PERSONAL JOURNAL – ENTRY 0029
Name: Nelrin Vos
Rank: Junior Acolyte, Temple of Thrin-Lumel
Location: Lower Archives, Refuge Chambers, Decay City
Date: Spiral Day 0T0L0X1.26
Access Level: Private (Restricted by Nelrin’s Hand-Sigil)
I do not agree with him.
I don’t know if I’m allowed to write that.
But it’s the truth.
High-Priest Thaelos, who is more soul than man now, gave his Record today. I heard it read aloud by Archivist Oril. His voice was like smooth stones in riverlight, talking about peace and paths of healing while I still taste blood in my mouth every time I remember that day.
I remember it differently.
I remember Lyrax looking directly at me after what he did to the Star Shadow emissary. I was ten paces behind Thaelos. I dropped my prayer tokens and tried to run. He didn’t stop me. He just watched me go.
I think he wanted me to run.
So I would carry it.
I remember stepping on someone’s hand, crushed in the stampede.
I remember the sound of spoons scraping tile.
I remember that Thaelos didn’t scream.
Not at first. Not until the light came out of his mouth.
And now he speaks of understanding?
Of not answering cruelty with cruelty?
I want to honor him.
He was kind to me when I first arrived at the temple.
He taught me how to light the sky-ink lamps without spilling memory oil.
He told me my name meant “small roots that hold stone.”
But I don’t know how to follow him now.
I want Lyrax to die.
I want to see his name torn from the firmament.
I want to plant nothing. I want to salt the field.
And yet.
And yet when Thaelos prayed today,
I felt something.
Like warmth on my fingers
where I still have the burn from gripping a memory shard too tightly.
I don’t forgive.
But I heard the prayer.
And maybe
maybe
that’s a place to begin.
I don’t know.
-
Diary Note of Mentor Khan, Order of Spiritial Guidance
I have observed in him the signs of a soul divided - his body present in ritual, but his thoughts wrapped in fire, shaped by the scream he cannot forget. He does not trust forgiveness, nor believe peace was ever truly an option, and yet I see in his defiance a yearning for something more than vengeance.
In our next spiritual guidance session, I will not speak doctrine, nor invoke the names of still gods - I will sit with him beneath the Hollow Bells, where sound listens back, and I will ask only this:
what shape does he imagine justice to be, and could he carry it without it turning on him?
I believe in his rage, because I see beneath it the ache of someone who once believed in gentleness, and may yet again.