Beneath the Light of Iosta [Gavin & Nitrius]

The grandeur of Iosta Cathedral had always served as a sanctuary, for it was under the ever-watchful gaze of Iosta herself that this holy place remained a haven of safety. As her radiant light cascaded through the lofty windows, illuminating each nook and cranny of the great hall, showing it in all its glory, it was a living testament of her outstretched hands, her benevolent embrace enveloping all who sought solace within these sacred walls.

But the night was always bound to arrive, and in its darkness even Iosta could not keep out the wickedness of Tarron’s demons.

This had been Nitrius' initial sentiment as he earlier this morning had entered the cathedral to find the lifeless body of prospective High Priest of Iostanity, Alina Petrova, inelegantly placed on the alter. The first rays of the morning sun cascaded through the windows, illuminating each cut across her throat, exposed back and hollow sockets where her eyes used to be, showing it in all its glory.

Iosta’s light had touched the shattered pieces of the prism, the bloody glass reflecting it back onto the walls and ceiling, casting a pattern in its fracture. Yet, it was another pattern that caught Nitrius’ attention; the immaculate prism formed by the deep gashes carved into the young woman’s back. Both the fragmented prism on the cathedral floor and the engraved prism in the priest’s skin were soiled in blood, soiled in the sin the former broke from and the latter made from.

What could this be but mockery? What could this be but Tarron?

But maybe… maybe this wasn’t simply Tarron having the ability to penetrate the walls of Iosta’s sacred domain. No, that it couldn’t be. Nitrius had been foolish to even consider such improbability. Such ability could not even evil himself possess. It had to have been Iosta herself, letting him and his demons into her innermost. That must be the truth. How else could it be this very morning, that Nitrius decided to enter the cathedral earlier than usual, even before the custodians, making him the first to lay his eyes on this cruel scenario. Moreover, how else could the shattered pieces of the prism cast light on the cathedral walls, making a pattern even in its fracture?

The light of Iosta persevered.

Nitrius didn’t condone the undoubtful sins committed by the Destroyer’s followers, and he was certain that the broken prism – as well as the murdered priest – could never be anything but their evil doings. But he understood that this had been a sacrifice made by his goddess – it had been her gift to him, her consul, her outreached hand, granting hm the incentive to advance his pursuit of the undoing of the sinners.  

With renewed hope and fixity of purpose, Nitrius had walked up to the lifeless woman. Lifeless, yes, but not spiritless, although undeniably lesser now; the blood dripping from the alter having more vivacity than her Spirit. Nitrius had placed his hands on the body, feeling the fading warmth and, to his relish, the slight quiver of the Spirit, barely connected to the body that had been its vessel. He paid no mind to the unsettling way this meant that the crime must have been committed most recently. He felt no fear, only gratitude.  

Becoming one with Alina’s Spirit came natural to him, as natural as life itself. It was frail, barely existent, but it was whole. Nitrius had merged his Spirit with hers, letting it soak into his inner, enriching him with the strength that had lingered in her bloodied state. Few had the prowess to gather memories from the recently deceased, Nitrius naturally being one of those few. He thanked his goddess as she granted him insight to the last moments in Alina’s body. The terror was apparent, so was torment, to a degree that Nitrius nearly withdrew his hands and his connection to the Spirit. Unfortunately, the memories were obscure. Too turbulent and disorderly, too caught up in terror and torment to focus on anything else, leaving the memories unmemorable.

What pity. What disappointment. Nitrius recognized that sacrificing this particular entity had been a sensible decision.

When the custodians had arrived not much later, Nitrius had them assist him in handling the mortal remains. The custodians helped him, disposing of the body and cleaning up the blood it had left behind. Through it all, their Spirits had been interweaved with Nitrius’, guiding them through the actions, they would later fail to remember. It all came together in harmony. It was all connected.

Hours later, at a gathering of the priests in the assembly hall of the monastery, Nitrius had delivered the news. However, he knew better than delivering them candidly; the truth was his to bear, his gift to appreciate. He didn’t speak of Alina’s grim fate; instead, he told them that she had left Ilomar to be with their Iosta in solitude – an act rarely witnessed in a religion deeply dependent on interconnectedness. Yet, his words carried the ring of plausibility, for Nitrius, the high priest, was a vessel of unerring truth.

The rest of the day, Nitrius had spent on contemplating on what now to do. It was clear to him that it was his duty to find a new successor that could take over his role as the High Priest of Iostanity, a destiny intertwined with Nitrius’ inevitable return of his Spirit to the embrace of Iosta. And after a day of reflecting, as if he were the light persevering, Nitrius knew who to select for the role. With this, he arranged a meeting, shrouding the purpose in secrecy, revealing no details of what he wished to deliberate.

It was the late hours of the evening, and the light no longer cascaded through the lofty windows of the great hall of the cathedral. Candles placed around the cathedral illuminated the hall instead. Nitrius stood by the alter, his hand resting on the cool stone. Gone were any remnants of the morning's incident. Not a drop of blood, not a flicker of Spirit, other than the Spirit belonging to High Priests himself – that, too, illuminated the hall.

Having spent years walking the halls of the monastery and the cathedral, Gavin knew how to walk, where to walk, when to walk in certain spaces, all for the lighting of the room, whether it be the candles flickering in late evening like this or when the sun shine brightly midday, to shine just right at him, drawing attention to him, accentuate the beauty that was him. And going to his meeting with the high priest was not going to be different. Every person he passed in the halls, he would smile and wave to, greet them by their name before he continued on. The other person was blissfully unaware that it was all an act.

The perfect priest, the perfect son, who was kind to all and exuded warmth. That was the image Gavin had selected for himself, an image he was sure everyone believed. Maybe one they all needed? Oh but he had to stay humble, so such things couldn’t be voiced. Especially not if he wanted to keep up his image, an image that was a tool to get everything he wanted.

It didn’t take long before Gavin had reached the meeting place. His steps echoing through the large halls, the doors’ creaking hinges revealing the beautiful building’s age. It didn’t take him long to spot the high priest standing by the altar. Gavin made sure that the mask he loved to wear with the fake kindness on it was in place before he walked towards the altar, stopping a few steps away.

“You wanted to speak with me?, your eminence” Gavin greeted after a respectful bow with his right hand to his chest, just where his heart was deep in his chest, beating steadily and calmly. It had been probably just one time Gavin had ever felt his heart race, the day his dear younger brother vanished, never to be seen again, though Gavin would find him one day. He just knew it for Gavin was well… Gavin. His gaze went to the floor before looking at Nitrius as he stopped bowing. He was curious as to what the high priest wanted to speak to him about, though with the announcement earlier that day, did leave Gavin with an inkling feeling.

It wasn’t the sound of Priest Gavin Makias Crowe that notified Nitrius of his arrival. His Spirit rang much louder, echoing through the cathedral hall with a vibrance reverberating against the stained glass and vaulted ceilings, as if the very air was alive with his essence. The presence of his Spirit calmed Nitrius, and therefore proved to the High Priest that this indeed was a Spirit powerful enough to carry on Iosta’s tender force; no Spirits rarely had a way of reaching Nitrius, had he not reached out to them first.

Priest Gavin had not been Nitrius’ first choice, that he must admit. If so, it had been him by Nitrius’ side the last years of worshiping Iosta, not the now late Alina. But for all of his glory, Nitrius ruefully was merely a preacher of Iosta’s words and sometimes - although rarely - the goddess’ voice couldn’t pierce through the terrestrial influences around him. To have mistaken Alina to be worthy of a future in Iosta’s presence had been Nitrius’ failing, and so, it fell upon him to amend this error.

Before anyone thought of it as such.

As the young priest met him with a respectful bow, Nitrius met him with his arms opened, reminiscent of an embrace, if he had not stood too far from Gavin. He did not step closer either, but let the man walk up to him.

Though this was not a time where Nitrius could be expected, nor wished for, to smile, his eyes met Gavin with warmth and fondness. “Welcome, Priest Gavin,” he greeted him, lowering his arms, “And thank you for meeting with me on such a short notice. I hope it’s not an inconvenience for you.”

Empty words, politeness rarely was anything but that. Still, it was essential, and the high priest let his empty words fill the great hall, before moving on to the matter of hand.

“The cause of our meeting is one of slight delicacy, and before I delve further into my intentions, I need to ensure your confidentiality.” Contrary to the intentness of his words, there was no trace of strictness in Nitrius’ voice. He met Gavin's gaze with his eyes not piercing but soft, like the first light of dawn, like the first ray of the sun that had fallen upon the marred body of the former heir to his role. “What I wish to share with you is not words that every priest is meant to bear, nor is every priest capable of such. Is this clear?”

“Not at all,” Gavin said as a reply to Nitrius with his own empty words, appearing polite was essential. A reputation could be ruined if word got out of impoliteness, especially to the high priest. He continued listening as Nitrius spoke, curious as to what the matter could be for it to be in such secrecy.

The warmth and fondness in Nitrius’ eyes was not strange to Gavin. Gavin could consider Nitrius as a close and important figure in his life. Iit all had started when he was a teenager, a couple of years after he had entered the monastery to become a priest, around the time Gavin’s father died. Nitrius had been right there as some kind of guiding light.  In a way perhaps, Nitrius had been and perhaps still is something of a father figure to Gavin in the eyes of others. Gavin had certainly learned that it didn’t hurt to have the other think so. It was the perfect thing to bolster both of their reputations and the way the masses saw them.

Gavin nodded as Nitrius spoke. “You have my word that I will keep this between us” he said, a promise to not utter whatever Nitrius was about to say to anyone, to keep it between them. His expression was kind, it always was when he was in the presence of others, but it had a slight seriousness to it, showing that he knew that this was both a delicate and serious matter.

Gavin told Nitrius that he had his word, and Nitrius believed him, though he was yet to know whether the word was honorable. Ultimately, it didn’t matter; being honorable was only subservient to being honoring.

Nitrius examined the young priest in front of him while the aforementioned waited for him to reveal what the meeting was about. He didn't rush; he attended to it diligently, as he advanced a couple of steps in Gavin’s direction. Moving closer to the man’s features, the kindness flaunting in his green eyes. Green was the color of hope, after all.

“During this morning’s gathering, I delivered the news on Priest Alina’s departure from our monastery,” he said, letting each word echo softly through the hall, “leaving her position as the heir to the High Priest of Iostanity unfilled. I’ve taken the day to consider who should be handed this position. Someone who would not take it for granted when given this opportunity to give.”

Whether Gavin was this ‘someone’, only Iosta could know. Nitrius could only perceive. But perceive, he did, and he had done so for a long time, following his priests as they found themselves in their roles. And Gavin, Gavin was someone to perceive. The young man possessed a quality, Alina failed to achieve - the depiction of affection. A virtuosity that had taken Nitrius many years to master as well. He might have been only a few years older than Gavin when such deception couldn’t even be read in his Spirit.

“I have decided to give the position to you, Priest Gavin,” the High Priest said, his eyes never leaving Gavin’s. “I have faith in your capabilities to take the hands of Iosta when my perishable body no longer may do so.”

For a moment, Gavin almost let the mask slip, almost. He had felt it since the day Alina had been announced heir, that it wasn’t meant for her. He had felt robbed. However, he had been patient and bided his time. He had continued to build up his repertoire, and continued to act like the kind, virtuous and faithfully committed priest. And in this moment everything he had worked for felt like it had been recognized.

The corners of his mouth pulled into a smile, one he quickly adapted to a humble, kind one. His mind churned with the thoughts of the possibilities this new position, this new power could give him. He was one step closer to everything he wanted and it felt good. Iosta was truly shining her light on him now.

“I… This is an honor, your eminence” Gavin said, voiced with such fake humbleness that it sounded so real, he could almost trick himself with it. “I will do my best not to disappoint you” He said, still having that humble tone in  his voice, but mixed with a certain determination that was real. However others might think it was a determination to be linked with his faith and all that bullshit. Only Gavin knew that this was determination for something else, something he could never reveal to anyone without revealing his true self. He didn’t mind this new role to act, the world was a stage and he felt like an actor getting the lead role.

Nitrius took note of Priest Gavin’s reaction. How the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, strikingly not in an intentional manner which in every other move made by the man seemed to be the case. However, the nature of the smile quickly changed into that of humility. Nitrius held a high regard for that; it was of great importance being able to show humility even in situations with evident superiority. Whether that humility was a sham didn’t matter to the High Priest. And so, though he could feel the humility of Priest Gavin’s smile being just that - a line on his face - Nitrius reciprocated it with a warm smile of his own.

“I appreciate your promise, Priest Gavin,” he said, “However, it is not up to me whether or not you disappoint.”

He raised one arm in a circular manner up towards the high ceiling of the cathedral, his movement great and unwavering as if welcoming the spirit of the marvelous building into their conversation.

“Your promise must be raised to much higher places,” he said, “And our Goddess must be promised more than the best of man.”

As his arm lowered, so did his glance. He softly turned his head, his eyes resting on the altar. Moving towards it, slowly and deliberately, he said, his voice lowered as well: “Your Spirit is strong, Priest Gavin, but are you as well?”

There was no challenge in his voice. More so a comfort, a guidance. That was the role of the high priest - guidance. It was his responsibility to lead each Spirit into the hands of Iosta. Even the Spirit of Priest Gavin who did not seem to reach out for her hands himself.