Valmoran Republic, Planet Kronai, Temple of the Seven

  Matthai Valtrellin, Future High Priest

  When Matthai returned to his quarters after meeting with Callum, he felt lighter. Perhaps everything would work out.

  If anyone could help him figure out how to navigate the maze of politics and public opinion, Callum could. They would find a solution.

  He was sure of it.

  But as the attendants braided his hair into a complex knot, then placed the silver zanchion onto his head, doubts crept back in.

  The gleaming circle of bejeweled Obelisks—worn only by the High Priesthood of the First Temple—looked out of place on his head.

  He was just Matthai, not a leader—the zanchion didn’t seem to fit.

  As they draped and shrouded his body in the layers of silver and blue cloth that made up the ceremonial robes, then wrapped his waist in an elaborate belt, it became harder to breathe.

  The thick robes were too warm. The weight of them tugged Matthai into the ground.

  With each layer, the burden of his responsibilities seemed to settle more heavily on his shoulders.

  By the time his guards came for the procession, it was an effort to push his nerves to the back of his mind.

  But Scion Valtrellin did, because his parents, the priests, and the rest of the galaxy were waiting, and he would not let them down.

  As Matthai exited his chambers, the normally gleaming halls of the dormitory appeared almost mystical in the dim ceremonial candlelight.

  Lines of kneeling priests framed both sides of the curved hallway. The space thrummed with their chanting tones, candles flickering as the song permeated the air.

  Matthai’s personal guardians trailed behind him, affording him an unobstructed view of the devotional scene.

  There was a stillness within these walls, where none but the priests could enter. A sense of refuge from what awaited him in the courtyard.

  As he walked along the corridor, each person acknowledged him before lowering to the floor as he passed. All wore the blue and silver of the Valtrellins in honor of the First Temple, with sashes in the colors of their originating temples setting them apart.

  He ambled forward, wanting to acknowledge each of them, knowing that most had crossed the galaxy to be here for the occasion. But he soon realized the futility of the task.

  There were simply too many, not enough time to pay them the respect they deserved.

  As their faces blended together, he noticed Priest Jarron, the man who had trained him in defense since childhood. Matthai smiled at him, relieved to see a familiar face.

  While his former trainer did smile back, his expression had a disconcerting reverence that had never been there before.

  There had always been a distance between Matthai and the other adepts. Yet somehow, he pretended he was one of them ... most of the time.

  As Jarron bowed before him, the ground shifted beneath Matthai’s feet, setting him above and apart from everyone and everything he had ever known.

  With only the barest falter in his steps, the Scion continued forward, leaving the man behind.

  A dull ache bloomed in Matthai’s chest, and the thick robes and the stuffy hallway made it difficult to fill his lungs.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He felt like an imposter, playing a role he wasn’t meant for.

  How had his mother borne this, the day she donned these robes, the day she walked these halls?

  As he walked past the priests who knelt in genuflection, Matthai longed to tell them they didn’t need to bow, that he was just another adept. Just another priest, the same as them.

  But the Scion held his composure and did his best to project the dignity these priests deserved from their future High Priest.

  Their footsteps echoed on the ornate lobby floor as Matthai and his personal guardians emerged from the dormitory hallways.

  The courtyard door was propped open, granting a terrifying glimpse of the massive crowds that awaited outside.

  A shaft of light cut through the dim room onto the shining crest of the House of Valtrellin, emblazoned on the stone floor.

  As Matthai stepped forward, his personal guardians encircled him. A group of priests from the Order of Protection joined them, forming a second circle.

  Another barrier to separate him from his people.

  His heart rate quickened.

  Perhaps it was from being confined on all sides by watchful guards. Or that once he greeted the pilgrims outside, there would be no turning back.

  As he walked through the doorway, the guards adjusted to his momentary hesitation at the threshold, as if it had never occurred.

  For Matthai, the ultimate step that took him from the sanctuary of the priests’ private home into the future that awaited him required a burst of sheer will.

  Matthai’s eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness of the late afternoon sun.

  The spacious courtyard spanning the inner and outer walls of the citadel had been transformed for his procession.

  The first thing that caught his eye were the drones meandering through the skies. Capturing the footage that would be broadcast throughout the galaxy.

  Memorializing the day from every angle.

  As he dragged his feet forward, he checked his posture, striving to project the peaceful dignity expected of him.

  Matthai had accompanied his parents to the Temple, had sat behind them as they shared the wisdom of the Gods with the people, so he knew precisely how the future High Priest should carry himself.

  But it was difficult to remain impassive, standing on display for this sea of people.

  He had never seen such a large assembly. In vids, maybe, but that hadn’t prepared him for the sudden awe he felt in their presence.

  People gathered along both walls, brightly dressed Valmorans from all over the galaxy. Priests lined the footpath, separating him from the masses.

  The crowds, the priests, and the path they created curved gently out of view, revealing the way to the cathedral.

  Teeming crowds made the inner and outer walls feel like they were closing in, as if the throngs might burst free and consume him.

  Roaring cheers and waving arms greeted him as he passed. As his march wore on, the initially pleasant sunlight became harsh, and Matthai sweltered under his heavy robes.

  One foot in front of the other—graceful, dignified, and—

  A commotion on his right had his guardians closing ranks. He heard the shouts before he peered through a small gap in their formation.

  “Take Back The Obelisks!”

  Matthai spotted a man, arms spread to display a large cloth sign emblazoned with the same perplexing words.

  “Take Back the Obelisks!” the man shouted, face red and brows knit with rage.

  Matthai’s guardians ushered him along.

  In his peripheral vision, dozens of priests converged on the man’s position. They surrounded him, then moved to exit the temple grounds.

  Matthai made out a few last words before the man’s voice faded.

  “The Obelisks belong to the people!”

  As Matthai resumed his procession, he puzzled at the man’s fury, though he didn’t allow his bewilderment to show on his face.

  The Obelisks did belong to the people—of course, they did. The Temples were wide open to pilgrims who wished to commune with the Gods.

  Why would anyone need to take them back?

  A seed of doubt took root in his mind. Was there something he was missing, some discontent brewing that no one had informed him of?

  The journey became a blur of faces, shouts, and steps as he and his guards parted the sea of people on the road to the cathedral.

  The robes and zanchion were a heavy burden, each step more arduous than the last.

  Matthai wished he could talk to the pilgrims, maybe even cross the fence, to join them. At the very least, he longed to smile and wave as he passed.

  But the Scion dutifully propelled himself forward, the brief raise of a hand or a mild nod his only outward reactions as he resumed his march toward fate.

  As Matthai approached the cathedral, it loomed over him.

  The gaping mouth of the ancient Temple waited at the top of the staircase.

  It was peculiar for such a thought to enter his mind. He had always imagined this building held a sort of magic—that walking through that door was like traveling to the distant past.

  Today, it might swallow him whole.

  His guard fell in behind him as he ascended the stairs.

  The ceremonial chamber accommodated only a few hundred dignitaries. They stood when he entered, respectfully quiet.

  As the heavy doors shut behind him, the distant roar of the crowds broke off.

  The cathedral was eerily silent and bathed only in the light of ceremonial braziers.

  Matthai spotted his destination—the stairwell beneath the altar. The High Priest and Priestess stood solemnly behind it, the Council of High Priests lined up at their back.

  Everyone was still, the silence in the room oozing into every dark recess.

  Matthai forced his feet towards the staircase.

  Dignitaries covered their faces with respect as he passed.

  He spotted Callum out of the corner of his eye. The man smiled at him before bringing both hands to shield his face like the others.

  Matthai wanted to smile back, but the Scion stared straight ahead as he traversed the aisle.

  When he reached the front of the room, he paused momentarily, taking comfort in the sight of his mother and father.

  And then he descended into the Chamber of the Obelisk.