A tense silence hung in the prayer chamber after Pope Mystic's stern dismissal of the previous topic. Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye stood ramrod straight, his crimson robes a stark contrast to the cool marble.
"Mystic Mystic Night," the Pope Mystic's voice, though quiet, resonated with authority. "There is more you wish to reveal. Speak."
Ye dared not show the informality Mystic Mystic Moon possessed. He bowed slightly deeper. "Yes, Your Grace. During my search for Mystic Mystic Moon, the trail led to… Hades Sword."
The Pope Mystic stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Hades Sword? You found the wielder?"
"Not the wielder," Ye corrected swiftly. "His apprentice." He recounted the intelligence gathered by his agent Silver-One about a young man named Dunce? bearing Hades Sword, his subsequent journey to the Tianangang Mountain Sect seeking Mystic Mystic Moon, and the unfortunate confrontation that ensued. He meticulously omitted the specific stakes of his wager with the Grandmaster, unwilling to spark any dangerous hope in his daughter.
The Pope Mystic absorbed the tale. A long silence stretched, thick with unspoken implications. Finally, he exhaled. "Hades Sword and Dragon Blood… sharing a host. Unprecedented." He fixed Ye with a gaze that held centuries of wisdom. "You erred, my son. Severely. Provoking the Tianangang Mountain Sect, a bastion of secular but undeniable *order*, was folly. In calmer times, we might have gently steered them towards the light. But these are *not* calm times. Thirty years past, as a new Pope Mystic, I met their Grandmaster. He was nearing his ninth decade then. I admit… I challenged him. Pride demanded it."
Ye's eyes widened. "Father… Pope Mystic? The outcome?" This duel was a secret buried deep.
The Pope Mystic's expression remained serene. "That day remains my sole defeat."
"Impossible!" Ye blurted, the concept unimaginable against the vessel of divine power he knew his father to be. "No mortal should stand against you!"
"Yet he did," the Pope Mystic stated simply. "The contest was one blow. He departed. I remained. But I knew… I had lost. His skill transcends mortal ken. Had we been leagues apart, the outcome might differ. But he would never grant that distance. In a duel of pure skill, I believe none alive can best him. Not even now."
Ye stood frozen. His father's profound respect for the Grandmaster was a revelation. "Then… he walks with the strength of demigods? But *you* are closest to the Divine!"
"He possesses a power that brushes the divine, yes," the Pope Mystic conceded, a flicker of something ancient in his eyes. "Yet untethered to the true Source. Unencumbered by divine focus, only raw skill? He could end my life in a single strike. But bolstered by holy relics? Perhaps… perhaps the strike would be mutual. Thirty years… gods know what pinnacle he now inhabits. But know this: barring cataclysmic magics, no arcane power forged by mortal or angel is likely to bind him. In my estimation, he eclipses even the threat of Hades Sword itself. That is why your actions were unwise, bordering on disastrous."
"Father," Ye pressed, strategy overriding caution, "Could we… the Conclave… muster enough force to eradicate them?"
The Pope Mystic's voice turned arctic. "Ban that thought. *Now*. A duel between the Grandmaster and me? The outcome is a coin toss. Backed by the full might of the Conclave? We could raze the Tianangang. But consider the cost! Four Blademasters grace this world. I warned you they remain the Conclave's only conceivable existential threat. Though disparate, bound by a warrior's creed. Annihilate one Sanctuary? The wrath of the remaining three would bleed us white. The Conclave and the Saints must remain… wary constellations in the same sky."
Only then did the full weight of his misstep crush Ye. "Father… Your Grace, forgive my rashness."
"You carry the mantle of our highest Blood Skeleton Monk Priest," the Pope Mystic's tone softened fractionally. "The future Pope Mystic must possess profounder insight. See not just the surface, my son, but the currents beneath and the tides beyond. Understand?"
Radiance pulsed gently from the Pope Mystic. Ye felt his very soul resonate under the gaze. He bowed low, chastened. "Your wisdom guides me, Pope Mystic." He straightened, purpose hardening his voice. "But Hades Sword… Dragon Blood… they must be reclaimed! Leaving them with that boy Dunce?? It's dangerous. You know Hades Sword's corruption!"
From beside her mother, Nyssa holding her protectively, Mystic Mystic Moon erupted despite her magically imposed stillness. "Dunce? is gentle! He'd never wield Hades Sword for evil! Father, *stop* maligning him!"
The Pope Mystic closed his eyes. Moments passed before he opened them, a decision made. "Mystic Mystic Night. Ensure silence from your entourage. Relay to the Inquisitor Chief: place watchers near Tianangang. When Dunce? descends, he is to have a protective detail. Four Saint Inquisitor-Inquisitor Chiefs. Minimal intervention. Hades Sword remains with him until your wager's conclusion – honor demands it. But Dragon Blood… Divine Feather's legacy… that is paramount. Reclaim it. Discreetly."
"It will be done," Ye affirmed, the order clear.
Panic flared in Mystic Mystic Moon. "NO! You can't! That's theft! You become thieves yourselves! Grandfather!"
The Pope Mystic turned back, brow slightly furrowed. "Mystic Mystic Moon, speak sense. The Phoenix Dunce you wear and Dragon Blood Dunce? possesses are sacred twins, artifacts of the Conclave from Divine Feather and his consort. Reclaiming what is sanctified is righteous, not theft. Beware reckless words; they stain our mantle."
"But it *isn't* yours anymore!" Mystic Mystic Moon cried, desperation cracking her voice. "Divine Feather *gave* it away! You have no right!"
Pope Mystic and Blood Skeleton Monk Priest exchanged a sharp, significant look. The Pope Mystic knew the legend of Divine Feather's gift. The recipient remained a mystery buried deep in forbidden archives. "Mystic Mystic Moon, are you saying Dragon Blood Dunce? holds was bestowed upon him by descendants of its original recipient?"
Cornered by her need to protect Dunce?, Mystic Mystic Moon surrendered the secret Cult Leader Pulin had cautioned her to keep. "Yes! Grandfather! Did you not know? Divine Feather bestowed it upon the *Torashi*!"
"The *Torashi*?" The word hung heavy in the holy air. Twin shock rippled from the men.
"The Torashi lands?" Ye interjected sharply. "Explain! Now!"
The Pope Mystic gestured subtly. The binding spell dissolved around Mystic Mystic Moon. She stood free, feeling Nyssa's reassuring grip on her shoulder. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she plunged in. "After Dunce? and I reached Torashi lands, their Cult Leader, Pulin, brought us to the Shrine of T'Ru…" She recounted the tragic history Pulin had revealed – the Torashi's sacrifice, their near-extermination, the loss of their ancestral lands, and Divine Feather's gift of Dragon Blood as a pact and penance. "...And then Cult Leader Pulin entrusted it to Dunce?."
A profound sigh escaped the Pope Mystic. "A hidden covenant… excised from our records. Likely to protect old nations' shame. Mystic Mystic Moon, if Dragon Blood became the Torashi's sacred heritage… why gift it to Dunce??"
Mystic Mystic Moon hesitated, recalling Pulin's plea for secrecy. She glanced at her mother, who gave a barely perceptible nod of encouragement. Resolve firmed. *For Dunce?.* "Because… Cult Leader Pulin said… Dunce? and I… we might be the Harbingers. The saviors spoken of in prophecy."
Silence descended like a physical blow. Ye swayed, his voice rough. "The *Harbingers*? Prophesied by a Torashi seer? How…?" The cosmic significance of the Harbingers, the divine keystone foretold by Divine Feather himself to guide the Conclave through the looming Millennial Calamity, rattled his very core. Finding them had been an eternal quest.
Though shaken, the Pope Mystic maintained an outward calm. "Pulin of the Torashi possesses gifts we lack, despite their pagan ways. He imparted a prophecy?"
Mystic Mystic Moon nodded. "He performed a rite like yours, Grandfather. A great invocation." She paused, gathering the words burned into her memory. "He sacrificed years of his life for a clearer vision. He saw: *Where shadowed virtue seeks its core, And Light and Dark oppose no more. Through The Phoenix Dunce the path is found, Across divides and hallowed ground. By Dragon Blood's call shall fate be bound, And love everlasting shall resound.*"
The Pope Mystic stood abruptly. He walked to the effigy of the Divine, his lips moving silently as he parsed the prophecy. "*Where shadowed virtue… Light and Dark oppose no more… Through The Phoenix Dunce… By Dragon Blood's call… Love everlasting…*" He turned back, eyes blazing with ancient power mixed with newfound certainty. "Yes! *This* is the true vision Pulin sacrificed for. Speak on. What else did he reveal?"
Emboldened yet wary, Mystic Mystic Moon continued, gesturing vaguely towards herself and Dunce?. "'Shadowed virtue'… Dunce?'s kindness bound to Hades Sword's edge? 'Light and Dark'… My holy magics opposed by his… cursed sword? The rest speaks for itself. Because of this… this confluence… the Cult Leader gifted Dragon Blood. So you see, it *isn't* yours to reclaim! Pulin warned against meddling with fate. But I had to tell you!"
The Pope Mystic pondered, millennia of divine calculus whirring behind his eyes. Finally, he breathed. "Pulin's foresight holds… truth. A potent chance." Decision solidified.
"Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye. Tell the Inquisitor Chief: dispatch four Saint Inquisitor-Inquisitor Chiefs to guard Dunce?. They shadow him upon his descent from Tianangang. Intervention only if mortal peril strikes." His gaze swept to Mystic Mystic Moon. "As for Dragon Blood… fate's weave holds it now. We follow the Cult Leader's counsel: let the skeins unravel as they will."
Relief washed over Mystic Mystic Moon, potent and sweet. Four Saint Inquisitor-Inquisitor Chiefs! Elite enforcers, nearly untouchable! "Thank you, Grandfather!"
Ye's composure was brittle, his mind reeling with the monumental implications. *Harbingers. A conduit of fate… possibly Divinity itself! And I opposed him? Hindered his path?* The potential cost to the Conclave's divine mandate was terrifying. "By your will, Pope Mystic," he managed.
The immediate threat neutralized, Mystic Mystic Moon seized her chance. She stepped forward, clasping the Pope Mystic's arm. Her tone shifted to coaxing. "Grandfather… now that's settled… could you teach me? True magic? Not Father's lessons… yours?"
The Pope Mystic chuckled, the tension easing. "Ah! The little phoenix returns! This sudden thirst for knowledge? Uncharacteristic."
Mystic Mystic Moon flushed slightly, leaning into his arm. "I saw the world, Grandfather. I *felt* weak. Surrounded by monsters and ancient powers. I need strength. *Your* strength. Please?"
The pride in the Pope Mystic's eyes was unmistakable. "A worthy ambition. But the path to power forged in light is arduous, Mystic Mystic Moon. My training will lack… mercy. Your father bears the scars."
Mystic Mystic Moon's gaze was unwavering. Images of Dunce?, of shared dangers and whispered future plans, fueled her resolve. *This is the key. To stand beside him.* "I am ready. I swear it."
"So be it," the Pope Mystic declared, satisfaction warming his voice. "Blood Skeleton Monk Priest. Riverress Nyssa. Take your leave. Mystic Mystic Moon remains. That resolve? I shall temper it into power."
Ye cast a look at his daughter – part worry, part memory of his own brutal training. He placed a hand on Nyssa's, who squeezed it reassuringly. They bowed in unison and retreated from the prayer hall.
Once alone, the Pope Mystic turned to his granddaughter. "This chamber is but a gateway, child. We journey to the font." He intoned a phrase resonant with celestial harmonics. The stone beneath them shimmered, revealing a complex golden hexagram. Light consumed them.
Mystic Mystic Moon blinked. Sterile silence replaced the faint echoes of the prayer hall. They stood now in a vast, cavernous chamber of seamless stone, easily fifty paces across and thrice that high. Dominating the center was a colossal golden hexagram etched into the floor. Floating serenely above its heart was… an effigy. Or perhaps an avatar? It resembled a divine messenger carved from solidified sunlight, no taller than a child, but radiating an aura of infinite majesty and calm. Six pure white wings feathered slowly from its back, each beat pulsing waves of profound serenity that washed over her like a cleansing tide.
"Where…?" Mystic Mystic Moon breathed, overwhelmed. She'd lived within the Conclave's walls her whole life, yet this place was utterly unknown.
The Pope Mystic brought his hand to his forehead, then his heart, bowing low before the hovering entity. Mystic Mystic Moon instinctively copied the reverence.
"This," the Pope Mystic's voice was hushed with awe, "is the Sanctum Primoris. The First Light." He gestured towards the winged figure. "That… is the Benediction. The vessel through which Divine Feather's consecrated spirit endures beyond mortality. Each Pope Mystic must stand here, at the Crucible of Ascension, and receive the divine Impartation before taking the mantle. You, my child, are the first outside that sacred lineage to tread these stones. Pulin's words… they opened this door. Here lies the forge of power that binds the mortal spirit to the celestial fires."
Mystic Mystic Moon felt the ambient energy thicken with every step towards the Benediction. Anxiety dissolved. Her mind quieted. She felt buoyant, transparent, as waves of potent sanctity flowed into her very marrow.
The Pope Mystic stopped three precise strides from the hovering entity. "We endure, not through politics or wealth, but through the Divine Grace residing *here*. To touch the zenith of this magic? You must embrace its source. Forge yourself anew within its crucible." His voice dropped to a resonant whisper, ancient syllables weaving around them. "Approach the Lumen. Surrender doubt. Embrace the Illumination."
Compelled by his certainty and the beckoning serenity ahead, Mystic Mystic Moon drifted forward. As she reached the spot directly beneath the Benediction, the sense of scale inverted. The small figure expanded in her perception, towering over her like a radiant mountain forged from divinity. Pure, undiluted serenity flooded her consciousness, erasing thought, erasing self.
Pure light engulfed her. Her robes dissolved into incandescent dust, leaving her form bathed in radiance, etched in sacred gold. The Benediction descended, merging seamlessly with her silhouette. The two figures overlapped, becoming one: Mystic Mystic Moon, seemingly grown to match the Benediction's former form, radiant, ethereal, crowned by the six feathered wings which now beat softly with her own suspended form as their focus. Streams of liquid light poured from above, weaving a corona around her head before cascading down her form.
Witnessing the perfect fusion, the Pope Mystic smiled. It was a rare expression of profound fulfillment. His granddaughter had ignited the core resonance. Her potential shimmered, brighter than any he'd seen. The Impartation had begun. This communion would forge the very bedrock of her future strength.
*At this very moment, high upon the windswept peaks of Tianangang, Dunce? sat rigid in meditation. In a nest of cloth beside him, Dunce?'s companion, the draconic hatchling Saint-Xieviar, stirred, opening gleaming eyes for the first time in seven days.*