Finn liked routes.
Not destinations, just the routes.
Destinations meant expectations, and an end to his journey. Routes were just movement, they meant stone ground under his feet, corners, back alleys, shortcuts, and people. All kinds of people, from all walks of life. And he absolutely loved it.
He had memorised almost all the routes in this town precisely, and now that he was working in the temple, he was also learning its routes. He could walk from the western archive to the observatory with his eyes half-closed and still avoid the cracked step near the spiral stair.
That morning started like any other.
The air was cold, and bells could be heard marking the third light. A stack of sealed documents under his arm, wax still warm on some of them. He adjusted his coat and stepped into the corridor just as the sun hit the upper windows, casting long bars of pale gold across the floor.
That was the thing about the temple. It loved appearing normal.
He walked past junior acolytes in their light brown robes arguing in low voices about some charts. Past a pair of guards pretending not to yawn.
He delivered the first packet without incident. The second took longer, as the archivist wanted to complain about the ink quality, as if Finn had brewed it. By the time he was done with his work, the sun had shifted and the corridors felt a little off.
Finn learned early that the temple rewarded people who didn't linger.
So he didn't.
He walked quickly, his head down, his steps measured. He memorised when to slow and when to disappear into the flow of robes and armour and whispered prayers.
The temple was restless lately. Not loud, it was never loud, but it definitely felt tense. Like it was holding itself together with clenched teeth.
Finn adjusted the strap of his satchel and took the long corridor toward the records annex. The light there was dimmer, filtered through old glass etched with constellations that no longer matched the sky. He'd noticed that weeks ago. Most people hadn't.
Or they pretended not to.
He passed a guard he didn't recognise.
That, too, was new.
The annex smelled like ink and dust and old parchment, that felt familiar. Finn relaxed a bit as he handed off the documents and waited for the archivist to log them. He watched her fingers hesitate over a seal before pressing it down.
"Those are revisions," she said, not looking at him.
"Yes, ma'am."
"They're coming faster, every cycle now."
Finn said nothing. He wasn't paid to comment. He wasn't even officially paid to notice.
But he did notice.
When he left, he took a different route than usual. Not because he had to, but because he could.
The inner corridors had always been half-forgotten, used mostly by temple servants and the occasional acolyte sent on an errand meant to teach humility. Lately, though, there were more guards around, and more locked doors.
Finn paused near a wall carving. It was a starburst worn smooth by generations of hands. He heard a noise which made him take a step closer to listen.
Voices echoed faintly from beyond a closed door.
"…can't delay it again."
"…Synod agreed. The signs are sufficient."
"And the Starkeeper?"
A pause.
Finn moved on before he heard more.
He told himself it was coincidence. Whatever was happening was above his station would pass like everything else did.
He should really get going now, it was getting late. He decided to pass by the library. It was a longer journey for him but he needed to see someone.
Nyra was inside. It has been two weeks since their initial contact.
He didn't announce himself. He rarely did.
She stood near the central charting table, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back in a way that suggested it hadn't survived the morning intact. Star charts were spread out before her, overlapping and messy, nothing like the pristine displays the priests preferred.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
Finn watched her trace a constellation with her finger slowly and precisely, she then frowned and crossed it out.
Again.
Something in his chest tightened, she hadn't listened to a word he said.
Nyra didn't erase things lightly.
He shook his head and then cleared his throat.
She startled, then turned. "You walk like a ghost."
"Honing my skills as a spy," he said.
She gave him a distracted smile and went back to the charts. "Did you bring the revisions?"
"Three sets," Finn replied, setting them down. "All different."
She didn't look surprised. Not anymore.
"That's the fourth time this week," she said. "They keep shifting the same points."
"Maybe the stars are indecisive."
Nyra snorted softly, then replied. "Stars don't second-guess themselves."
"I checked the older records," she continued. "Pre-Synod. Pre-Wars. They match what I'm seeing now."
"And the new ones don't," Finn said.
"Yup" she responded.
She glanced up at him then, really looked, like she was measuring something.
Finn felt oddly exposed at her gaze.
"You look tired."
He shrugged. "Hard not to be, when you're carrying the extra weight of the lies from one end of the temple to the other."
Her lips parted, then pressed together. "That's… a dangerous thing to say."
"Good thing I didn't say it loudly."
They stood there, the observatory quiet around them. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken, though the stars were slow to appear.
Nyra rubbed at her collarbone absently, fingers brushing the star-shaped mark.
They didsatchel andthing else for a while.
Finn gathered his s andtchel, adjusted the strap. "I should finish my route."
Nyra nodded. "Be careful."
He paused at the door, then glanced back. "You too."
As he stepped into the corridor, Finn felt it again. The strange feeling like the temple was listening.
He walked faster.
That night, as he lay on his narrow bed and tried to sleep, the reality of the new things he had indulged in, dawned on him.
'What are we even doing?' He thought 'The temple will not let us go if we are caught.
He knew how dangerous the temple can be, after all he should have been part of it.
The exhaustion of the day finally hit him and he slowly drifted into sleep.
A sleep that took him back many years into the past. He saw the younger him in the black clothes like many of the novices present wore. It was his first day in the temple.
The novices were either orphans, children whose parents sold them to the temple, or those who simply had nowhere to go.
He was among the first group. His parents were soldiers of the kingdom, and after they fell in battle, none of his relatives wanted to take responsibility for the nine-year-old boy who had nothing to offer. He was reported as an orphan to be assimilated into the temple.
In his dream, he saw the priest who came up to address them, it was the beginning of the brainwashing process fortom.
Total obedience was required from them in order to get their meals and other resources needed for livelihood.
He saw the day, when the crown shaped mark on his chest was discovered and half the temple was in a frenzy.
He saw the himself in the isolated room with his weakened body after the priests and celestial conclaves had performed all sorts of experiments on him, trying to find out of he was the chosen one.
He saw the anger in his eyes as he swore he'd never be part of the system that made him suffer for two years.
When he finally woke up, the bells were ringing early at first light.
He had to prepare for the day. He felt a new resolve in his heart to expose the temple.
They were liars and someone had to make them pay.