The Sons of Gods

Throughout the Light Pantheon continent, an unsettling commotion rippled through the sacred grounds of the Temple of Beacon, the God of Guidance and Inspiration. Each temple, nestled across the land, held within its towering spires a lighthouse that shone steadfastly through the night and day, symbolizing the ever-present light of Beacon, guiding all who sought the correct path.

But on this particular night, something inexplicable and unnerving occurred long after most went to sleep. Each lighthouse, scattered across towns and cities alike, suddenly shifted its brilliant beacon to a menacing red glow. The transformation lasted precisely two minutes, casting an eerie crimson light over the landscape. The unnatural hue stirred unease in the hearts of those who witnessed it, from common villagers to seasoned priests. Then, just as abruptly, the light flickered out, leaving the temple in a deep, unsettling darkness for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was fifteen minutes.

When the lighthouses eventually reignited, their familiar glow returned, but the ominous atmosphere lingered. The sudden event had left a palpable tension in the air.

The priests of Beacon who had witnessed the event were especially shaken, their faces pale with fear and confusion. Beacon, the embodiment of guidance and inspiration, had never before faltered in its light, and for the lighthouses to dim, let alone turn blood-red, was unprecedented in their lifetimes. Whispers spread among the clergy, some voicing their terror, others hurriedly flipping through holy texts for an explanation. The significance of the red light eluded most of them, leaving a haunting fear in its wake.

Yet, there were a few—scattered priests and devout followers across the continent—who understood the true meaning behind the event. They recognized it not as a mere anomaly, but as a grave warning. Beacon, in his infinite wisdom, was sending them a message. The sudden shift to red was not a failure but a deliberate act—an alarm that something dire and dangerous was now roaming the world.

Those who perceived the truth began quietly preparing, for Beacon had signaled that an extreme threat was on the horizon, and the faithful would need to ready themselves for what was to come. If their intuition was correct, war was on the horizon and not one that would be a footnote in the history of the Light Pantheon.

Quin sat in the dining hall, his plate mostly empty, save for a few scraps of bread and cheese he had been absentmindedly nibbling. The room bustled with life around him as Acolytes and Disciples engaged in lively conversations, the soft clatter of cutlery and the murmur of voices filling the air. But Quin, as usual, sat alone, listening rather than participating. His days had been full, brimming with purpose and discovery, yet there was a certain quietness that lingered around him—a solitude he could not shake.

For weeks now, Quin had thrown himself into his routine with enthusiasm. Each morning began with Mass in the grand temple, where the rising sun cast golden light through the stained-glass windows, filling him with a sense of peace. Following that, he spent his mornings bonding with Albert, the warhorse he had bonded with. The warhorse had been wary of Quin at first, but in recent days, they had grown close, forming a strong partnership. Albert responded to Quin’s commands with an eagerness that spoke of trust, and Quin felt that connection deepening each day.

Afternoons were reserved for grueling training sessions with his cohort, where they practiced everything from combat maneuvers to honing their divine powers. Quin’s strength had increased noticeably; he could wield his blade with greater precision, control the intensity of his Solar Flare, and sustain his abilities for longer periods without exhausting himself. His cohort had grown in teamwork, and their efforts showed in their coordination on the training grounds. In a few days, they were set to embark on a hunting expedition in the countryside, a test that would push them further than they had yet been.

Despite all this, there was something that weighed on Quin's mind—The Book of Ideals. He had come across the strange book weeks ago, its pages filled with philosophical writings from Arthur the Honorable, a figure Quin had never heard of before. His attempts to learn more had led him to conversations with both Patrick Falter, the High Priest, and Lief Stoneheart, the warrior who had taken him under his wing. Yet neither man knew anything of Arthur, which only deepened the mystery. Quin had kept the book to himself so far, wanting to understand it before sharing it with his companions, but he had decided that tonight, after their training, he would finally reveal it to his cohort and see what they made of it.

As Quin sat alone in the dining hall, he couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. While he had grown close to his fellow trainees, making friends outside his cohort was proving to be a challenge. His status as a Chosen One of Solarius seemed to place an invisible barrier between him and others. People treated him with an air of reverence, as though they were afraid to approach him on equal terms. Conversations fell silent when he entered a room, and when people did speak to him, it was always with a respectful distance, as if they believed themselves unworthy to stand at his side. It was flattering, in a way, but also deeply isolating.

He sighed, pushing the crumbs around his plate, his eyes drifting to the group of Acolytes at the next table. They were deep in conversation, their faces alight with excitement, but Quin could hear their hushed words clearly. They were gossiping about the strange light from the Temple of Beacon. It seemed the entire continent was abuzz with rumors about the lighthouses. A few nights ago, every lighthouse dedicated to Beacon, the God of Guidance and Inspiration, had flared red for two minutes before going dark. The event had sent a wave of panic across the land, as the lighthouses were symbols of safety and direction, their light never faltering. The eerie red glow followed by the unsettling blackout had unnerved even the most devout followers.

Quin overheard snatches of speculation.

“...a bad omen, no doubt...”

“...Beacon's light turning red? What could that mean?”

“...maybe it’s a sign of war?”

Many saw that most of the priests of Beacon were terrified, their usual calm shattered by an event they couldn’t explain. Quin had heard Patrick Falter discuss it earlier that day, and even the High Priest had admitted he had never seen anything like it, but he had been in contact with several who had. Patrick had told Quin that a handful of followers Beacon had seen and understood the red light for what it was—a warning. Beacon was signaling an extreme threat, something powerful and dangerous that now walked the world.

Quin listened quietly, not contributing to the speculation, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the strange light was connected to something larger, something he might soon have to face. The very air in the temple seemed heavier since the event, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.

He took a deep breath, letting the sounds of the dining hall wash over him. Tonight, he would show his friends The Book of Ideals. Tomorrow, perhaps, he would find a way to forge new bonds outside his cohort. And soon, whatever threat Beacon had warned of might reveal itself. But for now, Quin would focus on what lay ahead—strengthening his body, mind, and spirit for whatever battles the Gods had in store for him.

Quin still had some time before his afternoon training with his cohort, and a lingering question gnawed at the back of his mind. It had been there since he first arrived in Cremoor, the City of Spires, though the flurry of new experiences had kept it mostly at bay. Now, with a rare moment to himself, he felt the weight of it fully: his mother.

Solarius had specifically told Quin that he had to seek out her background. Something was afoot and Solarius was trusting Quin to find the truth behind it.

Quin had never known his mother, of course—she had died giving birth to him—but her absence had always been a presence in his life. And when arriving at the city, Lief Stoneheart had dropped a curious piece of information that Quin couldn’t shake. Lief had told him that his mother had ascended Ranks within the Light Pantheon, not by killing beasts, as was customary, but by some unknown method. It was unheard of. Ascension without fulfilling the Ascension criteria of slaying a beast at the Rank of Initiate? It didn’t make sense. But Lief had spoken as if many held a reverence about her, as though she were more than just a devoted follower of Solarius, as though she had been something purer—an untainted saint.

Curiosity, a need for closure, and the task that Solarius had entrusted to him tugged at Quin. If there was a truth to be found, if his mother really had been extraordinary in ways beyond her devotion, he needed to know. And if it was merely rumor, he needed to lay it to rest. He had to find out what Solarius meant by something sinister being present in her past as well. Either way, his mother was still family, and he felt a deep, growing desire to understand who she had been.

Deciding to follow this instinct, Quin made his way to the library, a grand section within the temple that served as one of the main repositories of knowledge within the Temple of Solarius. He was hoping to speak with Elric, one of the library’s keepers and a man Quin had become acquainted with over the past few weeks. Elric was a quiet, observant sort—rarely in the thick of things, but always listening, always knowing. He had a near-photographic memory of the library’s contents and had helped Quin find his way around the maze of books since meeting him.

When Quin entered the library, he immediately spotted Elric seated at his usual spot in the library office behind a desk piled with scrolls and ledgers. The older man looked up as Quin approached, his spectacles perched low on his nose, a faint smile of recognition crossing his face.

"Ah, Quin," Elric greeted him, his voice soft but welcoming. "What brings you here today? Looking for more readings on the histories of battles, or perhaps something more practical this time?"

Quin hesitated for a moment, unsure how to frame the request. He wasn’t just looking for a book or a scroll this time; he was looking for something far more personal. But he trusted Elric enough to be direct.

"I’m actually here for something a bit more... personal," Quin began, leaning slightly on the desk. "I’ve been trying to learn more about my mother. I know she grew up in this city, but I don’t have much to go on, and there's been this rumor... something about her ascending Ranks without killing beasts. Lief Stoneheart mentioned it, but I don't know if it’s true or just an exaggerated story. Her name was Loma."

Elric’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he set down the quill he had been holding. "Loma, hmm? I remember her, though only in passing," Elric said after a moment. "She was a frequent visitor to this library. Quite the reader. Spoke to me on more than one occasion about the books she borrowed. Always seeking knowledge, she was. But I didn’t know her well—certainly not well enough to confirm those rumors. Though I did hear them at the time. People said she was... different."

Quin felt a flicker of something—hope, maybe, or just intrigue. "So you’ve heard the same thing?"

Elric nodded slowly. "I have, but I never put much stock in it. People like to build legends around those who are different. It’s easier to believe she was born differently than the rest of us than to accept the simple truth that Loma was never a violent soul and probably never wanted to promote if she had ever killed a beast. As for the rumor, I’ve never seen proof of it, and I don’t think anyone else has either. But I suppose if it was true, the priests would have recorded it somewhere."

Quin’s heart quickened at that. If there were records, he might be able to learn more than simple rumors. "Do you know where I might find something like that?"

Elric gave him a considering look, then gestured toward the far side of the library. "Your best bet would be the Archive, near the classroom wing. It’s maintained by the priests, and they keep detailed records on all followers, especially those who achieved high ranks or were on the verge of doing so. If your mother truly did have something special about her, there might be something about her there."

"Thanks, Elric. I’ll head there now," Quin said, a feeling of purpose filling him. He now had a destination.

Elric offered a small smile. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Quin. And if you do, let me know. I’d be curious to hear what the truth of it is."

With a nod, Quin turned and made his way out of the library, feeling a renewed sense of direction. The Archive was his next destination, and with it, perhaps, the answers he had been seeking about his mother—who she was, and whether the stories whispered about her Ascensions were true.

The Archive was nestled deep within the quieter halls of the Temple, near the classroom wing as Elric had mentioned. When Quin entered, he found the Archive to be an imposing structure, one of quiet grandeur. The room stretched far longer than it appeared from the outside, with tall shelves reaching up to a high vaulted ceiling, all crammed with meticulously arranged ledgers. The scent of aged parchment and faint dust hung in the air, mingling with the soft flicker of candlelight that illuminated the space in a warm glow. Despite its vastness, the room was eerily silent, almost forgotten, as though few ever ventured here.

Quin made his way toward the front desk, where a middle-aged man sat slouched in his chair, looking distinctly uninterested as he idly flipped through a ledger. The clerk had a perpetually bored expression, his fingers tapping lazily on the wooden surface. Yet, when he noticed Quin approaching, his demeanor shifted almost instantly. His eyes brightened, and he sat up straighter, clearly pleased at the rare prospect of having someone make use of the Archive.

"Good day!" the clerk greeted, smiling widely as Quin approached. "Not often we get visitors around here. What can I do for you today?"

Quin offered a polite nod before introducing himself. "I’m Quin. I was hoping you could help me look up some information about my mother. Her name was Loma. I don’t know her last name, but she would have left the Temple almost twenty years ago."

The clerk’s face lit up with curiosity. "Loma, you say? And no last name? Hmmm." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That’s not much to go on, but with the time frame and a first name, I should be able to dig something up. Give me a moment."

Rising from his chair with newfound energy, the clerk gestured for Quin to follow. They moved through a narrow passage that led into the deeper recesses of the Archive. Here, the true scale of the records was revealed—endless rows of shelves stretched out before them, each lined with ledgers that seemed to chronicle every life, every moment, every breath taken within the Temple's walls.

Though the space was impeccably organized, with shelves labeled in careful script, a fine layer of dust coated much of the wood. The ledgers themselves, however, were pristine, their bindings tight and well-kept. It was clear that the Archive was cared for, even if seldom used. The clerk hummed to himself as he walked, his eyes scanning the spines of the ledgers.

"Ah," the clerk said suddenly, tapping his chin as if struck by a thought. He reached up to one of the shelves and slid a thick, worn ledger from its place. "Here we are," he said, holding it up for Quin to see before leading him to a nearby table.

With care, the clerk set the book down and opened it, the ancient pages crackling softly as they were spread. He flipped through them with deft fingers, eyes skimming over names and details until he landed on what he was looking for. "Loma... yes, here we are."

He began reading aloud, his voice soft in the quiet space. "Loma. No last name, that's surprising. She entered the service of the Temple of Solarius at the age of six. An orphan, like many. Raised in the Temple classroom with the other children. I suppose that explains the lack of a surname."

Quin leaned in, his heart quickening slightly. This was the first time he had ever heard anything about his mother’s early life.

"She seemed to have a fairly typical upbringing," the clerk continued, "nothing out of the ordinary. She began gathering spirit when she came of age, but it says here she was found to have... well, rather mediocre talent. Quite unremarkable by all accounts." He glanced up at Quin as though checking his reaction, then quickly went on. "She entered the sisterhood and became heavily involved in charity work. Hmmm. Quite a long list of charitable acts here."

Quin felt a swell of pride at that. At least something about his mother stood out, even if it wasn’t the answer to the mystery he had hoped to find.

The clerk continued to pore over the ledger, but his brows began to knit together as he went further. "That’s odd," he muttered. "There’s no mention of what beasts she killed or what specific Ascension criteria she completed. Normally, that sort of thing is meticulously documented."

Quin frowned. "Is it possible they just didn’t record it?"

The clerk shook his head slowly. "It’s rare. Whoever was responsible for keeping these records clearly missed something—or perhaps there was something unusual about her case. Most followers can’t ascend without the usual trials, but there’s nothing here about how she progressed from Initiate to Disciple." He looked up, puzzled. "That’s... well, very strange."

Quin felt a surge of frustration mingled with curiosity. There had been something unusual about her, then. But what? Was this because of what Solarius hinted at being sinister in her past? He clenched his fists under the table, trying to keep his emotions in check.

The clerk continued reading, but his expression darkened slightly. "It says here that Loma eventually... disappeared. There’s no mention of what happened to her, no explanation. Just a note that she left the Temple. After that, the record ends."

Quin sat back, processing the words. His mother had simply vanished from the temple. He knew the reason for that considering that he was living proof of why she left. However there was nothing about her Ascending Ranks without the need for violence. There was no closure in that department. The mystery only deepened, and Quin found himself with more questions than answers.

The clerk closed the book gently and looked at Quin with a mix of sympathy and curiosity. "I'm sorry I couldn’t find more. This record... it's incomplete, at best. If your mother did something extraordinary, it wasn’t fully documented here. But perhaps someone else in the Temple might remember more, especially those who worked closely with her."

Quin offered a grateful smile and nodded at the clerk. "Thank you, this has been really helpful. I appreciate you taking the time to help me look into this. One more thing—do you happen to know who made these entries? Maybe they could shed some light on why the records were incomplete?"

The clerk scratched his chin thoughtfully, then nodded. "Actually, I do know. The entries were made by my mentor, in fact—the one who taught me everything I know about these Archives." His expression shifted to one of mild confusion as he continued, "Which is why the lack of detail puzzles me. My mentor, Brother Tomas, was always meticulous in his records. He never missed a single detail, especially not something as important as Ascension criteria. This gap is... odd, to say the least."

Quin perked up. "Brother Tomas? Is he still around? Perhaps I could speak with him?"

The clerk’s face fell slightly, and he shook his head with a sigh. "I’m afraid not. Brother Tomas retired many years ago. He moved to a small village nearby called Vistow. But, I’m sorry to say... he passed away a few years ago. I doubt anyone there would know much about his work here."

Quin sighed, feeling the weight of yet another dead end. He had been hoping Brother Tomas might have held the key to understanding his mother’s unusual path, but with him gone, that possibility vanished. "That’s unfortunate," Quin said, his voice subdued. "Still, thank you again for your help. I appreciate it."

The clerk gave him a sympathetic nod. "I’m sorry I couldn’t offer more. But if anything else comes up, you know where to find me."

With one final nod and a last thank you and goodbye, Quin left the Archives, the soft echo of his footsteps fading in the quiet halls. His search for answers about his mother had stalled, but something deep within him urged him to press on. There was more to her story, more to uncover—and though this lead had run cold, Quin wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

Quin glanced at the large clock near the entrance of the Archive and realized it was time for his afternoon training. With a quiet sigh, he gathered his thoughts and made his way out of the Temple of Solarius , stepping into the sprawling courtyard that lay between the two great temples—the Temple of Solarius and the Temple of Justicar.

The courtyard was immense, dominated by the Control Spire, a towering structure at its center that stretched high into the sky. The spire gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun, casting long shadows over the stone pathways that crisscrossed the open space. Followers of all Gods and Goddesses alike moved through the courtyard, their robes or tunics fluttering in the gentle breeze, their faces set with purpose. A mixture of mortals, priests, and knights filled the area, all on their way to or from various duties.

As Quin made his way toward the Temple of Justicar, the God of Justice, the air seemed to grow still, almost reverent. The temple loomed ahead, appearing like a courthouse, an imposing structure of pale, gleaming marble that seemed to stand in perfect symmetry. The entrance was marked by a series of broad, stone steps that led up to massive bronze doors, each emblazoned with the symbol of Justicar—a set of balanced scales, perfectly even. The scales were etched in fine detail, their balance a testament to the fairness and order the God represented. Above the doors, the symbol was repeated in grander form, towering over the entrance as a constant reminder to all who entered that justice was absolute and unyielding.

The exterior of the temple was both elegant and austere, with thick columns supporting a flat roof that extended outward, casting a protective shade over the entryway. Carved into the marble columns were scenes of judgment, battles fought in the name of righteousness, and figures holding the scales of justice, their eyes blindfolded to ensure impartiality. Every inch of the building seemed to radiate an air of solemnity and fairness.

The temple’s design was purposefully stark, with few unnecessary embellishments, unlike the intricate sunbursts and radiant designs of Solarius' temple. Here, everything was balanced, orderly, and precise, reflecting the nature of Justicar himself. The cold gleam of the marble and the heavy doors gave the building an unshakable permanence, as if it would stand firm against the passage of time and the chaos of the world.

Quin paused for a moment, taking in the sight before him. The Temple of Justicar always carried a certain gravity that reminded him of a courthouse pursuing justice like sacred duty. He took a deep breath in preparation of how sore he was going to be after training, then climbed the steps toward the bronze doors.

Quin pushed open the heavy bronze doors and stepped into the Temple of Justicar, immediately struck by the solemnity of the interior. The temple's vast hall was bathed in a cool, diffused light, streaming through high, narrow windows along the upper walls. The light, though soft, seemed almost harsh in its clarity, revealing every edge and line of the meticulously crafted stonework. The floors were polished marble, stark and reflective, and the walls were made of smooth, pale stone, etched with scenes of judgment, battles of justice, and figures holding the balanced scales that symbolized Justicar.

The air inside felt cooler than outside, and there was a stillness here that made Quin reflexively lower his voice, even though he had not yet spoken. Everything was arranged with precise symmetry, from the rows of stone benches where followers often gathered for sermons, to the central aisle that led to the altar at the far end of the room. Flanking the altar were two towering statues of Justicar—one holding the scales of justice in his left hand, the other with a radiant sword in his right, representing the divine authority to enforce justice.

What drew Quin’s attention most, however, was the massive stone tablet embedded into the left wall of the hall. It was carved into the rock, rising nearly twenty feet high and just as wide. On its surface were inscribed the *Ten Laws of Justicar*, each law etched in perfect, unwavering lines:

The Law of Absolute Truth

The Law of Equitable Judgment

The Law of Proportional Retribution

The Law of Intent and Consequence

The Law of Restitution

The Law of Witness and Evidence

The Law of Mercy

The Law of Swift Action

The Law of Protection

The Law of Public Accountability

Each commandment stood as a testament to the rigid, unwavering sense of morality that Justicar demanded from his followers. Quin had learned these laws during his time with Sam, and while their clarity and fairness were unquestionable, he always felt the weight of them when he stood in their presence. There was no room for error here, no gray areas—just absolute justice, as impartial as it was merciless when needed.

Shaking off the familiar awe that the Temple of Justicar inspired, Quin turned and made his way toward the training grounds. He knew the path well, having spent many afternoons here with his cohort over the past several weeks. The route led through a set of side doors and down a long corridor that connected the main temple to the open-air grounds where the followers of Justicar trained their bodies as well as their sense of justice.

As he stepped into the training yard, Quin spotted his friends—Zach, Cal, Sam, and Westin—already warming up near the center. The grounds were spacious, with sandy earth underfoot and high stone walls enclosing the area. Various weapons racks were lined up along the perimeter, filled with practice swords, shields, and other equipment, all gleaming with careful maintenance. The air smelled of sweat, steel, and the faint scent of the sacred incense that always lingered around the temple.

Quin approached the group, his curiosity piqued by a notable absence. "Where’s Lauren?" he asked, glancing around for their cohort manager and friend, who was usually present to observe their training.

Zach, who was stretching his arms, shook his head. "No idea. She didn’t mention anything, just didn’t show up. Maybe she had other obligations today?"

"Yeah, strange," Cal added, leaning on a wooden practice sword. "She’s usually the first one here."

Before they could dwell on it further, the doors at the far end of the training yard opened with a low groan, and their trainer strode in. Quin immediately recognized the tall, imposing figure of Orlon Marrik, a devout follower of Justicar and a man known for his no-nonsense approach to training.

Orlon was built like a seasoned warrior, his broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms a testament to years of battle experience. His dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back tightly, and his face was stern, with deep lines around his eyes and mouth. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, practical for training, but the emblem of the balanced scales was embroidered on his chest—Justicar’s symbol, always present. His piercing gaze scanned the group as he approached, and though Quin had trained under him before, the man's sheer presence never failed to command respect.

"Good to see you all ready," Orlon said, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone. "No slacking today. We’ve got work to do."

He stopped in front of them, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked each of them over.

The training began with Orlon positioning himself in front of the group, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced slowly, eyes sharp and focused. Quin and his friends formed a loose line before him, weapons at the ready. Today, they were working on battle formations—a key element in group combat where coordination and quick thinking mattered just as much as individual skill.

"Formations are the backbone of any unit," Orlon began, his voice echoing across the training yard. "They can be the difference between victory and death. The enemy will come at you in various ways, and your job is to adapt, to move as one. Cal will be leading the calls. Listen closely and react quickly, because on the battlefield, hesitation costs lives."

Cal stood at the head of the group, his expression tense but focused. He held a short blade in one hand and a shield in the other, his eyes darting between his friends as he mentally prepared for what was coming.

Orlon stepped back and surveyed them, his voice steady and commanding. "You’ll be adjusting to different types of enemies today. First up—bandits. A scattered, undisciplined force, attacking from all directions. Cal, get them ready."

Without missing a beat, Cal barked out the first order. "Loose diamond!"

Immediately, Quin and the others moved into position, forming a diamond-shaped formation but with plenty of space between each of them. Quin found himself at the left flank, his sword raised and his body low, ready to pivot at a moment's notice. In this formation, they had the flexibility to respond to a chaotic, uncoordinated attack, allowing for swift individual movements while still maintaining their structure.

"Good," Orlon called out. "Now, imagine these bandits have brought archers. Cal?"

Cal’s voice cut through the air. "Shield wall!"

Quin and the others snapped into action, grabbing and raising shields and stepping into a tight line. They braced their bodies, shoulders touching, their shields overlapping to create a solid barrier. Sam, who carried a large rectangular shield, took the center, while Quin and Westin shifted to the flanks. The weight of the shield pressed heavily into Quin’s arm, but he held it firm, trusting in the strength of the formation.

Orlon circled them, eyeing the lines critically. "Hold steady. Archers will aim for the weak points. Stay locked together. Good. Now, let’s make things more interesting." He paused, his expression shifting slightly as he delivered the next scenario. "A small but elite unit of knights is bearing down on you—heavy armor, trained fighters. They’ll try to break your lines. Cal?"

"V-formation, braced!" Cal shouted, his voice growing more confident with each order.

The group shifted again. Cal and Sam moved to the front, with Westin and Quin at their flanks, forming a pointed wedge designed to break through or hold off a charging force. The formation allowed them to focus their strength at the tip, where Cal would lead the counter-charge if necessary. Quin adjusted his grip on his sword, muscles tensing as he imagined the weight of enemy knights slamming against their line.

Orlon grunted in approval. "Solid. That wedge should hold under pressure, but make sure the center doesn’t collapse under a concentrated attack. Ready for the next scenario?"

Before any of them could respond, Orlon raised a hand and changed the scenario yet again. "Now you’re facing a mixed force—light infantry and cavalry. They’ll try to outflank you. Cal?"

Cal hesitated for a brief second, then made his call. "Circle defense!"

Without delay, Quin and the others pivoted into a defensive circle. Cal, at the center, kept his sword at the ready while the rest of the group faced outward, shields raised, creating a rotating line of defense. This formation was designed to prevent any enemy from flanking or sneaking behind them, giving them a 360-degree range of defense. Quin shifted his weight, constantly checking his peripheral vision, knowing that any breach could throw their line into chaos.

Orlon watched them closely, his face betraying nothing as he circled their formation. "Not bad," he finally said, nodding slightly. "But remember, in a circle defense, communication is key. You’ll have enemies coming from all sides. If one of you sees a weakness, call it out. If anyone shifts too far, the whole formation collapses."

Quin’s breath came heavier now, the physical strain of adjusting formations and holding his shield in place starting to wear on him. He glanced around, seeing the same fatigue in the others, but they all held their ground. Cal’s orders had been quick and decisive, and they had adapted well, but Orlon wasn’t done with them yet.

"Last scenario," Orlon said, stepping back again. "You’re outnumbered, surrounded by enemies on all sides—there’s no retreat. They’re closing in, but they’ll try to break you in waves. Cal, what’s your call?"

Cal’s eyes flicked to Quin and the others before he called out, "Turtle formation!"

Instantly, they all closed ranks, tightening the circle. Shields locked together, creating a nearly impenetrable wall. Quin crouched lower, pressing his shield against the next in line, feeling the pressure from all sides as they formed a protective shell. It was a last-resort formation, designed to hold out against a relentless assault, buying them time until reinforcements—or a chance to counterattack—arrived.

Orlon stopped in front of them, his eyes scanning the formation. "Now hold it," he commanded, his tone cold and stern. "Picture enemy spears, arrows, and swords raining down on you. This is your last stand. Don’t falter."

The weight of his words settled heavily on the group as they braced themselves, their muscles burning from the effort, but their resolve unwavering.

It had been a solid training session. Most of the group didn’t regularly carry shields, save for Zach, but today’s exercises had shown just how invaluable the ability to wield one effectively could be. The formations had tested their endurance, their adaptability, and their trust in each other’s movements. By the time Orlon dismissed them, their bodies ached, but it was the good kind of pain—the kind that came from progress.

"Good work today," Orlon said, his deep voice steady as he looked over them. "Remember, knowing how to pick up a shield and use it could save your life one day, even if it’s not your preferred weapon. Dismissed."

The group nodded, grateful for the release, and made their way to the baths, their tired bodies yearning for the relief of warm water. The temple’s baths were spacious, the steam already rising in gentle clouds as they entered. They stripped down and sank into the soothing waters, the aches from training slowly melting away. For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the occasional groan or sigh of relief as the heat worked its magic.

After a few minutes, Quin broke the quiet. "I came across an interesting book recently," he said, leaning back against the smooth stone edge of the bath. The others glanced at him curiously.

"What kind of book?" Westin asked, stretching his arms lazily in the water.

Quin tilted his head thoughtfully. "It’s called The Book of Ideals. Honestly, it seemed like something that would belong in the Temple of Justicar rather than Solarius. It’s enchanted, for one thing. The condition of the book is almost perfect. Not a tear, not a mark on it."

That got their attention. Zach, who had been resting his head on his arms, raised an eyebrow. "Enchanted? That's rare, especially for something as simple as a book."

"Right? That’s what I thought too," Quin said, leaning forward slightly, his voice lowering as he spoke. "But the strangest part is no one seems to know who wrote it. I’ve asked Patrick Falter and Lief Stoneheart, and neither of them has heard of the author—Arthur the Honorable."

"Never heard of him either," Cal chimed in, his brow furrowed. "But an enchanted book is worth looking into, especially if it's not common knowledge."

Quin nodded. "And the content... it's fascinating. The book isn’t like the usual texts we’ve studied. It talks about how to embody the best traits of each of the Gods and Goddesses—like taking the wisdom of Solarius, the justice of Justicar, the courage of Valor—and creating these ‘ideals’ to live by. It’s not about worshiping one God or Goddess, but about becoming the best person you can be by integrating all their virtues. I’ve never come across anything like it."

Sam, who had been quiet so far, sat up, his curiosity piqued. "That does sound strange. Almost sounds like something heretical, trying to combine the traits of multiple gods into a personal code. Are you sure this book isn’t something that got misplaced in the Temple of Solarius?"

Quin shrugged, running a hand through his wet hair. "That’s what I thought at first. But it was hidden in the library at Solarius, not out in the open. I only found it by accident. Now, I’m not so sure where it belongs."

Westin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If no one knows the author and the book’s enchanted... there’s probably a reason it’s been kept quiet. Maybe it holds some kind of secret, something beyond the usual teachings."

“The book says in the beginning there are no secrets to power, no mysteries to be unraveled, no knowledge hidden from the world. I think it's truly just about how people should conduct themselves,” Quin stated.

The group fell silent for a moment, the implications hanging in the warm, steam-filled air. Zach was the first to speak again, breaking the contemplative mood. "Maybe the book is lying. So, what are we waiting for? Let’s take a look at it."

"Agreed," Cal said, standing and stretching as he moved to the edge of the bath. "I’m curious to see what’s so special about this book."

The rest of them followed, climbing out of the bath and drying off quickly. The bath had done wonders to ease their muscles, but now their minds were buzzing with the mystery of the book Quin had found. After dressing, they left the bathhouse and headed toward Sam’s suite of rooms. It was one of the more spacious accommodations, given his status as one of the most talented Acolytes in the temple, and it provided the perfect setting for them to sit in peace and examine The Book of Ideals.