The sky outside was already dark when Eryndor finally left the library. He headed straight toward his room and noticed that many people were still moving through the corridors. When they saw him, some regarded him with scorn, coldness, disapproval, or open curiosity, while others—most of them—pretended not to notice him at all. He recognized a few of them. He used to call them friends. Being an outcast was indeed uncomfortable, he thought as he passed them by.
Upon entering his small quarters, he set aside his bag and sighed. Though exhausted, Eryndor went to the kitchen and prepared a simple dinner—bread, dried fruit, and tea, his favorite meal. As he sat eating, his thoughts drifted back to the encounter with the librarian earlier that day. Her reaction had been far too extreme for a simple question.
Did something happen? he wondered.
Before he could think further, a loud bang shattered the silence as his door burst open. The wood cracked violently against the wall, rattling the shelves. Frozen, bread still in his hand, Eryndor stared as three broad-shouldered figures entered his room. They were clad in black robes that failed to fully conceal the dark armor beneath. A faint shimmer of sigil-etched steel marked them unmistakably as Inquisitors of the Temple.
"What the—Inquisitors?" Eryndor blinked, bewildered.
"Eryndor Keth," said the leading man. His face was concealed by a smooth white mask—eyeless, with a golden sunburst engraved at its center. "You are summoned to face a trial in the Grand Hall of Truth. Follow us obediently."
"Trial? What did I do?" Eryndor asked in disbelief. He was often reprimanded harshly, but he had never anticipated a trial.
"You will know soon enough," the masked man replied plainly, then turned and set off, leaving Eryndor even more perplexed.
With no other choice, Eryndor complied. Two of the Inquisitors had already moved behind him. One placed a hand on his shoulder—not rough, but firm and rigid enough to silence any argument. Eryndor sighed, caught between irritation and disbelief, as he was escorted toward the Grand Hall.
The commotion quickly drew attention despite the late hour. Doors opened. Scholars and scribes peered out, whispering and pointing. Some smirked maliciously. Eryndor muttered soundlessly under his breath, offering a bitter smile. Did they really need to make such a spectacle just to summon someone to a trial?
In the Grand Hall of Truth, he stood before the Council of Luminaries—seven men and women draped in ceremonial white, each bearing the golden sunburst stitched into their robes. Their eyes shone like molten bronze, unyielding and unblinking. They were the arbiters, the judges. Every grave matter was weighed and decreed by them. When Eryndor saw them, he knew his fate was sealed.
"Eryndor Keth," said Archscribe Velinar, her voice echoing across the vast chamber. Acting as High Judge, she was among the highest authorities within the Temple of Radiant Memory.
"You stand accused of heresy—questioning the Temple's faith by claiming it is not the sole true source of ancient knowledge. How do you plead?"
Eryndor's lips twisted into a dry smile. I never said that, he thought with a resigned sigh. Knowing he could not change the direction of events, he took a deep breath and spoke.
"Plead… curious," he said calmly. "I observe, then I question. Isn't that the purpose of being a scholar?"
A murmur rippled through the council. Some whispered among themselves; others frowned deeply. Velinar's hand twitched—a subtle but dangerous motion—and Eryndor felt the air in the Grand Hall grow heavy.
"Curiosity is not heresy when guided by faith," Velinar said coldly. "You question not to seek truth, but to undermine the pillars that hold us together. By questioning the completeness and comprehensiveness of the Temple's knowledge, you threaten the foundation of our order."
Another councilor, Seryn Valdor, leaned forward, smiling with false gentleness.
"You have spoken dangerous words, son," he said. "Questioning the Temple's beliefs is no trivial matter. Now I am curious—were these questions born solely of your own curiosity, or is there something more beneath them?"
Though he smiled, his sharp eyes bored into Eryndor's, searching for an answer.
Summoning his courage, Eryndor met his gaze without flinching and shrugged.
"I simply asked questions. Are scholars not allowed to be curious—even about dangerous things?"
The council murmured in disgust.
"Dangerous indeed," Seryn replied, leaning back as his smile faded.
Velinar rose to her feet. Her presence swelled like a rising tide, and the air itself seemed to constrict. An aura of the Mortal Lord Realm—or perhaps beyond—descended upon Eryndor, making him dizzy and breathless.
"Enough. Your words alone have proven your guilt," she declared.
"By decree of the Council, Eryndor Keth is hereby expelled from the Temple of Radiant Memory."
"You shall no longer bear the robes of a scribe, nor touch the scrolls of the faithful. Your name will be stricken from our records. Your works will be burned or sealed. Take your heresy elsewhere."
Her words thundered through the hall, hanging in the air like a verdict carved in stone.
Sweating and gasping, Eryndor forced his lips into a thin smirk.
"Finally," he said. "I always preferred open air to suffocating halls anyway."
Velinar flinched, her expression darkening with fury.
"Do not push it, Eryndor Keth," she warned in a dangerous tone. "Be thankful we did not prosecute you."
The pressure of her aura intensified, tightening around him.
Before Eryndor could respond, a subtle tremor ran through his body. Beneath his clothes, a dense yet faint golden flame flickered across his skin, pulsing almost imperceptibly. No one noticed—no one but Eryndor himself—as he felt the crushing pressure suddenly ease.
In the end, he said nothing more. Eryndor bowed once, then turned and walked silently toward the exit.
Outside the Grand Hall, the crowd buzzed with conversation. When they noticed him, the noise died instantly. Silence fell as dozens of eyes fixed on him—some filled with pity, others with satisfaction.
Ignoring them all, Eryndor walked straight toward his room.
Behind him, the whispers returned, trailing after him like smoke.