They found themselves under the command of Father Yggdra the next day. The hall he led them to was different from the one they had practiced in their years in the seminary. This hall was grand and open with more air than they thought a building capable of accepting. The ground was level with the pick of dust at the slightest step. As they walked their feet raised dust. But Father Yggdra seemed to glide above it, each step soundless, the one to succeed each even quieter than the one before. An action he seemed to perform without thought.

The night was cold and Sethlzaar ran through it on an open clearing, stopping at one of the buildings around. There, he bided his time. Why does it have to be tonight? he thought. Especially now that he's angry. His mind flashed to Cynth, and he shook his head. This was no time to be distracted by the old man, he needed to focus. 

The test was different from the ones they knew, different from the ones they had. The older boys were not present for it, having left the seminary on a task of sorts. Their spiritual work, the priests called it. A stipulated period of time when they would be at different churches, offering their services to the sisters of the church, whatever it may be, as long as it fell within the confines of the credence.Father Ordan trooped them out of the seminary in the morning before the commencement of the morning mass. They gained the employ of a Tarc, as had been done f

Sethlzaar sat uncomfortably in the seat. The cushion was plush, a very delicate touch to his butt, unlike what the seminary was prone to offering. Its size was massive enough to accommodate a second person. It was decorated with embroidery of such beauty only the best in the art could have done it, and the wood was carved beautifully with intricate designs of its own. It was a throne in itself.However, what he sat on was not the source of his discomfort. It was where he sat: The sanctuary of the Arslagh head church of Truth, the

Darkness threatened to engulf Sethlzaar as his fears welled up from within him. He knew it very well. It was a companion he took solace in, and a companion he had grown to fear. Soon the eyes watched, and the hilts beckoned, and he dreamed in the day. However, his watchers made no entrance, only the blades. Taunting. Teasing. Beckoning. He knew where he was. Out with Father Kazaril, he told himself, capturing a touched. This dream was different from the ones he knew. Not only did his watchers prove absent, the h