The last words of Thelonius the Scribe - Part IV (en anglais)

Thelonius, Part I Thelonius, Part II Thelonius, Part III

The Age of the Kingdoms (~2350 to 2996)

It is said that Oroael’s teachings paved the way for the Four Kingdoms, Gallia, Gothia, Iberia, and Anatolia. Trade flourished, roads were laid across sacred soil, and cities rose, crowned with cathedrals, observatories, and guildhalls. Mankind reached a height of beauty and learning not seen since Atlantis.

But nothing fashioned by human hands stays pure forever.

As the kingdoms grew, so too did the cracks within them. Nobles plotted behind carved doors. Assassins walked among acolytes. Cults whispered from crypts and cellars. Relics from the Surge changed hands in secret, and ancient sins crept back into the dancing shadows of people who only watched the light..

And it was then that Eleleth was revealed.

She had already been walking the world. Even though she was a bishop from the city of Monastir, she had never dictated from a throne or a pulpit. She was known as a seeker of places the faithful feared and imbuing the fearful with the blessing of faith. Her virtue was resilience, not of the flesh, but of the spirit, the strength to keep seeking, even when the path turned to shadow.

She studied the Enemy not to worship, but to understand. From ruins, scrolls, wild tribes, and the silence of the Fay, she gathered broken parts of a forgotten whole. Her gifts were many, wards, potions, tattoos, glyphs, binding salts, and structures that spoke in silence. She sealed the Crucible of Thorns, the deepest wound still open in Creation. It bears her mark still.

And each kingdom remembered her differently.

In Anatolia, they called her Djannara, the Djinn in Flesh, a spirit in flesh who knew the names of demons and the words to unmake them.

In Iberia, she was Zahariah, The Mist of the Forge, who whispered blessings into steel and carved protection into the stones of homes and chapels.

In Gallia, she was remembered as Cléveria, the Architect of Light, who taught the builders to raise arches that breathed, and to set glass aglow with divinity.

In Gothia, among snow and ash, she was Haljaska, She Who Knows the Ash-Song, a shaman who sang the dead to rest and bound wandering spirits with thread and breath.

From her teachings sprang many orders, some cloaked in secrecy, others named in daylight. The most visible were the Wardens of the Veil, builders of glyph-marked towers along leyline thresholds. Another, far quieter, were the Acolytes of the Unseen Thread, who stitched charms into cloaks and warded dreams with signs. Few of these orders are known to remain. Only the Keepers of Hidden Light endure, watching, not claiming.

There came a time when these orders rose together. Not with swords, but with signs and words. Not with battle cries, but with silence. Scholars later called it the Silent Crusade, a war of seals, memory, and song. Corruption was turned back not by armies, but by rites. Glyphs sang to the walls. Ink held back the dark.

And Eleleth lived through it all. Perhaps longer than she should have.

She is the only Redeemer whose ascent was never seen. Some say she became a revenant by choice, refusing Heaven until her final ward was drawn. Others say she still walks the sealed places.

Her sepulcher lies beneath Axis Mundi, in the lowest vault, where even the brightest candles grow dark. Or so they say.

Her shrines remain, not in the high cities, but along forgotten paths, carved into stone, hidden in vines. The old tribes still fondly speak her name, as do the hermits, drifters, and the faithful who carefully hold their silence.

Not for her light, But for her strength.

—Thelonius the Scribe