Ishad walked through the empty sanctuary, collecting prayer books that had been left on the benches. Technically, it was a sin to not restore a Book of God to its proper place, but so few paid attention to that minor rule that monks such as himself were assigned to ‘clean up’ after every public prayer session. Inexperienced monks, of course. Ishad had surrendered his last name for the brown cloak a year ago.

Even after a year of serving well, Ishad still had two more years to go before he could be raised from the rank of novice, to intermediate. Not that he was complaining, of course.

Awkwardly, as Ishad was carrying some dozen books by now, he reached under his brown cloak, and brought out the Symbol, which hung on a chain around his neck. For a moment, Ishad stared at the snake eating its own tail, at the delicate gold workmanship that had crafted such a thing.

Then Ishad continued moving through the benches. The sanctuary was huge, with a thousand seats. If Ishad wanted to be done by Lunch Hour, he would have to hurry.

And so Ishad did. The room, which was awe inspiring for those who first entered it, had look since lost that appeal for Ishad. The great ceiling, which was inlaid with a serpent of stained glass, eating its tail, was now only decoration. Ishad could only imagine how anything could have been put up on the ceiling, fifty feet into the air, or how the stained glass serpent had even been made, but it was still only decoration.

What might have been a quarter hour later, Ishad had finally placed all the books back in stacks on tables near the doors. He knew he should be heading off to eat his midday meal, as he was sure the Lunch Hour had already started, but he headed up to the dais. He couldn’t resist the chance to pray at the apex of one of the holiest of all sanctuaries.

The dais, a circle in the center of a circular room, was completely bare. Ishad carefully positioned himself in the exact middle, and knelt. Above him, the stained glass serpent took on new meaning, and Ishad couldn’t believe how he had been thinking of it only a few moments before. He took out his Symbol from under his cloak once again, and grasped it with both hands.

God, I try to purge myself from sin. I fail, but I still try. I strive to walk in the footsteps of the God-Kings, those mortals, who in death joined You. I fail, but I still try. I bless my ungrateful self in your presence.

Ishad remembered when, a week ago, he had heard that the Vedil, sworn Guardians of the Faith, had joined with Emperor Ehajdon I. Ishad remembered how frightened he was, that because of what the Vedil had done, the barbarian Makini would ride down from the mountains, and sack the great city Ishad served as a monk in, the Holy Citadel.

And then, he was no longer afraid.

“What are you thinking, mortal?”

Ishad got to his feet, and whirled around, the fear very suddenly back.

But only a monk stood behind him, unusually tall, cloaked in brown, and hooded so that his face could not been seen.

“That’s not funny,” said Ishad. “Sneaking up on me, and then saying something like that. Who are you?”

But then Ishad saw a clawed, scaled foot stick out from under the robes. His instincts had been right, and suddenly, unequivocally, he knew he was going to die here. “Demon!” he shouted, hoping someone, anyone would hear him. But in the sanctuary, closed until evening devotion, no one would. Ishad showed his Symbol to the monster’s face, hoping somehow, the sight would restrain it. “How dare you enter a house of God!”

“I am no demon, mortal,” said the thing. It pulled off its hood, revealing the head of a snake. “I am what your Symbol shows you. I am a Nari.”

Instantly, Ishad saw his mistake, and he got to his knees. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not know you were real!” Legends stated that the Nari were charged with maintaining the Mandate of Elysium, the natural order on which all things depended. But they were widely thought to be myths, even by those in religious circles.

Clearly, they were not.

As the Nari hissed, and looked around the sanctuary, Ishad continued to grovel. “I was arrogant before you,” he said. “I judged without knowing. Forgive me!”

“Nothing can ever be forgiven,” said the Nari. “Give me your Symbol.”

Ishad was slow to respond. He had been given his Symbol on the day he became a monk, and he had been charged to keep it safe, and never remove it. Surely the Nari would understand his position.

“Give it to me!” the Nari shrieked, and its cry echoed throughout the chamber, inhuman, and loud beyond any noise Ishad could make. It proffered a scaled, six-fingered, clawed hand.

Ishad was not about to delay any longer. He took it from his neck, and placed it up into the Nari’s hand, as he continued to kneel.

No faith could prepare him for what happened next. The Nari’s hand contracted, closed, and squeezed. The object that had been the center of Ishad’s last year of life melted as the Nari squeezed; it melted and disintegrated. A fine, golden powder drifted around the Nari’s crushing hand, and then was drawn to it, and then disappeared. The Nari opened his hand, and a copper chain fell from it, all alone, no longer with any purpose.

As Ishad looked up at the Nari, it seemed more alive than it had before. Its scales were brighter, and its eyes shown with even more yellow. When Ishad had first seen it, the Nari had stood well over six feet in height, but now it seemed even taller.

The Nari’s long neck swiveled downwards as it replaced the hood upon its head. Then, without another word, it walked away, off the dais, and down an aisle. As Ishad watched, the Nari pushed through the doors at an exit to the sanctuary, and was gone.

Ishad suddenly was aware of how alone he was. He reached out, clutched his empty copper chain, and sobbed.