[b]Relica Surface[/b]
[i]High-Temple of the Seeder-Gods, Ascension Chamber[/i]
[i]19:09 - Relica Central Time[/i]
The Ascension Chamber was not a place like a chapel or church. It was small and confined. The walls were made of polished rocks. High over the heads of everyone inside a glass dome allowed the beautiful sun inside. The place had the tendancy of humbling everyone inside. It even applied to all but the most arrogant humans. The air was always fresh and smelled sweet. A feat produced by the Azure Heart flowers. Even on Relica they were rare, requiring a certain range of tempratures, humidity, and sunlight. Yet all these requirements were met in the yellow-stoned, light bathed hall.

A young Relicant sat on the simple wooden chair wearing simple, wool trousers. Before him, on the many ornate benches sat his friends, brothers, sisters, family members and a few mentors that managed to come over. An Ascension was not a ritual to be taken lightly. With the new implant came a myriad of duties and responsibilities. Even now, under human occupation, the Scholar-Warriors needed to honor their code. In fact, now most of all. For their ancient laws and principles were being tested. Not just by the humans but by Relicants too. So now more than ever, an Ascension shone like a beacon of hope, righteousness, justice and the honoring of a promise. A promise symbolized by 3 human Imperial Navy officers who were chosen to be the first to be genuinely invited to an Ascension. With them came the obvious press journalists. Propaganda agents took every chance they could to prove there was peace between the two races. If only to keep the peace on Relica.

From a door behind the young soon-to-be-ascendant, Prophetess Solaria came. While not as young as he candidate, she was still one of the youngest of the Prophets. Her strong beliefs, fused with her pacifistic preachings made her rise up to the station swiftly. For decades now, she tried to grow the relationship between Relicant and human. Despite the many stresses it suffered. Everyone except the Apprentice rose up in honor. With a single hand motion, the Prophetess allowed everyone to take their seat again. "We have gathered here, this evening, for a momentous occassion. Hydarim of Yvres. Apprentice of the Tranquil Order. Your masters and mentors have deemed you worthy, capable and strong enough to bear this Ascension and all that comes with it. Do you accept this honor."

"Yes."

"Do you swear that you will give yourself, in body, mind and soul, to the principles of the Order. Will you uphold its values even in the darkest of times."

"Yes."

"Do you understand what is asked of you? Have you grasped the severity that your actions can bring and the inspiration you can be to others?"

"Yes."

"I, Prophetess Solaria of Vascustem, ascend you to Scholar-Warrior. May your journeys take you to the Seeder-Go-" Then the Prophetess was caught in an explosion.[hr][b]Relica Surface[/b]
[i]Location Unknown[/i]
[i]25:09 - Relica Central Time[/i]
Xanathor looked out from below the waterfall at the second moon, Eila. Early Relicants called the moon after the goddess of protection. The goddess that favored the Relicants over all other species seeded on their glorious planet. Early on the Relicants thought the Goddess would live on the moon after the gods left their planet (and later, they assumed, their galaxy). However, when the first Relicants landed on its dusty surface, they found no home or throne. Just a vast emptiness. One that remained until the humans decided it made for a good star-port. Even now he could see the filthy yellow light tainting the precious jewel.

He took a deep breath as he turned around to look at the Relicant on his knees. Two shadowstalkers stood next to him. Initially, the High-Prophet did not notice the Relicant on his knees was one of the mysterious order. Yet still, he had the same implants around his throat. “You did well. You did… Painfully well.” Xanathor told the shadowstalker. “The killing of Prophetess Solaria… I could not imagine such a plot. But… I’m sorry. I must ease my conscious. If only a little. Please… did she know?”

The Shadowstalker looked up with eyes of acceptance. “High-Prophet. You are not in a position to have an eased conscious. All our sins will be your sins. All our acts, you will account for. All our decisions were made by your command. This is the ancient pact the Shadowstalkers have with the Office of High-Prophet. Even during these difficult times- No, because of these difficult times, you must bear all these burdens and more.” To enforce his words, the shadowstalker grabbed his own voice-implants and ripped them out. Bleeding he sat up straight on his knees.

Xanathor could not help but close his eyes. The shadowstalker was right. They were but his hands. His commands performed. There was so little known about them. So little certain. Some thought they were more a force than a branch of the Tranquil Order. From the scabbard on his belt, Xanathor drew the hallowed blade of his office. It was reforged and replaced a dozen times. Yet it still served as the revered symbol of the High-Prophet’s other duty. To protect and defend his people. “I Xanathor, High-Prophet of the Seeder-Gods, Guardian of Relica and her people, offer you the gift of peace. Speak now if you must, or be forever silenced.” The shadowstalker remained silent. Xanathor understood. He rested the point of the blade right next to neck pushed down. For a second, he saw the Shadowstalker tense up, but as the blade dove deeper, he embraced his final seconds. “Thank you. Thank you and if you see Solaria… Tell her she did not die in vain.”