King's heresy. Ouen's sermons were powerful, offering the comfort of certainty in a world that had none. He promised that true, painful faith would be rewarded. For a terrified young man like Titus, that promise was a powerful lure.
The breaking point came a week after the proclamation. High Scrutator Ouen, having rallied the majority of the acolytes and priests to his cause, decided to force a confrontation. He gathered his followers in the Grand Foyer, their faces a mixture of righteous fury and fear.
"Our High Priest has locked himself away with the source of this poison," Ouen's voice boomed, echoing off the marble. "He has abandoned his flock and his God to listen to the whispers of a madman. We will demand he face us! We will demand he renounce this royal heresy and lead us in a true prayer of faith, to show the heavens that not all of Aethelburg has forsaken him!"
A roar of approval went up from the crowd. Titus, swept up in the fervor, found himself marching with them up the grand staircase towards the High Priest's private study.
Ouen pounded on the heavy oak doors. "High Priest Theron! Face your priests! Face your duty!"
After a long, tense silence, the doors swung open. Theron stood there, and the sight of him shocked Titus. He was no longer the broken, hollowed-out man from the King's council. He was still weary, his face etched with a deep, profound grief, but his eyes held a new, terrible clarity. He looked like a man who had stared into the abyss and had found a grim purpose there. The scholar Praxus stood just behind him, a silent shadow.
"You wished to see me, Scrutator?" Theron's voice was quiet, but it held an iron resolve that cut through Ouen's bluster.
"We demand you cast out this heretic," Ouen declared, pointing a trembling finger at Praxus. "We demand you rescind your support for the King's blasphemy and lead your priests in a true prayer. Make a bargain! Show the God of Bargains that we are still his faithful children, even if our King is not!"
Theron's gaze swept over the crowd of priests and acolytes, his former flock. He saw the fear in their eyes, the desperate need for a comforting lie. His expression was one of immense pity.
"The King's proclamation is not blasphemy," Theron said, his voice resonating with a new, sorrowful authority. "It is the truth. A truth I was too blind with my own faith to see until this man," he gestured to Praxus, "showed me the proof in our own history, and in the cold ashes of our most sacred rite."
He took a step forward, his eyes locking with Ouen's. "The being you wish to pray to, the entity you call the 'God of Bargains,' is the murderer of our shepherd. He is the ancient enemy who has preyed upon the soul of mankind since the dawn of time. To make a bargain with him is to spit on the memory of Qy'iel. To offer him your life is to willingly hand the keys of your soul to the destroyer of worlds."
He looked at the crowd, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet every man heard him. "I have lost my God. But I will not lose my soul. I will not lead you in damnation."
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Theron's confession was absolute, his conviction unshakeable. Ouen stared, his face contorted with rage and disbelief. He had expected a broken old man he could manipulate, not this pillar of newfound, terrible faith. He realized Theron was lost to him.
"Then you are the heretic," Ouen snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "Corrupted by this vagrant and your faithless king. You are no longer our High Priest."
He turned to the crowd, his arms outstretched. "Brothers! Our temple has been defiled from within! Our leader is lost! But our faith is not! Let us leave this house of lies! We will build a new temple outside these cursed walls, a true temple, where we can offer our devotion and our sacrifices to the God who has the power to answer! Let the heretics have their silence! We choose the God of Bargains!"
The moment of choice had come. The priests and acolytes looked from Ouen's fiery certainty to Theron's sorrowful resolve. For most, the choice was simple. Theron offered a difficult truth and a war against a god. Ouen offered a clear path, a powerful god, and the promise of miracles.
One by one, then in groups, they turned and followed Ouen. They walked past Theron and Praxus, some with faces of angry defiance, others unable to meet their former leader's eyes.
Titus stood frozen, his heart at war with itself. He looked at Ouen, the man promising order and power. Then he looked at Theron, the man who had lost everything but had chosen to stand by a truth that offered no comfort, only a long, desperate fight. In that moment, Titus understood the difference between faith and fanaticism.
He took a step back and stood by the wall, remaining with Theron.
He was not the only one. A handful of older priests, the librarians and archivists who had been working with Praxus, also stayed. But they were an island in a river of departing men.
Titus watched as the last of Ouen's followers descended the grand staircase. The roar of the crowd faded, replaced once again by the vast, empty silence of the Great Observatory. The schism was complete. The spiritual heart of Aethelburg had just shattered, and a new, fanatical cult, hungry to prove their devotion to a monstrous god, had just been born from its ruins. The War of Whispers now had an enemy within the city walls.
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The Chronicle of the Fallen
Time Period Covered: Day 50 of the Age of Fear
• Victims of The Reaping: 1
• Victims of the Covenant: 7
• Total Lives Lost: 8
Of Note Among the Fallen:
— A master strategist and instructor from the retired Royal War College.
— Helga the Tamer, famed for her work with the mountain beasts of Karak.