The City of Maersek, Central Duskolis, 4/23/1153, Twenty Six years before present time, Shrine of The Archons

"Panos energon, regulaton energos impartion imperium..."  The old priest paused, his charcoal cloak barely moving as he waited for one of the students to finish the famous line.  "Aleshendrophes?"

The boy merely shrugged.  The line had been said nearly every day the children had come into the shrine.  How they couldn't grasp such things was beyond the old man.  Surely the Elders will assign every one of them to be part of the Gathered.  No higher doulae could be hoped for those with such little prospect.  Still, he had hoped that he might find at least-

"Imperium Nix Chaos" came an irritated voice from the back.  The wrinkled Theori looked to see who might bear his hopes after all.  In the far back of the room sat the six year old Tyranndelcus, one of the youngest, with a look in his eyes conveying his annoyance at his classmates.  A feeling of deep approval flooded the room as the priest sent out his appreciation.

"Yes, indeed.  Control prevents chaos, dissolution of our species, our world.  Control prevents destruction.  Everything you need to know about the world is contained in the phrase young Tyr here finished for you.  Everything, the rock above and below us, these grey rock walls around us, this stylus, you, your eyes, these words themselves as they flow to you, the words as they are understood in your head, this conjurance," a burst of flame appears from his hand, "your family's Ferokai, our entire species, every species, even the Archons themselves, everything, everything, is energy.  You may think things are solid or ideas in your head are not real, but there is no solid and there is no unreal.  Everything is energy.  Panos energon."  The flames begin to catch a wooden figurine on the podium and rise higher, fueled by the wood.  "But energy is a tricky thing.  It is diffuse and quickly fades, giving nothing, leaving nothing.  Or it destroys, wreaks havoc, and leaves even less.  It will not be contained."  He sets a metal shield between the now crumbling figurine and the figurine next to it.  The shield begins to glow orange and the flames flicker around it until one catches the lacquer and it too bursts into flame.  "And uncontained, the powers, the energies of the Archons will diffuse, or worse, they will destroy.  And nothing worth anything will be left.  Forget not that we are mortals.  Their powers are far beyond us.  They are holy beings and we are corruptible and small.  So if everything is energy, and energy is so powerful, how will we possibly not be destroyed by all that power?  It is wild and reckless."  He looks back at Tyr again with a raised brow

" Regulaton energos impartion imperium," Tyr knows he his ahead of his peers.  They are the children of the Gathered, as is he, but they are stuck in the fate of their families.  He already stands out.  "Channeling the energy gains control."  He will be a channeler, a great warrior of the Remnant.  "And imperium nix chaos.  That control prevents destruction." 

The elderly priest nods.  He holds his hands with two fingers and thumb splayed, the channeling pose.  The fire pulls itself into its center, then flickers into a single tongue of flame on the center  of the figurine's ashes.  "Channeling the energy gains control.  Control prevents destruction."  The boy will go far indeed.




The City of Caducepolis, Capitol of Duskolis, 1/2/1163, Sixteen years before present time, Hall Of The Elders

"Beatus est ortus nostri populus, Beatus est ortus entos ha Agion, Beatus est ha sofia de ha Presbuterai.
Beatus est ortus nostri populus, Beatus est ortus entos ha Agion, Beatus est ha sofia de ha Presbuterai."

   Thick and spicy incense fills the air, obscuring vision more than a few feet ahead, as the single voice of a female theori chanting the Ortus Doulae echoes off the cave walls.  The young Remnant shuffle forward in a long line through the stark stone passages of the Hallows, heads down in contemplation, each following the person ahead of them.  The Rite of the Doulo is never taken lightly.  A week has passed of fasting, prayer, meditation, instruction, testing, and memorization.  Now, after a pass through the Hallows, the temples and dwelling places of the sacred Arcons, with each young Remnant genuflecting at the entrance to each temple, they head to the Elders who will decide their fate. 
   The Doulo is the service or mission a Remnant is given at the entrance to adulthood.  Other races have referred to it as being assigned a job.  But it is so much more that a job.  It is a calling on one's life and a show of the value of life.  It is a declaration of honor, a giving of self for the sake of the whole.  It is a service to the Arcons and the God-King, and aembracing of one's place within the order of the universe.  Doulae can be rejected, such is the right of any Remnant, but that is a choice of self over species, of ego over the good of the race and the world, and those who make such reckless and wild decisions are banished from the cities.
   Tyranndelcus knew he would receive a high calling.  He would assuredly be one of the few called into the apprenticeship of a Channeler.  The Channelers were the true power of the Remnant kingdoms, wielding the very power of the gods to shape civilization.  They are army, police, engineers, public works, and explorers all wrapped into one.  A young Remnant could aspire to nothing grander, especially one like Tyr who was a child of The Gathered, the general Remnant population.  Everyone knew most children of Channelers are assigned to channel.  It is rarer for one of The Gathered, but certainly not uncommon.  And Tyr knew he was rare indeed.  Blessed with an exacting mind and a powerful body, he was an obvious choice.  No one learned quicker than he and few remembered all that he could.  And no one in his area could match him in a race, wrestling match, or almost any game of skill.  He was as loyal as any young one had ever been in visiting the shrine and eagerly devoured his catechism lessons.  One priest had even mentioned that the boy was Theori caliber, but so few were granted to join the priesthood and Tyr's mind had been set on channeling from a young age.  He only wondered which element he would be apprenticed to.  His control of himself was impeccable and noted even amongst the hundreds of others brought here for the Rite.  He went over answers to questions in his head as the group slowly moved forward, wondering what his time with the Elders would look like.
   "Light is Clarity, Life is Wisdom, Fire is Justice, Air is Purity, Water is Charity, Earth is Fortitude, Cold is Resolve, Space is Discipline, Time is Diligence.  Everything is energy, channeling the energy gains control, control prevents destruction.  Is Sayya One? Sayya is the truest one  What is Sayya's Will? the Arcons, the selfsame profusion of the One. Who illumines the will of Sayya? The God-king, through whom the collective primarchs govern.  The good of the self is subsumed in the good of the all.  The good of the all is revealed through the God-King through the Elders.  Full control is granted the God-King by Sayya through the Arcons, in mercy that we might be saved from further cataclysm." 
   Time seemed to warp as Tyr repeated the matras in his head, shuffling slowly through the torchlit passages.  The incense and repetitive words and motion caught him up for an untold time until he snapped up, finding himself at the front of the line before a massive widening in the walls into a huge domed room.  A robed figure looked at him.
   "Tyranndelcus of Maersek Duskolis, enter and receive your Doulo."  Tyr tooks two steps into the room, his eyes adjusting to the flickering strange glow.