A heavy quiet pressed upon the scriptorium. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing the stained-glass. Kaelen clutched a worn leather-bound tome, its pages unread, his gaze fixed on the polished stone floor. His heart beat a nervous tattoo against his ribs. Brother Malachi stood, hands clasped behind his back, a silent sentinel by the cold hearth. How could Kaelen explain the primal surge, the burning essence he had absorbed? An essence that felt… ancient, and utterly un-Chantry. Should he confess deeper sin? Whisper apologies for the raw power, the very blood in his veins that defied every sacred decree? His mother’s whispered warnings echoed, a chill against the warmth of the phantom flame still lingering on his palms. Malachi sighed, the sound soft, yet it seemed to fill the vast space. "Young Kaelen, your brow is furrowed enough to plow a field. You did not summon this blight. Nor did you choose your lineage. Unburden yourself of such misplaced guilt." Kaelen dared a glance upwards. Malachi’s expression was weary, not condemnatory. "But… the power. It is not of the Chantry's blessing. It is… wild." "Indeed," Malachi murmured. "Wild as the mountains, untamed as the sea. Yet, did it not serve to quell the darkness that threatened this very Abbey?" Kaelen swallowed. The logic was undeniable, yet it grated against years of ingrained dogma. He had always yearned for quiet study, for peace within the Abbey walls. This newfound power, this stark revelation of his heritage, promised only upheaval. "Do you… regret it, Brother?" Kaelen asked, his voice barely a breath. "Bringing me from the shadows. To reveal what I am?" Malachi turned fully, his gaze piercing. "Regret? No. The blight stirs again, Kaelen. The ancient evils awaken. The Chantry, in its wisdom and its rigidities, has forgotten many things. It needs eyes to see what lies beyond its sacred texts, hands to wield powers it may not comprehend." He stepped closer, his voice softening. "You welcomed an ailing stranger into your quiet life, despite the risk. You offered solace, then courage, to face a terror that gnawed at your soul. Your heart, Kaelen, is true. A soul like yours, touched by such formidable essence… it might be the only bulwark against a coming night." Kaelen averted his eyes, tracing the grain of the floorboards. Malachi, like his mother, saw something in him that Kaelen himself could not fathom. A purpose beyond ink and parchment, beyond the quiet prayers. He saw a weapon. A beacon in the dark, perhaps. But a beacon for what? "To leave the Abbey, to seek this… 'greater purpose'," Kaelen murmured. "It is a daunting path. A terrifying one." Malachi nodded, understanding. "You need not decide this eve. Your wounds, though unseen, run deep from this ordeal. Rest, Kaelen. Consider. But know, the world beyond these walls does not slumber." ---

Principles of the Primal Weave