The waves crashed upon the shore below, southeast of the city of Mano, where the river Rana met the Large Inner Sea. Arvenus watched them, lost in the glittering waters. They moved with a hypnotic grace, a constant swell of white and blue that crested the rocks, swallowing them whole, only to retreat back to the depths of the sea. He watched, spellbound, hardly realizing the time as it passed.

Arvenus and Sadus had arrived the evening before, trailing the bloody rays of evening light as they disappeared over the edges of the world, dropping from view into the blackened sea. They were the only men of the village to volunteer themselves to Psikar, God of the Spirit - Arvenus touched by the loss of his parents, and Sadus by the loss of his nephew Arin. Their losses had bonded them, and they had set out on the solemn journey, silent, yet filled with camaraderie.

They spent the night in the shadows of the monastery, a beautiful structure made of marble dredged up from the waters below. It loomed over them as they slept, a silent sentinel that watched over their dreams. In the morning, as white light filtered over the edges of the monastery rooftop and cast a pale glare on the ground around them, the two waited patiently to enter her glorious halls. The monastery had long been used by the Mano guild of priests to worship the Gods, and it was here that they would receive their blessings from Psikar.

The letter Daron received had given strict instructions. The men and women that would give up their mortal lives to join the Grey Order of Watchers were to meet at the monastery on new moon’s day. As the noonday sun breached the sky, they would take their place at the monastery doors and be granted entrance to the holy place. Then, and only then, would the gift of Psikar be bestowed upon them.

And so Arvenus and Sadus had waited, surrounded by strangers from across the land that had come to share their fate. Yet Arvenus was eager to return home, to be back at Analin’s side. He did not question the rightness of his actions, yet he felt a great unease leaving her behind in the estate village. The thought of finding them all slain upon his return was an unwelcome one, yet it wormed its way into his mind regardless, turning his stomach and heightening his unrest.

“It’s nearly noon,” Sadus murmured next to him. Arvenus turned his gaze back toward the monastery. It was a building unlike anything he had ever seen. Great pillars encircled the outer limestone walls, pillars that thrust toward the sky, holding up a domed roof. Rivers of glittering black ran through the pillars of white, and carved into each of them were the teachings of the Gods. Above them, stone statues of giant beasts that whispered of the light and dark stood mounted to the roof. It was equally beautiful and foreboding.

“We’ll be waiting at the door when the sun reaches its pinnacle,” Arvenus said. He angled back through the tall grasses, moving in front of the crowd, and taking his place in front of the giant wooden monastery doors. They were smooth to the touch, almost without texture, and he realized that there were no handles to speak of. He glanced at the sun in the sky, and as it rose to the noonday peak, Arvenus was the first who pushed into the door, using all of his body weight thrust against it.

The echoes of wood grating on stone bounced along the walls, reverberating back toward him as the door came to a halt. As he entered the monastery, Arvenus couldn’t help the awe he felt. He stopped, staring at the wondrous interior as the other men and women passed him from both sides. He stood inside a large chamber, one filled with rows and rows of stone blocks made to form simple benches. Painted on the walls were the most opulent murals he had laid eyes on, detailing the story of how the Gods had shaped the Land of Spirits. Arvenus breathed in wonder, following the story from the awakening of the seven deities to the creation of men. Golden light filtered down through slits in the dome above them. At the time the monastery had been built, the slits had been expertly positioned, so that as the sun made its trek across the sky, its light would illuminate the story that played out in each mural.

Sadus nudged Arvenus in the ribs, the sharp jolt waking him from his reverie. His friend pointed to the front of the chamber. A man from the crowd had kneeled before the shallow dais at the end of the room, his head hung, chin dipping below his shoulders. He was statuesque, a solemn, lonely figure bent in reverence.

Arvenus felt that there was something familiar about the man, something that called to him. He couldn’t shake the feeling, a feeling that only intensified when the man rose to his feet. His arms snaked upward to the hood that cloaked him, pushing the folds back from his face. And when he turned to face the men and women behind him, Arvenus felt his heart stop.

“Hello brother,” the man called, a stiff smirk lilting the side of his mottled face. “I wasn’t mistaken thinking I saw you earlier this morning amidst the crowd outside.”

Arvenus just stood there, mouth agape, unable to believe his eyes. In the hollow of his chest, his heart squeezed back to life, a sudden jolt of activity that made him feel weak. His jaw worked, but he was paralyzed to speak. He had never expected to find Yarnus there.

“Welcome,” a solemn voice intoned. Unable to process finding his brother at last, Arvenus pushed all thoughts of Yarnus aside. He had come with a purpose, and he would not allow his brother to shake him of it. Arvenus tore his eyes away from Yarnus' face, but the echo of his brother’s visage still lay trapped in his mind.

Arvenus turned his attention to the priest. He was a tall man with a thick figure, one well hidden beneath the robes of burgundy he wore. A thick rope cinched his waist, the symbol of the God of the Spirit emblazoned on the head of a round pin fastened to the knot tied in the rope. The priest moved with an easy grace, one borne of decades spent in servitude. He moved with an assuredness borne of absolute certainty and devotion. Arvenus watched the priest with something akin to admiration.

“Psikar, God of the Spirit, is pleased to welcome you to the temple of the seven Gods,” the priest addressed the throng. Fingers laced together, he stood, still and stoic, his dark eyes watchful and acutely aware of everything around him.

“Psikar wishes many blessings upon you on this day. For it is an auspicious day, a day filled with his benevolence. A day filled with his light.”

Arvenus bowed his head as he spoke, his eyes not once leaving the priest. Such tidings were customary for the Gods. To pay homage was a great honor, and to worship in a monastery devoted to the Gods was an incomparable privilege.

“With the help of the city steward of Mano, Psikar, God of the Spirit, has made his plans for you known,” the priest continued, taking a step forward, his toes gripping the edge of the dais. “He wishes to gift each and every one of you with abilities beyond compare among the Mano people. You seek his aid, and in his wisdom he has chosen to heed your call. Step forward,” he beckoned, opening his arms wide to encompass all who gathered there that day. “And let him bestow such gifts upon you now.”

Arvenus took a careful step forward. He had not considered what he would feel when he reached the monastery, and had not once given any thought to the fears that would whisper to him, to the dark mutterings of his mind. He wondered then if Psikar’s blessings would cause him pain and make him suffer and writhe in agony to earn them. He swallowed against the stone in his throat as he stepped before the priest, once again the first to do so among the crowd, followed by Sadus and his brother Yarnus. One by one, the other men and women gathered behind him, ready to fall in line to receive their blessings. He wondered if they had the same reservations, and if they had considered what receiving Psikar’s gifts would mean.

But he didn’t have time to ponder long. The priest loomed before him, even larger now given that he stood so near.

“Kneel,” the priest intoned, and Arvenus fell to his knees. The sharp smack of bone on stone shot through him, a flicker of pain that burned up his thigh. He paid it no mind as the priest leaned closer. The man began to mutter words too quickly and softly for Arvenus to understand, and from within his robes he withdrew a small black bowl. In the shallowest part of the bowl was a fine powder, which was a subtly gray in color and reminded Arvenus of ground bone, but with an Ether blue hue. The priest continued his ramblings, growing more and more fervent in tone, until at last he stopped. Reaching two fingers into the bowl, he grabbed a pinch of powder between them and raised them to Arvenus' lips.

“Take the body of Psikar, God of the Spirit, inside you,” the priest commanded.

Arvenus parted his lips, and the priest shoved the fingers inside his mouth. The powder was gritty and bitter. It rolled around on his tongue, coating his mouth with a poisonous taste. As he breathed in, he felt each and every bit of powder race through his body. It was as though he had been struck by lightning. As the priest moved on to Sadus, Arvenus’ body sizzled with the heat of it, blood pounding in his ears. All at once, the world began to spin, and the stone floor rose up to meet him.

As he stared up at the vaulted ceiling, he found himself unable to move. He struggled against the invisible hands that held him down, trying to wriggle his way free. Try though he might, he was trapped in the confines of his immovable body, and a strange darkness came over him. Then he could see again. A world of waving shadows forming the shapes of the men and women around him, strands of light traversing through them like the veins in a leaf. Arvenus blinked hard, trying to clear his eyes. Slowly the shadows lost their shape. Then, the shadows parted and there a figure appeared.

“Rise,” a voice whispered to him. And he did. Before Arvenus stood a divine being he knew only from stories. The God towered over him, his strange eyes as gray as the color of the mountains, his hairless head covered with a strange pattern of pale scales that flowed from his head down to his shoulders and back.

“I am Psikar,” the God said, turning his misty eyes to Arvenus. The God’s gaze was like water on his skin, and Arvenus felt like a man dying of thirst. He drank in Psikar’s silent regard, gulping it down with wild abandon. It soothed him, healed him of hurts he didn’t know he had.

“I am honored,” Arvenus murmured, craning his head into a bow.

“Come, my child, and be near me.”

Arvenus moved across the stone, light as a feather. He had the sense that he was no longer in control of his body.

“I am Arvenus,” he began, but the God held a finger to his lips.

“I know who you are,” Psikar said with a gentle smile. “You seek my aid, do you not?”

“I do,” Arvenus nodded in earnest. Standing so close to Psikar, he could see the glimmer of silver in his skin, forming sacred patterns on his chest.

“You seek the power to purge your landlord’s fields from the crop plague,” Psikar said without question. “And… the power to destroy your enemies. One man in particular.”

Arvenus swallowed. “Yes.”

“Tell me, Arvenus,” Psikar continued. “Are you a good man?”

Arvenus paused for only a moment. “I think I am, yes.”

Psikar raised an eyebrow. “You lack conviction in your answer?”

“I try to be a good man,” Arvenus amended. “But I am still just a man. I make mistakes. And those mistakes have cost me greatly.”

“Such is the way of humans,” Psikar nodded. “Your lives are brief. You are but children to me, still learning to walk. You will make mistakes, but you have learned much over the course of generations. That is all I can expect from you.”

Arvenus was silent. Psikar regarded him with a cold curiosity, as if he were inspecting an insect on the ground.

“You shall have my blessing, Arvenus,” the God said at last. He rose, and Arvenus drifted toward him on feet that no longer seemed to obey his command. Standing before the God made him feel small, insignificant. But inside that insignificance was the whisper of power.

Psikar placed his palm on Arvenus' cheek. “I grant you the gifts of the Grey Order of Watchers,” he proclaimed. “The power to heal and to destroy, and the wisdom to judge and execute those who bring dismay to the people of Mano. May these gifts rest easy on your soul.”

Then the God swept his thumb across Arvenus' forehead. At Psikar’s touch, Arvenus felt his body stiffen, and the heat of lightning skittered through his veins. He collapsed to the ground, lost in the fire within him. But within that pain was beauty. In his mind’s eye Arvenus could see fragments of sprawling white sands beset by roiling waters, great fields of hollyhock and lavender twisting in the wind, and golden sunlight kissing his skin. He could feel the warmth of the sun and the cold of the clouds, could hear the trickle of water and the moaning of the woods. He could see and hear and feel everything in creation all at once. It was agony and ecstasy. It was everything and nothing all at once, and it was gone as quickly as it came.

When the pain had run its course, Arvenus found himself on the floor, his clothes soaked through with sweat. He lifted a trembling hand to his eyes, drawing in one shaky breath after another. He was changed. He could feel the truth of it down in his marrow - the very essence of who and what he was had been irrevocably altered. It was thrilling and terrifying.

Arvenus took several more steadying breaths, while next to him Sadus slowly roused from his moment with Psikar as well. Arvenus struggled to his feet, confused and wrestling with the immensity of the power he held. He helped Sadus up as well, and turned his eyes again to the priest. Now, it was Yarnus who stood ready to accept the God’s gift. Arvenus watched with intense curiosity. Would it affect his brother the same way it had affected him? Would it perhaps heal the horrible scars on his face?

He was surprised by how quickly the change occurred. It happened within seconds. When the change was done, he could see nothing different about Yarnus, save for a light in his eyes that seemed to rage like fire.

The priest continued about the chamber, feeding mouthfuls of powder to those waiting until at last every man and woman had received the blessing of Psikar. As more and more of them rose back to their feet, the power of what they had collectively been through impressed itself upon Arvenus. No longer were they men and women, individuals with their own histories and lives. They were more. So much more. They were brothers and sisters, tested through fire and gifted by Psikar. They were grains of sand that coalesced into one pane of glass.

When at last the priest was done, a group of apprentices emerged from a side room. They approached the crowd, handing out thick gray hooded cloaks with the symbol of Psikar embroidered into them.

“Psikar, God of the Spirit, has granted you many blessings this day,” the priest smiled down at them as they put on their cloaks. “It is his light that now dwells within you. Before me you stand as immortal men, and in Psikar’s name you all shall bear the title of The Grey Order of Watchers. It is your solemn duty to uphold the gifts he has given you, to use your powers on the path of righteousness, and serve the Mano people. But be warned: his gifts do not come without a price. You shall die the last of your lineage. No child shall be born of your seed or womb. So Psikar demands. So it is done.” After a brief silence he continued. “And now, the time has come for you to leave this place,” he announced. “May Psikar bless your journeys home, and on whichever roads you travel in service to the Mano people.”

As the priest left the dais, the crowd began to move to the monastery doors. Out in the sunshine, the world seemed somehow different. Where once the world had seemed bleak, now new hope had arisen. Arvenus could feel the spirit of the ocean as it roared against the shore, could feel the spirit of the earth below his feet. There was lifeforce in everything, and the current of it flowed as readily through him as with everything else. It connected him to the land in ways he had never dreamed were possible.

Arvenus felt a hand on his arm, and the warmth of it spread through him like fire.

“I suppose we should talk,” Yarnus said, his words softer than usual.

Arvenus turned to his brother. For the first time in decades, it was as if he was seeing Yarnus anew. They had lost so much, had suffered for so long. He could see the suffering now on his brother’s face.

“Where have you been?” Arvenus asked, the question unaccusatory.

“Here and there,” Yarnus evaded with a sigh. “And nowhere. Anywhere away from Analin. And from you.”

Arvenus nodded. “I admit I was not kind to you, brother,” he said. “But I tried to write to you. I sent a letter to the inn in Mano I know you frequented in younger days.”

“I was not there,” Yarnus said after a brief pause. “I did not wish to be found. I only wished to be free, even if it was a fleeting freedom.”

“Yarnus…'' Arvenus paused, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “The village was attacked some days ago. It was the same band of raiders, led by Kenderik One-Arm. But this time they were not after our stocks. They were after our blood.”

Yarnus paled. “Was it Analin?” he choked out the words. He was visibly relieved when Arvenus shook his head.

“Brother… our father and mother were slain in their beds as they slept,” Arvenus told him. “I wrote a letter beseeching your return so that we might lay them to rest together.”

Yarnus was silent. A rash of emotions flickered across his face; sadness and anger and torment. Ghosts hid inside his eyes, burrowing deep in the wounds newly made.

“Have they… have they been laid to rest now?” he asked, his voice small.

Arvenus nodded. “There was no more time to wait.”

Yarnus was silent once more. Arvenus could see the wheels turning in his brother’s mind.

“I think it goes without saying that the time for our petty squabbling is done,” Arvenus added softly. “We must stand united now. Not only to repay the raiders for the things they have done, but also for the sake of our family. If my child is truly to be the last in our line, I would have him know you and call you uncle.”

Yarnus nodded, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “Aye. There can be no question of that now, brother. Let us make haste and turn our eyes toward home. I should like to kill Kenderik One-Arm as soon as I can.”