All gods worshipped by Gnostics demanded oaths in return, and these colored the lives of their followers, differing them from the norm. To prevent discovery, they were forced into a variety of disguises and subterfuge—but in all such cases, the more followers there were, the harder it was to hide. Blending into ordinary villages, building settlements of their own in the wilderness—in each case, once the population swelled beyond a given point, the approach was no longer practical.
But they were not just given restrictions. In return for those labors, they were granted miracles. This made things possible, including a full-scale community escaping the attention not just of ordinaries but mages as well.
The Order of the Sacred Light’s subterranean sanctuary. A vast undiscovered underground cavern located beneath the western end of the Union, at the back of which lay the center of their sect’s veneration. Over eight thousand worshippers resided in the underground village, their lives supported by any number of miracles the god of Uranischegar provided. All dwellings were constructed of regular polyhedrons, their countless faces giving the streets the appearance of a beehive rolled out lengthwise. The perfection of this design was guaranteed by their god, and as long as they lived according to the oaths, the worshippers here faced no inconvenience.
“How very uyun uyun.”
The sanctuary itself was designed to look down upon the followers’ lives—it, too, was built from conjoined polyhedrons. In a room near the top was a seat reserved for those most revered. A girl clad in a pure-white habit sat there, and the whisper that crossed her lips made the man feeding her bread dipped in soup froze.
“…Do you not like it? My apologies.”
“No, not the food, Helissio. I mean you. The bread is quite nice. It’s extra pwaks pwaks. Did you change the temperature of the kiln?”
The girl smiled. Her eyes had never once opened. Helissio returned the smile, placing a hand to his chest in a show of reverence.
“Thank you,” he said. “Our oaths require our food to be simple, but if I can provide any pleasure to you within those terms…”
“Why change the shape and texture daily?” a flat voice cut in.
Helissio looked up to see a bald man clad in the same plain habit that he wore. The bald man’s face was devoid of expression, eerily unchanging, like he was molded out of plaster.
His eyes on the tray’s food, he moved only his lips, and even then—very slightly.
“Yesterday, it was cut thin. Two days ago, in cubes. Three days ago, there was a vegetable paste smeared on it, and today, you’ve dunked it in bean soup. What purpose does these alterations serve? Would it not suffice to repeat a unified superior form?”
Helissio grimaced at this and went back to feeding the girl. Tearing off a piece of bread, dunking it in the soup, and carefully conveying it to the girl’s mouth.
“I doubt you’d understand. But humans soon grow tired of the same thing. Repetition of anything soon drains the joy from it. Perhaps that merely speaks to our own imperfections.”
“Heh-heh, I love all your food, Helissio. I could not possibly pick just one. That one’s best, this one’s best, they’re all the best. Nothing wrong with having many good things.”
“Optimal is…plural? A contradiction. I fail to comprehend.”
Baffled, the man tilted his head—at far too great an angle for that word to really apply. Like an awkward imitation of a human behavior he’d once been told was an appropriate expression of confusion.
The girl swallowed her bread and spoke again. “You’re worried about Kunigunde, Helissio?”
“…Honestly, yes. We’ve had no contact from her since her infiltration mission began. I’m aware where she is makes communication difficult, but…”
This admission clearly pained him, but his head snapped up, spotting something new. This location was the pinnacle of their settlement and afforded a view of the entirety—he’d spotted one of their own coming down the path on the far-side dwellings, through the passage to the surface.
“Old Evit and Nicolas have returned. I’m sure they’ll report in soon.”
“I shall go to greet them. Helissio, hold my hand?”
“Happily.”
Helissio stood up and obsequiously took the girl’s hand. As he led the way, her eyes remained closed, her movements distinctly those of one who could not see. As they moved to the window, the bald man mutely followed, the wall of the sanctuary rebuilding itself into a flowing staircase that led downward from these heights. During their slow descent, they were met by their returning colleagues. One was a tall elder with a long pentagonal staff. The priest, Evit. He knelt before the girl.
“Lady Linnea, you need not have come to me. I would have dragged my old bones to see you soon enough.”
“Though the words you speak are true… ”
“…They’ll make Lady Linnea come to you! ”
New faces approached the original group of five. Two singsong voices, but it was hard to say if they belonged to two girls—for they were joined together at the torso. Yet, their feet never faltered, their advance accompanied by an especially large figure. A man with a dog’s head, clad in a habit. At a glance, he appeared to be a kobold, but the skeletal structure differed, and the gleam of intelligence in his eyes was far too strong.
“The length of your absence led to this, Evit. Lady Linnea missed you so. Were you not due back five days ago?”
The dogheaded man spoke fluently, though there were no recorded instances of kobolds mastering human speech anywhere in the Union.
“I cannot deny it,” Evit said, nodding to him. “Alas, my feet grow slow. Perhaps it’s time I retire.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to blame your age? Even if your back was thoroughly bent, you’ve not the character to desire retirement.”
This voice came from the opposite direction, and Evit turned around to find a male elf wearing a similar habit, half his pointy ears missing. As the old man made to respond, the small-statured boy beside him took a hesitant step forward, peering at the girl from a hood pulled down across his eyes.
“…L-Lady Linnea,” he stammered. “H-how…fare you?”
His voice was oddly raspy—and at the sound of it, the ground at his feet rusted over. Beneath the hood was a baby face, 80 percent of which was covered in reddish rust, like painful scabs. These went down his neck, suggesting his entire body was in this condition. An uncanny sight, yet—
“Oh!” the girl said, smiling warmly. “Nicolas, you’ve grown so good at speaking. I do love your voice. It’s warm and fyula fyula.”
She moved right up to Nicolas, reaching out her hands and brushing his rusty cheeks without concern. The boy closed his eyes, basking in it, and gave a sigh of relief.
“I’m doing great,” she said. “I can even hop up and down if I choose. Should I demonstrate?”
“Please don’t, Lady Linnea. The last time, you twisted your ankle badly. And you know how hard Nicolas took that.”
“Aww, but I’d get it right this time!”
The girl puffed out her cheeks. Helissio winced and took a step forward, gently pulling the boy’s hood back. The rust ran up his cheeks and across his head, but Helissio looked upon him as one would a brother.
“You’ve built up a lot of rust, Nicolas. I’ll get you clean soon.”
“Th-thank…you,” Nicolas said with a bashful smile.
Evit glanced around the assembled faces, then spoke solemnly.
“The time is but a year away. Are we all ready for it?”
The mood shifted immediately. The conjoined girls bared canines, laughing musically. The dogheaded man flexed his grip. The elf with severed ears filled himself with mana. The warm, relaxed mood gone in a flash—each one of them ready for a fight.
“When we need to fight… ”
“…You’ll find our readiness is right! ”
“A foolish question, Evit. We are always prepared.”
“Any time. Merely waiting for the moment to arrive.”
“…Fooo… Fooo…!”
Nicolas quivered bodily, a wheeze escaping his throat, and the rusty corruption at his feet rapidly spread out around him. Joy and suffering mingled on his face, caught in between. As if in response to this emotional outburst, the ground shook.
“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
And a tremendous howl echoed far and wide. A massive something rose up beside the sanctuary the girl had been. An arm thicker than a tree trunk raised high. Merely shifting the legs on folded knees alone was enough to shake the cavern. Two massive eyes were aglow with a dark light. The worshippers in the dwellings fell to their knees in awe.
And the girl put her arms around Nicolas, holding him tight. The tension drained from him, and the cultists all snapped out of their fervor. The girl patted Nicolas gently on the back, speaking to them all.
“It’s too soon to get all bahfoh bahfoh.” Her voice as calm as ever, soothing her fellows, then she addressed the giant thing above. “Settle down, Sulfo. You’ll hit your head on the ceiling again.”
The giant dropped back into the shadow of the sanctuary. The cultists knelt reverentially before the girl; no matter how much power they might have, no one here would go against her word.
“We don’t have long to wait. Until the day our god draws near. They’ll set the stage for us, I’m sure.”
The girl smiled, speaking warmly.
The Oracle, Linnea.
A blind, ordinary girl—and the leader of the Order of the Sacred Light.