Kelsig settled into the indicated chair shaking his head. “I did not ask for a miracle,” he objected. “I only asked for what we all want.”

The Abbot leaned back in his chair resting his arms on the desk. He closed his eyes. Something about his expression, Kelsig was not sure what, spoke of amusement. Almost as if a child had said something ironic to their elder without meaning. “After so long a miracle might be the only thing that will put everything it to rest. Now answer me truthfully, was that all you prayed for?” Arnkell finally inquired. “You were just praying for an end?”

Kelsig sat up straight in his chair frowning. “I answered your question, sir, truthfully. Do you have cause to doubt my word?”

Arnkell raised a hand from the desk flicking his fingers in denial to the accusation. “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But over the years I have had the privilege of watching many Brothers of Grenmarr pray in that sanctum. I have seen many offer their words up to Grenmarr. I have seen the hope and arrogance, overconfidence, all of it written in the devout’s every move.” The Abbot snorted his amusement. “Whenever those are the motivation, they never stay longer on their knees than I. But that was not what I saw in you.”

Arnkell sighed opening his eyes he sat forward and took out a fresh piece of paper setting it on the desk before him. Kelsig realized he was giving him time to speak, if he chose when the Abbot picked up the quill without further comment. His hands rubbed his knees as he sat forward thinking. It was true that it had not been hope or any of the other motivations which had pushed his prayer.

He listened to the quill move over the parchment. It scrapped along the page leaving deliberate lines behind. Lines which traced where the tip had scratched at the paper. Raising a hand to his mouth he pressed a finger firmly against his lips, his other hand’s beating against his knee as he shook his head. He watched the Abbot’s eyelids twitch, but the man restrained himself from looking. A kindness Kelsig was not sure he deserved. A monk of Grenmarr had to be strong. Had to be prepared to fight at any time. They were all that stood between Geirland completely overrunning Deildara. Their people needed them, needed their devotion and training to guard the passes. Grenmarr and Miohas bore sacred burdens. And by choice, so did Kelsig.

His thoughts chased about inside of his head dancing beyond his grasp. Some were closer, some were father, and some he could feel slipping completely free from him. There was something he should remember. He was sure of that, but he could not get any thought to stay long enough to be sure what it was he should remember.

Arionn closed his eyes tightly trying to press the confusing tangle of thoughts away from him. Slowly, he worked on controlling his breathing and taking stalk of his body. Everything seemed fine if growing a bit numb from the cold hardness beneath him.

Finding his center he opened his eyes again, this time they focused. The swirl of colors resolved themselves into a dome far above depicting Vireeth’s teachings. In the center of it all the crescent moon shone down into the stone box he lay in. The dome, Vireeth’s temple. Thoughts tugged at the edge of his mind until exploding in a panic.

He shot up into a sitting position as his eyes searched the room for a sign of the monks or his sister. His assessment only yielded what his ears had already told him though. He was alone. A thick layer of dust coated the floor. The door to the room was missing. The covering slab lay broken in four pieces at each corner of the box.

Pushing himself up, he swung his legs over the edge of the crypt and landed shakily on the ground. His hands trailed over the corner of the slab nearest him assessing the edges where the stone had shattered. The stone was almost smooth under his hands. It had been broken cleanly in the center of the crescent.

As he raised his hand he looked at the heavy dust sticking to his skin. Temples to the Five Deity were found in every city, shrines in the village. Some fell into the disuse at times as a village or city's desires shifted between the pantheon. Disuse, but there was always at least one monk left to tend the structure or if small enough the relics were removed and it was shut up. Never had he heard tale of this. Vireeth’s temple, Vireeth’s coffin, left uncared for.