Thirty and Three
And it shall come to pass in those days, that there shall come forth from the mountain stronghold prophets numbering thirty and three. They shall speak with the voices of the dead and their words shall set fire to the hearts of the living. And the one of whom they speak shall be called Syvren, the Bringer of Life, the Song of the Morning, the Ancient Dew. And by these signs shall you know him: in his hand, he shall bear creation itself, and at his side shall darkness walk.
-The Book of Two Truths
On the day after Caius and his companions left the Monastery of the Eternal Vigil, it snowed for the first time in a millennium. From beneath the cloister, Zephyr watched in silence. A new beginning, he thought, and an end of our long watch. He stepped into the snow, his undead flesh indifferent to the cold, and spread his arms wide, hands open. He turned his head back and felt each flake of snow that fell upon him. They lingered there, clinging to his flesh that had long since forgotten warmth. Zephyr laughed and spun about in a circle. All around him, monks emerged into the snow, while some, their hollowed eyes fixed upon the sky, hesitated at the cloister’s edge, fearful of what was to come.
A bell chimed and the monks quieted, turning towards the center of the cloister garth. Abbess Vellary drifted there, snowflakes passing through her pale form which flickered, blurring at the edges as if the cold air refused to hold her shape. One by one the monks moved to stand in ranks around her. She watched in silence, then a warm smile split her face. “My children.” she said warmly, her voice as quiet as a whisper yet easily heard by all. “Let us begin.”
“We, the guardians of the Sanctum of Eternal Vigil, solemnly swear to live in obedience, poverty, and chastity, dedicating our lives wholly to the service of the Twin Gods.” The words were those of the daily office, and had been uttered by the assembled monks countless times and, as they had done for centuries, they murmured their sacred vow.
“No,” Abbess Vellary’s whisper cut through them like a blade. The words of the next prayer faltered on their tongues. “The day appointed has come. The Prism of Creation has been taken from this place and soon, as it is written, the reborn gods shall pass into this world.” She paused, her eyes drifting across the assembled monks, “It falls to us to prepare the way. To you.” As she looked upon them, with their desiccated, rotting flesh, she promised, “You will be feared. You will be hated. Some of you will be killed. Yet even so, go you must.” Again she stopped, letting the words stand in silence, before asking, "Who among you will go?”
The silence stretched. No one moved. No one breathed. Zephyr looked left, then right, waiting for another to step forward. None did. If he had been alive, his palms would have sweated. He felt the weight of the calling—terrible, immense. He swallowed dry air and, at last, stepped forward.
For another awful moment, Zephyr thought he would stand alone, that no others would go, until at his side, he heard a voice—steady, certain. “I shall go,” Tavian said.
A moment later, Liora stepped forward as well. “And I.”
One by one, voices joined and the silence broke, replaced by a solemn chorus as Zephyr’s sisters and brothers answered the call. At last, when the last had joined, it was quiet again. The Abbess looked upon them, silently numbering them, and smiled, “Yes,” she said, "it is right. Go and speak the truth of the reborn gods.”
And so they did. Thirty three prophets of the Twin Gods. From their monastery high in the Echoing Crests they radiated outward in all directions. South to the lands of Strykara, Pelegor, and the shores of Thalassan. West to Gallance, Eldoria, and the broken steps of Veilthorn. North to Braxyl, Caedryn, and even the frozen tundras of Tarithan. East to Zancalar, Ormatha, and distant Aehtelier. To all corners of the earth did they go, speaking the name of he who was to come after them, the name of Syvren.
But of Vaelith they spoke nothing, for this was the beginning of things, and the ending would come in its own hour.