The Sul Empire is shaped by twelve dominant schools of thought on justice, law, and social order. Each school enforces its own unique moral code. Officially, the empire claims these schools are equal in power, but in practice, four of them hold disproportionate influence: the Virtuists of the Bal clans, emphasizing proper action; the Consequentialists of the Dion, calculating moral outcomes; the Deontologists of the Malan, with their strict adherence to moral law; and the Absurdists of the Kiel, who champion true freedom. To understand the empire’s politics and soul, one must grasp these moral foundations. This treatise will explore the conflicts among the four most powerful schools and the methods the empire uses to suppress generational unrest.
– Excerpt from The Ethics of Empire
Aslavain: Eight Days After the Summer Solstice
“Conviction is the knowledge that the Radiant Flame burns bright enough to demand attention from the masses, like Ashwing Moths drawn to a flame. Conviction demands an answer, and the [Thaumaturge] uses their conviction to reshape the world around them.” Seraphis’s gaze bore into Sylva as the Silkborn woman absorbed the naga’s words.
Sylva hadn’t known what to expect when she sought advice from Seraphis on how to wield her new class, how to recreate the power she had felt during their third encounter. She had half-expected the naga to attack her outright, especially with no one else present. Yet, instead of violence, the naga had answered her query, though with a reluctance that hung in the air between them. Does she have to provide guidance if I ask? The thought gnawed at Sylva, the logic of it eluding her. It seemed counterintuitive to the trial’s design—a trial so clearly crafted to frustrate with its oppressive red light, leaning walls, and the relentless demand for repeated death.
And yet, the Eidolons had been helpful on occasion, stopping to answer questions and provide advice. Even Seraphis, now that they were alone at least. Sylva decided not to waste the opportunity.
“Nyxol said that spellcraft is drawn from the Word that we use, the Will that we have, and a Sacrifice. How does conviction fit into that framework?”
“For a [Wizard], the conviction may simply be the conviction to have absolute precision over the word. For a [Sorcerer], the conviction may lead to a will that would not break. But us [Thaumaturges]? We use conviction as sacrifice to empower our will and word.”
Conviction as sacrifice. The phrase echoed in Sylva’s mind, intertwining with the memory of her recent Legacy Skill—[Silkborn Conviction]. A Legacy Skill, a term she had heard but whose meaning remained elusive. Is that the legacy my parents left me? she wondered. And what exactly is being sacrificed? A sacrifice implies loss, a trade of one agony for another. But conviction… conviction wasn’t a finite resource, wasn’t something that could be ladled out until empty. Conviction, in theory, was endless.
A realization struck her then, a chilling understanding of why the Sunborn, like Seraphis, had stood as an indomitable shield against the Tul. If their rituals could continue indefinitely, fueled by an unyielding belief in the divinity of their flame, what chance did the Tul have?
“Can someone run out of conviction?” she asked, seeking to confirm her theory.
“Of course they can,” the naga replied, her tongue flicking out briefly. Sylva struggled to read her expression, unfamiliar with the reptilian subtleties. “Conviction is like fire. It requires fuel to burn and air to breathe. Experience is the fuel of conviction, the foundation for a roaring fire. Curiosity is the air, for conviction demands understanding. It is not enough to believe one is right; one must present arguments, must convince the Sulphen itself that they are right.”
Sylva disliked the metaphor of fire and reimagined the [Pyromancer]’s words in a manner more familiar to her. Conviction is like a loom. It requires materials—threads carefully prepared—and a guiding hand to follow the pattern, to reveal the potential woven within. Experience and understanding.
“But if someone has enough experience and understanding? Then their conviction could be endless?”
“In theory, yes. It is said that the greatest [Thaumaturges] are like that. Though it is mere rumor as far as I am concerned.” The naga’s gaze focused on Sylva and the woman crossed her arms across her chest. “Now, I have given you information for free, knowledge that you needed with no option to acquire elsewhere. You are in my debt.”
The naga unfolded her arms and raised one in a halting motion as Sylva began to refute the idea. “Not a large debt, this is true, but a debt nonetheless. Do you question this?”
Sylva shook her head slowly. The naga had given her information, more than she could have hoped. She didn’t think it was fair for the naga to claim debt after the fact, but she had earned her attention, at least.
“A small debt, but one I admit. What do you ask of me to clear it?” Sylva knew how this game was played. She had watched the elders navigate similar situations her entire life—finding balance in a relationship so that neither party could claim slight. There was power in debt, a power that the contracts so prevalent in the empire were built upon. She wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible.
“Merely for your attention and due consideration. I will not ask for you to take actions on my behalf; the knowledge I offered was not worth that regardless. No,” she hissed, “merely heed my words.”
Sylva nodded. A fair trade, even if she didn’t trust the Sunborn’s words. Curiosity, she thought, is a desire to see the world how others see it. How does Seraphis see the world? What will she share?
“Never trust the Dion. From the most powerful of the Blood to the lowliest citizen, you might think they are like you, that they share your values, that they are people just like you. You would be wrong.” Seraphis’s scales began to glow faintly, the golden light lending her words an almost divine authority. Sylva felt a twinge of outrage but suppressed it, listening intently. “I know you think this is extreme. It is not. The culture of the Dion encourages lies and treachery. It values one’s potential after death more than one’s worth in life. It accepts genocide in the name of its ideals. They are all guilty.”
The Sunborn’s glow intensified, her scales emitting a light that seemed to seep into Sylva’s thoughts, urging her to believe. The elders had always spoken the same of the Dion, but she had dismissed it as petty racism, much like their disdain for the Bal or their praise of the Silkborn’s innate superiority. What if the elders weren’t wrong about the Dion?
“You are a companion to the [Squire of Carven Bone], but not a [Squire] of Dion blood. That is… rare. The Dion will seek to be your allies, will offer you grand rewards and great opportunities. They may offer you alliance, may promise to stand by your side. If they do, count the coins and guard your back. They will stab it the moment you let your guard down.”
The naga drew herself up, her presence imposing, and waited until Sylva nodded in acknowledgment of the warning. “Now, we have spoken long enough.”
Sylva didn’t last long against the seeking flames. Her mind was distracted by the new information, her thoughts swirling with questions and doubts. She had yet to intercept any of the wisps of fire Seraphis wielded, and it wasn’t long before the burns broke her concentration entirely. She found herself once more submerged in the pool of water with a panic that took minutes to calm. She didn’t think she could ever get used to the feeling of the Radiant Flame against her skin.
After meditating until she felt her composure return, she left the room and found the hallway empty, the red light danced in her vision, creating a faint sense of anger as she realized she would have to wait. She suppressed the sudden emotion, it wasn’t like she was opposed to her teammates practicing on their own.
She settled into a seated position on the floor, mind focused on Seraphis’ warning. Were the Dion truly that untrustworthy? Surely a quarter of the empire couldn’t all be bad. I will take the advice, but I won’t act on it until I have reason. The Dion can’t all be guilty until proven innocent.
“Sylva of the Clan Strenath, I greet you.” A faint voice broke the silence. A woman’s voice. Sylva whirled, her heart racing as she searched for the source. The hallway was empty.
“Hello?” she replied tentatively, unsure if they could hear her.
“We don’t have much time. My name is Casselia, and I am the mentor Nyxol chose for your Triumvirate. I need you to swear an oath to accept me as your mentor. Quickly—this connection won’t last long, and we won’t get another chance.”
“What are the terms of the oath?” Sylva’s mind raced. How am I supposed to accept an oath without knowing the terms? From someone I can’t see or verify? What if this is some trick of Tir Na Nog? Could they even do that? Panic flared as the sudden pressure mounted.
“I swear to you on my Crest that I will explain the oath in detail once we have a preliminary bond in place. For now, I’ll give you the name of the oath, and you need to agree.”
“Just like that? How can I confirm who you are?” she asked, needing reassurance before taking such a big leap. She wanted to ask Hadrian, to talk to Lotem. Both were missing.
“You can’t. I’m sorry, Sylva. I didn’t think it would be like this; we almost reached you before you entered the trial.”
“The snake, that bone construct—was that you?”
“Yes.”
“And if I swear this oath, can I break it after reviewing the terms.”
The voice hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yes, but only after the first round of Eternal Contests at the fall equinox. Three months. Hurry, we have mere moments left before the talisman fails.”
Three months. We can give them that, and I can’t decline such a chance without Hadrian and Lotem agreeing to it. I won’t close that door on them; this could be exactly what they need. And, if Nyxol sent them to train us, maybe they can teach me true magic, not just give vague answers like the Sunborn.
“I accept then,” she said simply.
“In the name of the 64th variation on the terms of the Mentor and Mentee Contract, pursuant to the will of the 172nd House of Lords, I offer you mentorship. If you choose to accept these terms, repeat after me: I, Sylva of Clan Strenath, do so accept the offered terms and bind myself as your trainee.”
Sylva repeated the oath, feeling a sudden pressure as though her very spirit were being squeezed, followed by a rush of relief as she sank back to the floor. After a moment, a plain, dark-skinned woman in simple robes emerged from one of the unused rooms, her stride confident as she approached Sylva and bowed.
“We will now have plenty of time to discuss the contract, Sylva. I apologize for the brevity. You would not believe how difficult it is to bypass the ward scheme of a trial these days.”
“Who are you?” Hadrian’s voice came from behind her, startling Sylva. She hadn’t realized he was there. She turned to see him gripping a dagger, his expression wary, as though unsure if he needed to protect her.
“Why, Hadrian,” Casselia said with a knowing smile, “I am the person who will help you eventually form a shrine.”
Form a shrine? she wondered, shocked by the sudden look of hunger in Hadrian’s eyes.
She can help me form a shrine. The declaration froze him in place as he tried to figure out who this woman could be. They had yet to see anyone else in this trial, and she knew his name and his destiny. Did it matter who she was? If she could train him enough to reach that goal… well, Hadrian would hear the woman out.
“You volunteer to help me form a shrine?” he could hear the desire in his words, the faint tremor of excitement that he failed to hide. This is exactly what Ma and Pa hoped for. More than that, better than our wildest hopes. But, how did this woman get here?
“I have just sworn a mentor contract with Sylva, and I have two associates waiting to do the same for you and Lotem.” Casselia smiled before adding in a commanding tone, “Alsarana, I invoke thee to bond a potential candidate.”
Hadrian expected them to appear suddenly in front of him, ready to make an introduction. He did not expect a sudden hissing voice to appear in his mind. It sounded as though someone was speaking, but he was unable to place from which direction the noise had come.
“Hadrian, I have been watching your fighting for the last week, and I believe you have potential. I would train you to crush your enemies in pursuit of your goals.”
He didn’t need to think about the offer, not truly. Sylva had already agreed to a similar offer and cast the dice for them, not that he would have done any different. This hissing voice offered him power and even claimed to have watched the trial thus far. That was more than Hadrian could hope.
“I accept.”
The woman nodded approvingly, and Alsarana stated an oath which Hadrian promptly returned. He gasped as he felt something deep in his chest constrict at the completion of the oath. It’s like I just got the wind knocked out of me. I would rather take a blow to the gut than have that happen again anytime soon.
As he blinked away the momentary pain, his eyes widened in sudden alarm. A snake, the one that had chased them he was pretty sure, emerged from one of the empty chambers. The creature was almost a dozen feet of coiled muscles with eyes that betrayed a clear intellect. Hadrian had fought snakes in the canopies, and he reached for his bow by instinct before remembering he had to summon it now. Wait. The hissing, is that Alsarana?
“No need to startle, we are pals now, you and me.” Alsarana slithered over to Hadrian and gave what Hadrian thought was supposed to be a bow. “Alsarana at your service, second most important member of our ragtag group”
“It is nice to meet you, Alsarana. May your scales never dim, your insight never fade, and your passion never falter.” Hadrian didn’t know what prompted him to provide one of the traditional threefold greetings of his people, but as he spoke the words, he thought they felt right.
“Casselia, I like this one. You chose well.” Sylva looked uncertain what to make of the snake, several paces behind them as she stood near Casselia’s side. Hadrian thought the smirk Casselia held spoke to her character. If you couldn’t laugh or smile with your friends, you couldn’t enjoy life at all. “Now, where is the Bal? We need Krinka in here.”
Casselia agreed and after a moments thought, walked to the only door that remained closed in the hallway and said “Open,” with a casual authority. Hadrian wasn’t sure why the door would open for her when it hadn’t for Sylva or himself, but he wasn’t overly surprised when the door heeded her command.
“Who are you?” Hadrian heard Lotem’s voice from the chamber, uncertain in his questioning.
“My name is Casselia, and I am a part of the Triumvirate that will be mentoring you. Now, Lotem, I am going to invoke the final member of my Triumvirate, and you are going to swear an oath as a mentee. Once we have completed that, we can work on getting you out of this cave and toward your true potential. Understand?”
Hadrian assumed the man had nodded, having heard no response prior to Casselia continuing the same routine of summoning and finalizing the oath that Hadrian had just undergone. As he stood in the hallway, suddenly uncertain about what was even happening, Sylva approached and stood by his side.
“I didn’t want to give up the opportunity,” Sylva said quietly as Lotem spoke to the voice in his head. “Sorry if I made an important choice for the team before consulting you.”
“I would have done the same,” Hadrian replied, touched that she had taken the time to explain herself. He had never blamed her for the choice, didn’t believe she needed to apologize at all, but her doing so anyway made him smile. “Everything is about to change.”
“Yeah. I’m sure—” She was interrupted by the emergence of a robust man who looked like he would be more comfortable in a tavern than on a battlefield. Hadrian wondered what skills the man had that allowed him the luxury of being physically unfit.
“Krinka,” Alsarana hissed, voice welcoming, “I have missed you dearly, my friend.”
“Als, I saw you a few minutes ago.” The man looked exhausted as he corrected the naga. Hadrian didn’t think that was fair; you could miss a friend dearly regardless of the length of time away. He was already starting to like Alsarana.
Casselia and Lotem emerged from the chamber, and Casselia instructed them to take a seat as the conversation would take some time. As Hadrian sat across from the armless naga, he couldn’t help but grin. He was going to kill Drakar on his own power; that much was now certain.
“Before we start,” Casselia began, her eyes roaming across the faces of her newest charges, “I offer the answer to one question from each of you. Our Triumvirates have been bound together on faith, and you deserve answers as due reward.”
Hadrian’s hand bolted upright and the man looked ready to jump to his feet. “Yes, Hadrian?” She asked bemusedly.
“Why do you want to mentor us?” The question took her by surprise. She had expected the man to ask them about themselves or about their powers. Casselia didn’t think anyone had started with that question.
“Nyxol assigned me to your Triumvirate. More than that, I believe that you three have incredible potential that is likely going to waste. You,” she pointed at Hadrian, “are well ahead of your years in combat skill. You,” she turned to Sylva, the Silkborn woman’s green robes dark in the dancing red light, “are the top graduate of the Sect of Silken Grace, a brilliant mind from an incredible lineage of Silkborn.” Her eyes settled on Lotem, who looked at her with a need for validation.
“You have Numen blood in your veins and are being wasted in this underground tomb.” His spine straightened, and he looked more confident as she continued, “Don’t doubt your potential in the world after being trapped in a cage, even if it has only been a matter of days.”
Casselia appreciated her instincts in moments like this to soothe egos and calm uncertainty. One of her three primary classes, [Mentor], gave her certain instincts and hunches about her charges, and her current instincts were screaming that Lotem needed to get out of this place. She wasn’t surprised.
The room was built in a triangular shape that enhanced the feeling of claustrophobia. The ceiling was painted in the light from a flame imbued with frustration; she shook her head at the design. Tir Na Nog has lost any sense of nuance; it used to be a beacon of righteous anger, not this cruel fearmongering pioneered by the Nygmar and the Gloombound. The Sunborn and Numen influence is weakening. It is unfortunate they were drawn here.
“Thank you,” Lotem said. She nodded in return, not wanting to draw further attention to the man.
“Next question.” She locked eyes with Sylva, and the Silkborn woman spoke, her voice calm. “What are your individual specialties, and how can they translate to helping us?” That was an expected question, at least.
“My specialty is education and mentorship. I am not willing to share my exact classes, but I will say that my skills are heavily focused on improving the training of my charges. Alsarana,” she gestured to the naga as he watched, bored if she had to guess, from her side, “is a mage with a high affinity to bone and an extensive knowledge in ritual magic and enchanting. I believe he will serve an integral role in Hadrian’s growth as a [Squire] and for you if your skills lie in similar arcane fields. Krinka is an [Archivist] and [Historian] specializing in spell forms and the lineage of classes and skills.”
Hadrian and Lotem looked uncertain at Krinka’s usefulness, but Sylva was focused on the man with an intensity that Casselia could appreciate. Casselia suspected that Sylva had learned only the most basic information about spell forms and the manifestations of the Sulphen. Those fields had, until recently, been off-limits. Krinka could fill in the gaps in her knowledge better than nearly anyone else, and the girl clearly suspected it.
“Last question?” she looked to Lotem.
“Will you fight the Tul?”
She froze. That was not the type of question she was expecting. She said the easy part first, giving herself time to think about the true answer. “Of course, I would fight the Tul if commanded to do so.” Lotem narrowed his eyes, having noticed the hesitation and noncommittal response. “But, would we,” Casselia gestured to her Triumvirate, “go into Tul lands and fight those monsters without reason?” She shook her head. “No, we are not bloodthirsty for their destruction, not like that and not without reason to risk our existence.”
“Now,” she began, “all we need to do is get past those Eidolons and leave this trial. We have so much we need to fit in before the fall equinox. We have, fortunately, been watching you from outside during your trial runs thus far, but we have been guessing on your skills and classes. Let’s begin with each of your current classes and skills.” She let her gaze settle on Sylva. “You first.”
“I was awarded the boon of [Sympathetic Intuition] and the skill [Lesser Dexterity]. I have also been awarded a legacy skill of [Silkborn Conviction] and the [Thaumaturge] class.”
Three skills and a class just over a week into the trial shows dedication, Casselia thought, and a [Thaumaturge], not the class I was expecting. That can’t be common, especially for one of the agnostic sects like hers. [Dexterity] is an essential skill line to begin, and the intuition skill relating to sympathy must have allowed her to fumble into some success thus far. What potential this woman will have.
“Good. We will discuss each in depth at some point, but first, the others. Hadrian?”
“I was awarded the class of [Squire of Carven Bone], the skill [Lesser Armory of Bone], and the skill [Legacy of Luminaries Fire].”
A legacy skill, for a human? Legacy skills indicated an inheritance, some earned potential that was passed down from generation to generation. She hadn’t been surprised that the Silkborn had one, nor would she be shocked to hear the Numen had one either, but human? She had a lot of questions about where Hadrian had been raised. She put those aside, turning to Lotem and indicating he should proceed.
“I was awarded the boon [Enhanced Blood of the Numen] and the skills [Natural Enemy – Rodents] and [Lesser Strength], though I have not earned a class yet.”
Nothing related to a beast? Why would he get a Beastmaster pairing for the trial? Simply the natural enemy skill? No, that wouldn’t be enough. Is that why he hasn’t earned his class but the others have—he simply hasn’t had the chance to bond a companion and open the potential?
“Do you have a type of beast you want to bond?” she asked, hoping that she had guessed correctly.
“A beast?” Lotem said, confused.
“You could bond Sabel?” Hadrian said, seemingly excited by the idea. Sabel?
“Could I?” Lotem’s eyebrows drew up, and the man reached into his wet bison cloak and withdrew a small kitten. “I could bond Sabel here?”
You have had a kitten with you this whole time? Why haven’t you brought her with you? Would she be protected without a formal bond? Casselia thought for a moment and wondered if Sylva had seen something in the trial’s contract terms indicating as such. If so, she had saved the kitten’s life. We just need to prompt the class. But which class? She looked to Krinka, hoping he was on the same page.
“Ahem,” Krinka cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed to speak in front of their new charges. He always got shy at first; Casselia had never understood it. The scholar could wander battlefields with more ease than he could manage meeting someone new. “Have you considered becoming a [Guardian]?”
“A [Guardian]?” Lotem hesitated, seeming unfamiliar with the term. Casselia wasn’t surprised; the Bal had never taken to sharing the true specifics of power with their youth, even before they forced their way into the empire. Yet, barbarians without sophisticated magical knowledge the Bal had never been, much as the empire liked to cast them otherwise in the stories. “I can’t just pick a class, can I?”
“You can think of a class like a sign on the road that guides travelers to a specific destination.” Krinka began to recite the same analogy she had heard more times than she could count. “A class is the map the Sulphen uses to determine what skills it should award you. Classes also provide the map for the Sulphen to award unique or rare skills that are inaccessible otherwise. If we invoke a set of circumstances correctly we can convince the Sulphen that the sign is fitting for your specific journey.”
Lotem’s face was drawn, as though by concentrating on Krinka’s words he was exerting a physical effort. Sylva looked alert but not strained; Casselia assumed the girl had a perfect memory to begin with—she was Silkborn. Hadrian seemed to simply drink the words in, absorbing them with an excited smile. I like them already.
“I like the idea of [Guardian], being able to protect others better and being rewarded for keeping them safe. Though I know it can’t be as simple as merely declaring that I have the class.”
“You can’t just declare it, no. But with the kitten present?” Krinka rubbed his hands together, and Casselia held back a smile. There was nothing the man loved more than helping others get a powerful class or to prompt an evolution. “I think if you guard her against an attack from Alsarana for any length of time, it should suffice.”
“Really?” The naga rose, towering off the ground as his coils stretched, a sudden glee in his eye as he focused on the kitten Lotem held. Lotem held her closer in a protective embrace, his instincts recoiling from the naga’s sudden attention.
“Only if he agrees to it, Als; you know the rules.” Casselia reminded him, much to the naga’s chagrin, she noticed.
“Will she be in real danger?” Lotem asked.
Krinka hesitated. “It’s best I don’t say. Words have power. But you can trust I wouldn’t lead you astray. A [Guardian] protects.”
“Then,” Lotem said with a gravitas that Casselia found fitting, “I agree.” The man put the kitten on the floor and stood in front of her as Krinka gave him quiet instructions. Alsarana began to hiss in a dual tone that sounded as though two separate notes hung in the air, intertwining and creating words that lived just beneath the surface. Casselia had expected nothing less from the naga; he had always reveled in a chance to play the villain and, fortunately for them, he had plenty of experience in the act.
The subvocal chant began to spread a deep unease across the room, and Sabel looked suddenly panicked. Lotem stepped forward and, after a moment’s hesitation as Krinka repeated the instructions, swung his fist toward Alsarana and connected with the naga. Alsarana swayed, rattled by the blow, before turning and leaving, retreating to one of the rooms of recovery.
“Casselia, now,” Krinka prompted, and she activated her skill, [Instant Recovery]. Lotem’s head dipped as he fell asleep before immediately waking. He held a look of shock as he heard the voice of the Sulphen. No one was ready for the immediate gratification of her skill the first time, and she had never gotten tired of the look of joyful surprise after its use.
“And?” she prompted.
“Just as you said. I received the [Guardian] class and two skills: [Companion’s Bond – Sabel] and [My Companions Carry My Blessings].”
Krinka gasped, and she turned to face him, his reaction far more than what she had expected. The latter skill? She gave Krinka a look that demanded explanation, and the man obliged.
“The second skill,” he turned to Lotem, “it will translate your skills to your companions. It’s one of the best options for an early skill, and it allows us to guide your growth in a more optimal way. And if it interacts with your bloodline skill like I suspect, then, well, we need to get you out of this tomb as soon as we can.”
That… That is going to be better than even you know, Krinka. Their prize with a Numen bloodline? She shivered at the idea, mind ablaze with the possibilities. Even that cat is going to become something to worry about eventually. The weakest member of the team has quickly become the strongest, and they don’t even realize.
“Now,” she drew attention back to herself after a few moments of excited silence as everyone processed Krinka’s words, “let’s discuss exactly how we can get you out.”