Morning light filtered through the narrow windows of the Church, painting golden rectangles across the wooden floors.
The old man's condition had improved dramatically overnight—whatever had happened to him, whatever terror had seized him when he looked at the presence behind Aster, seemed to have passed. He was resting now in his private chambers, still visibly shaken but no longer in immediate danger. The other disciples had tended to him throughout the night, using a combination of herbal remedies and calming meditations to ease his distress.
But there was still fear in his eyes when anyone mentioned the incident. A deep, fundamental fear that came from seeing something that shouldn't exist.
Aster had spent the night in a small guest room, barely sleeping despite his exhaustion. His mind kept returning to the old man's words: *He's following you. He's right behind you. Always.*
What was following him? The entity from the party? Some manifestation of the Eye of Evil? Or something else entirely—something so terrible that even a man who had dedicated his life to forbidden knowledge had never encountered it before?
But this morning, Aster had made a decision. He couldn't afford to be paralyzed by fear. He had come here for a purpose—to gain knowledge, to find answers, to save his sister and stop the plague. Whatever was following him, he would deal with it. He had to.
Now, standing in a small preparation room, Aster dressed himself in the garments of the Church.
The robes were made of rich fabric—a deep yellow that bordered on gold, much like the old man's had been. But these were simpler, marking Aster as a novice rather than a full disciple. The material was surprisingly soft and comfortable, far superior to the rough wool of common clothing but not as ostentatious as noble dress. It felt... sacred, somehow. As if the fabric itself had been blessed or enchanted for its purpose.
Over the robes, Aster fastened a simple cord belt from which hung various items—a small book for recording knowledge gained, a pouch for offerings, a ceremonial knife (not for violence, but for ritual purposes). These were the tools of a devotee, the physical representations of his commitment to the pursuit of truth.
But the most striking change was on his head.
A crown—not of gold or jewels, but of interwoven metal branches that formed a delicate circlet. It was traditional garb for initiates of the Sage, representing the aspiration to gain wisdom. The crown was light, barely noticeable once worn, but its symbolism was heavy: *I seek to elevate my mind above common ignorance. I strive for understanding beyond mortal limits.*
And his eyes...
Aster looked at himself in a small mirror and was startled to see that his eyes had changed. Not physically—they were still his own eyes—but something in them was different. There was a faint red tinge to them now, barely visible but definitely present. A side effect of being accepted into the Church, perhaps. Or a reflection of the demonic power he carried within him. Or both.
The Blood Sword still hung at his back, its dark presence a stark contrast to the golden robes. The other disciples had raised eyebrows at his insistence on keeping it, but none had forbidden it. The Church of the Evil Sage was pragmatic above all else—if Aster felt he needed the weapon for protection, that was his choice to make.
He looked at his reflection one more time—this strange figure in yellow robes with a crown and red-tinged eyes and a sword of darkness—and barely recognized himself.
*How far I've fallen,* he thought. *Or risen. Or transformed. I don't even know anymore.*
There was a soft knock on the door.
"The morning devotions are beginning," a voice called from outside. "You should join us."
Aster took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and left the preparation room.
---
He followed the other disciples—there were perhaps twenty of them total, ranging from young adults to elderly men and women—down a series of corridors. The Church was larger than it had appeared from outside, with rooms branching off in unexpected directions, staircases leading to upper floors and down to cellars. It had the feeling of a place that had grown organically over many years, expanded and modified as needed.
They walked in silence, their footsteps creating a soft rhythmic sound on the wooden floors. No one spoke. This was a time for contemplation, for preparing the mind to receive knowledge.
Finally, they entered the central hall—and Aster's breath caught in his throat.
The room was vast, much larger than should have been possible given the building's exterior dimensions. The ceiling soared overhead, supported by columns carved with intricate symbols representing different branches of knowledge: astronomy, alchemy, mathematics, philosophy, divination, history, and countless others. Lanterns hung from long chains, casting a warm, steady light that seemed to come from within the glass itself rather than from any flame.
But what drew Aster's attention immediately was the front wall.
There, covering nearly the entire surface, was an enormous image of the Sage himself.
It wasn't a painting, exactly. The image seemed to be woven into the very fabric of the wall, as if the stone itself had been transformed into a tapestry. The Sage appeared as a man—tall and dignified, wearing robes similar to what the disciples wore but of far finer quality. The material seemed to shimmer with colors that didn't exist in normal reality, hues that Aster's eyes could barely process. They seemed to shift as he looked at them, never quite settling into a definable shade.
The Sage's face was kind but distant, wise but somewhat sorrowful. His eyes—rendered in brilliant blue that seemed to glow with inner light—looked out at the viewer with an expression that suggested he saw everything, understood everything, but was somehow saddened by the weight of that knowledge.
Around the image of the Sage, positioned at regular intervals, were statues.
Dragons. Seven of them in total, each carved from a different type of stone—obsidian, marble, jade, ruby, sapphire, amber, and something that looked like solidified moonlight. They were depicted in various poses: some coiled protectively, others with wings spread as if in flight, still others sitting in patient vigilance.
*The mounts of the Sage,* Aster realized, remembering fragments of lore he'd read. *His servants and guardians. The seven aspects of knowledge: Observation, Analysis, Synthesis, Creation, Destruction, Preservation, and Transcendence.*
Each dragon represented not just a creature, but a fundamental approach to understanding reality.
"Impressive, isn't it?" a voice said beside him.
Aster turned to see a younger disciple—perhaps in his late twenties—standing next to him. The man smiled slightly. "I remember my first time seeing the central hall. I stood there staring for nearly an hour before anyone could get my attention."
"It's..." Aster struggled to find words. "It's more than I expected."
"Most things about the Sage are," the man replied. He gestured to an empty space on one of the benches. "Come. The devotions will begin soon."
They sat together as the other disciples filed in and took their places. The atmosphere was reverent but not oppressive—more like a gathering of scholars preparing for an important lecture than a religious ceremony.
Once everyone was settled, the old man from last night entered. He still looked shaken, moving more slowly than he probably normally did, but he'd regained his composure. He walked to a podium positioned in front of the Sage's image and turned to face the assembled disciples.
"We gather this morning," he began, his voice steady despite his ordeal, "to renew our devotion to the pursuit of knowledge. To remind ourselves of our purpose and our commitment."
The disciples responded in unison: "We seek truth, however difficult. We embrace knowledge, however dangerous. We serve the Sage, however demanding."
It was clearly a ritual phrase, spoken countless times before. But there was genuine conviction in the voices.
The old man continued with what Aster realized was a daily address—a short reflection on some aspect of knowledge or wisdom, drawn from the Sage's teachings or from the experiences of disciples over the centuries.
Today's topic was particularly relevant: "The Weight of Truth."
"Knowledge is not always a blessing," the old man said, his eyes distant as he spoke. "To know something is to carry the burden of that knowledge. You cannot unknow what has been learned. You cannot unsee what has been revealed. The Sage offers infinite wisdom, yes—but wisdom comes with weight. The more you understand about reality, the heavier your mind becomes with that understanding."
He paused, and his gaze flickered briefly to Aster.
"Some truths are so heavy that they break those who learn them. Some revelations so profound that the human mind cannot bear them. This is why we approach the Sage gradually. Why we prepare ourselves through study and meditation. Why we strengthen our mental resilience before seeking the deepest knowledge."
The old man's expression became more intense. "Remember: the Sage does not wish to destroy you. Does not demand sacrifice in the traditional sense. Does not seek your suffering or corruption. All the Sage asks is devotion—dedication to the pursuit of truth above all else. If you give that honestly, the Sage will give you knowledge in return. But you must be strong enough to carry it."
The address concluded, and the disciples stood. They moved to different sections of the hall, each going to their assigned daily tasks.