Book II The Ruins

Book II: The Ruins

Chapter 1

Memoirs of a Great-Grandson. The Chronicles of Brenenth.

(Narrated by Brenenth, in a slow, reflective voice, with the intensity of someone who has seen worlds and believed too little in them)

I do not remember the Cathedral of Aruhen. I never saw it with my own eyes; its grandeur and its purifying flames reached me only through the accounts of others and in the distant echo of the songs my mother whispered to me as I fell asleep.

I was born in a time of silence, when the memory of men still wavered between the golden light Tanu had left behind and the ashes that still covered northern Kaelu. My lineage bound me to a past that no longer existed: Ishar Vael, my great-grandfather, the last Custodian of the Threshold of Naru-Shal. His name, spoken with respect or fear, remained a reminder of what the faith of our ancestors had once been.

The outlawed religion he protected with sword and word had been relegated to secrets and whispers. Neither I, nor my parents, nor my teachers ever knew its temples, its complete rites, or the exact vibration of Tanu's voice within those ancient halls. Yet I knew the stories—the surviving fragments—and that was enough to leave its mark upon me.

Growing up, I listened to family accounts that spoke of Ishar Vael as a strategist and a visionary, a man capable of mapping war with the same precision he used to draft secret prayers. My great-grandfather never yielded his faith; though the war of fire had sealed the supremacy of Aruhen, the spark of Naru-Shal persisted within his family: in subtle gestures, and in names never uttered before strangers.

As a child, I was taught to read ancient symbols, to recognize signs of power hidden within forgotten reliefs, and to listen to the silence between words. Every meditation was a lesson: sometimes I prayed with empty hands, sometimes with a forbidden book I was never to open before anyone.

I learned that faith can survive in the shadows, and that even in defeat, it carries an echo that resonates centuries later.

I did not inherit Tanuism, nor did I practice the ancient faith of Naru-Shal. My path was different—a humbler one, far removed from temples and cathedrals, yet not alien to the sacred world. I learned to observe, to remember, and to record.

My great-grandfather’s story was not his alone; it was ours. Though I never wielded the sword of the Custodian of the Threshold, I carry the weight of his silences and his warnings.

Through these memoirs, I seek to trace the line connecting past to present, joining the secrets of Kaelu with the vestiges of the Tanuist faith in Aruhen, and explaining how a spark of truth can endure even when temples have fallen and the gods seem absent.

Because what I contemplate now, and what I relate, is not an act of faith: it is an act of memory. And he who remembers, though he may not fight, remains part of a war that never ends.

Chapter 1 - Part II: The Manuscript of Silence

The early years of my life were marked by fragmented tales and worn parchments. My mother spoke of Ishar Vael with the reverence one holds for a saint and the fear reserved for a warrior; she recounted fragments of his choices, his victories, and, above all, his silence before the spiritual invaders of Aruhen.

I was ten years old when my hands first touched a fragment of the Manuscript of Silence, the sacred text that had guided the ancient faith of Naru-Shal. It was not an easy book to read; its pages were filled with symbols that spoke more to the eyes than to the mind, with sentences that folded in on themselves as if aware that the truth had to be protected even from those who sought it with good intentions.

There I understood that the faith of my ancestors was not merely ritual: it was a map of history and of the spiritual war to come. Among the dogmas and coded chants, I uncovered the inner prophecy that foretold the holy war—a conflict not merely of weapons, but of ideas, loyalties, and souls. The prophecy spoke of the arrival of an imposed power, of burned temples, and of the resistance of those who still remembered. It was a warning and a silent mandate: whoever knows the truth must preserve it, even in the shadows.

Every symbol in the manuscript seemed to possess its own heartbeat. Among them, the most unsettling were those that presaged the emergence of the Custodian of the Threshold, the figure tasked with protecting the ancient faith against all spiritual invasion and ecclesiastical hierarchy.

The Custodian of the Threshold

Supreme leader.

Never appears in public.

Dwells within the deepest crypts of Kaelu.

Rules not by divine mandate, but by antiquity.

Is the guardian of the original pre-Tanuist texts.

The Archons of the Echo

A council of five high priests.

Each represents a principle: Memory, Patience, Stone, Night, and the Threshold.

They serve as theological and political strategists.

Many operate undercover within Aruhen.

The Scribes of Dust

Historians and guardians of ruins.

They collect fragments from destroyed temples, believing every stone retains a whisper.

The Veiled Ones

Discreet operatives.

They bear no visible symbols.

Their mission is to sow doubt and violence.

The Listeners

Ordinary believers.

They do not pray aloud.

Silent meditation is their liturgy.

My heart trembled at the thought that my great-grandfather’s shadow still watched from some unseen place, awaiting the moment to emerge once more, even though I had never set eyes upon the Cathedral of Aruhen.

My early studies were quiet and solitary. I learned to decipher the signs of the impending war, to recognize the remnants of the old religion in Kaelu, and to listen to the echoes of resistance still whispering through the stones. I did not practice Naru-Shal, nor did I claim to replace Ishar Vael; my path was to narrate, to preserve, and to understand, for I realized early on that history is not defined solely by the victors: it also lives on in those who remember.

Thus began my years of learning, in which curiosity became my faith and the Manuscript of Silence my guide. There, among symbols and warnings, I understood that the holy war was not merely a historical event: it was a legacy that would fall upon me and upon all who, though hidden, still remembered. Thus this story begins...