In the square, a large crowd had gathered before a statue, faceless and draped in flowing robes that resembled a toga. A long table stood before it, covered in wax-sealed parchment lists of names. The air was thick with smoke from the braziers, their flames reflecting on tear-streaked faces.
"We pray for our dearly departed. May they see your light, O God. May they rest in your embrace," intoned a man dressed in deep crimson robes. His voice carried with solemn authority, echoing across the courtyard.
The crowd repeated the words in unison, their voices trembling like the wind through leaves.
"We pray for our dearly departed. May they see your light, O God. May they rest in your embrace."
As the final syllables faded, the man raised his hands, and a brazier was lit. The crowd bowed their heads in prayer, fingers clasped tight. When the ritual was done, the crimson-robed priest turned toward the grand cathedral at the end of the square.
"Alex," he said without looking back, his tone calm but commanding, "prepare my red and purple striped garb for the evening mass."
"Yes, Priest Dominic," came the prompt reply from a young acolyte in white robes bound by a simple sash.
Dominic made his way through the marble corridors to his private chamber. The incense of the square clung faintly to his garments as he disrobed and stepped into the waiting bath. Servants in white togas poured water perfumed with rose and myrrh before bowing and silently departing, leaving him alone.
He sank into the warmth, staring up at the ceiling's carved cherubs and faded frescoes. His thoughts wandered, to the coming mass, to the Diarchs who would be in attendance, and to the High Priests who would sit in silent judgment. The weight of it pressed on him, but he exhaled slowly and banished the anxiety with ritual discipline.
When he emerged, he found a fresh set of white robes laid neatly on his bed, with a golden sash folded atop them. His fingers lingered on the sash.
It had been given to him the day he first entered the priesthood. He remembered the trembling of his frail legs, the years of weakness, until the miracle. He had stood for the first time in his life, his body renewed by divine grace. That moment had bound him forever to the God of Protection.
He dressed in silence and fastened the sash around his waist. The moment he stepped into the corridor, apprentices and servants bowed as he passed. Dominic offered each of them a serene nod in return, his smile tempered but genuine.
The chapel of devotion lay beyond an arched doorway. Inside, rows of pews faced two statues, one in a red toga, the other in a violet dress. The statue of the Lady of Calamity bore a calm, unreadable expression, while the Lord of Protection remained faceless. Justice, Dominic often reminded himself, must remain without a face, impartial, eternal, and unmoved.
He knelt before the statues, lifting the small chain censer. The scent of burning incense filled the chamber as he swung it three times before each figure, his voice soft but steady.
"Hail to the Mother. Hail to the Holy Father. The duality that makes the whole. I pray for your protection. May your grace guard me against the whispers of daemons. O Lord, shield me beneath your wings. O Lady, calm the storm within and without."
The smoke curled upward, vanishing into the candlelight. He closed his eyes a moment longer, then rose and walked to the lectern beneath the statues. A great leather-bound book rested upon it, its pages marked with ribbons of red and gold.
As he turned a page, the door opened quietly. Five young apprentices entered, dressed in white. They bowed deeply before taking their seats.
"Welcome, apprentices," Dominic said, smiling. "Alex, Luke, Andrew, and the rest, let us begin by reviewing yesterday's lessons."
He folded his hands behind his back. "Tell me," he said, "what are the titles of the god of protection?"
Alex raised his hand. "Holy Father. Great Protector. Faceless God. Merciful Lord."
Dominic nodded approvingly. "Good. And the titles of the Lady?"
Luke answered this time, his voice clearer. "Lady of Calamity. Mistress of Storms. Mother of the Son."
Dominic inclined his head slightly. "And who is the Son?"
Alex spoke again, a spark of pride in his tone. "The Son is anyone and no one. He represents the King of our great kingdom."
Dominic's smile deepened, though his eyes glimmered with amusement. "Yet there are two kings. Why then, apprentices, do the Father and Mother have but one son?"
The students exchanged uncertain glances. Andrew opened his mouth, then closed it, looking embarrassed.
Dominic chuckled softly. "The duality that makes the whole," he reminded them. "Because they are of one accord, they are one being. Should they ever fall into discord, should the Father and Mother disagree in will or purpose, then the kingdom itself will fall."
He turned back to the lectern and flipped to a marked passage. "The Book of Secrets, verses three and four, speak of this truth. For a divided kingdom cannot stand. It is as a great tree built upon coarse sand, it will sink."
The apprentices bowed their heads in acknowledgment.
Dominic closed the book gently and faced them again. "Now," he said, "let us reaffirm our vows and remember the commandments, as written in the First Book of Judgment."
The apprentices rose to their feet. Together with their teacher, they pressed their palms together in prayer. Their voices echoed like a single heartbeat through the chapel.
"I am the shield of the innocent, the wall against cruelty, the hand of judgment. By my life or by my death, no evil shall pass unpunished."
Dominic raised his hands, leading the litany.
"The First Commandment: thou shalt protect the innocent."
"The Second: thou shalt be the shield of the helpless; whosoever harms them shall face my wrath."
"The Third: show mercy to the penitent, but grant none to the mocker of mercy."
"The Fourth: keep thy oaths, for he who forsakes them shall be forsaken by me."
"The Fifth: bear not false witness, for lies corrupt the soul."
"The Sixth: thou shalt not covet, steal, nor murder."
"The Seventh: honor thy father and mother as long as thou lives."
"The Eighth: speak not my name in vain."
"The Ninth: remember, nobility is a gift bestowed by the heavens."
"The Tenth: commit thyself to my service, and I shall light thy path."
When the final words were spoken, silence filled the room, heavy, like the calm after a storm.
Dominic lowered his hands, smiling softly. "Go now," he said, "and prepare yourselves. The evening mass will be unlike any before."
The apprentices bowed deeply before leaving one by one, their robes whispering against the floor. When the door finally closed, Dominic turned once more toward the faceless statue.
He whispered, "May I be your vessel, O Lord of Protection. And may the Lady of Calamity keep her storms at bay, just a little longer."
The incense still burned faintly as the last of the smoke curled around his fingers.