Skip to content

08 A New Purpose

Part 8: A New Purpose

The Hospital and the Revelation

When I awoke, it was to the warmth of a hand holding mine. My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself in a hospital bed, the soft light of dawn streaming through the window. My body felt heavy, weighed down by the events that had transpired, but I was alive.

I turned my head and saw my grandfather sitting beside me, his face etched with exhaustion and grief. He was holding my hand tightly, his grip firm, as if he feared letting go might mean losing me as well.

"Grandfather..." I whispered, my throat dry, the words coming out as little more than a rasp.

His eyes softened, but they were filled with sorrow. "You're awake," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "Thank Oghma. I thought... I thought we might lose you too."

I swallowed, my mind swimming with fragments of the night, the destruction, the pain. But one memory burned clearer than the rest—my father's hand, glowing with divine light as he healed me. "Grandfather..." I began, my voice thick with emotion. "Father... he saved me."

My grandfather's eyes widened, and he leaned closer. "What... what do you mean?" His voice wavered, as if he couldn't bear to hope.

I took a deep breath, the memory of my father's final act replaying in my mind. "He found his faith, Grandfather. In his last moments... he performed a miracle. He healed me." My hand drifted to my chest, tracing the path of the scar that now marked my body.

Without a word, I pushed aside the blanket and lifted my tunic, revealing the dark, jagged scar that ran from my right shoulder down across my chest and torso, ending at my left hip. "This... this was the wound that should have killed me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "But he... he closed it. He saved me with his own hands."

Tears welled in my eyes as I recounted the impossible scene. "He whispered a prayer to Oghma. He believed, Grandfather. In the end, he believed."

My grandfather's eyes filled with tears, his face contorted with both sorrow and awe. He reached out, gently touching the scar, his hand trembling. "Your father..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "He... he did this?"

I nodded, my tears falling freely now. "He saved me, Grandfather. He cast a miracle... he found his faith."

My grandfather's shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, shuddering breath. His eyes, filled with grief for the loss of his son, also shone with a deep, profound gratitude. He raised a hand to his face, wiping away a tear. "He did it... he finally believed."

The room was filled with a heavy, bittersweet silence. Both of us were weeping now—me, for the father I had lost, and him, for the adopted son who had, at long last, found his faith.

"He never could accept it," my grandfather said, his voice breaking. "He struggled with it his whole life. But in the end... he found his way back to Oghma."

I nodded, my heart aching with the weight of the truth. "He did. His doubts... they were gone, Grandfather. I could feel it. He gave everything to save me."

My grandfather squeezed my hand, his eyes red with tears. "Then he's at peace now," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your father... he's at peace."

I lowered my head, my tears falling onto the blanket, the weight of everything we had lost pressing down on me. But there was also something else—a small glimmer of hope, of peace. My father had found his faith, and in doing so, he had saved me. That thought, at least, was a small comfort.

We sat in silence for a long time, the gravity of everything settling over us. The silence between us was heavy with grief and loss, but I knew it couldn't last. There was more I had to say, more that needed to be told. I took a shaky breath, steeling myself for the words that would follow.

"Grandfather... there's something else," I began, my voice quiet but firm.

He looked up, his red-rimmed eyes searching mine. "What is it, Aetherion?"

I swallowed hard, the weight of the truth pressing down on me. "It was Alexion," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "He caused all of this."

My grandfather's eyes widened, shock and disbelief clear on his face. "What do you mean? Alexion? He—"

I nodded, my throat tightening as I forced myself to continue. "After you were injured... he turned to Cyric. I don't know how it happened exactly, but Cyric whispered to him, made him promises—promises of power, of the ability to change the world in ways that Oghma never could. And... he took it. He made a blood pact with Cyric."

My grandfather's expression shifted from disbelief to sorrow as I continued, recounting every harrowing detail.

"He killed the ecclesiarchs, Grandfather," I said, my voice cracking. "He staged their deaths to make it look like a Cyric assassin had done it, but it was him. He needed their blood for the ritual—a ritual to ascend into something else. Something... dark."

My grandfather's hand tightened on mine, his grip trembling. "No..." he whispered, the pain in his voice palpable.

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes again. "He killed the governor too. He dragged him to the altar, slit his throat, and used his blood. And then... he used a relic, a mask—the Visage of the True Sovereign. The governor had it, but Cyric had never given him the power to use it. Alexion... he figured out the ritual, and that's what caused the collapse. The whole undercity started to fall apart as he ascended into... into something else. A demigod."

The words felt heavy in my mouth, each one laced with the bitter truth. My grandfather's face was etched with grief, but there was something else in his eyes—determination.

"And Cyric," I continued, my voice barely a whisper now, "he tricked Alexion. The ritual site... it was right under our home. Cyric knew. He knew what would happen, that it would destroy everything."

My grandfather's breath hitched, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. "And Alexion... where is he now?"

"I don't know," I admitted, shaking my head. "After the ritual, after he ascended, he flew away. He's not the Alexion we knew anymore, Grandfather. He's... he's something else. Something twisted by Cyric."

For a long moment, my grandfather said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the window, staring out at the distant horizon, lost in thought. Then, finally, he spoke.

"When I was here, watching from the hospital tower... I saw something. A creature, dark and terrible, rising from the wreckage of the city. It flew toward the wilderness—the same place where we had driven the Cyric cultists not so long ago."

My heart sank. "He's gathering them," I whispered. "He's pulling the cultists back together... building an army."

My grandfather nodded grimly. "It seems that way. And if he's doing that, then he's planning something far worse than we've seen so far."

I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on me. "I have to stop him, Grandfather. I have to bring him back if I can... or bring him to justice if I can't."

My grandfather's gaze softened, but his eyes held a deep sadness. "I will help you however I can, Aetherion. You won't be alone in this."

I nodded, feeling a surge of determination, but before I could say more, my grandfather's expression grew serious again.

"But if you want to pursue this path, if you want to stand against Alexion... you need to finish the rite of passage with Oghma. You need Oghma's blessing to become a cleric. Without it, you'll be walking into the darkness without the light of truth to guide you."

I lowered my head, knowing he was right. "I haven't shown any signs of being favored by Oghma," I murmured, the weight of my doubts creeping back in. "I haven't exhibited any connection to him."

"That doesn't matter," my grandfather said firmly. "You must still complete the rite. You must face whatever lies ahead, whether Oghma favors you or not. And if you don't—if Oghma doesn't grant you his blessing—you'll have to choose another path. But no matter what, you'll still have to face Alexion."

I clenched my jaw, the enormity of the task before me settling in. "I will go through the rite," I said quietly. "And if Oghma doesn't choose me... then I'll find another way. But I won't stop until Alexion is either redeemed... or brought to justice."

My grandfather's expression softened again, his hand tightening around mine. "Then I will help you however I can, my boy. But remember, this won't be easy. You're walking a dangerous path, one that will test you in ways you can't yet imagine."

"I know," I said, my voice steady. "But I have to do this. For Father. For Oghma. And for the truth."

My grandfather nodded solemnly, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a sense of purpose beginning to take shape within me. Whatever came next—whether it was the rite of passage or a battle with Alexion—I knew I would face it with everything I had.

And I wouldn't stop until the truth prevailed.

The Rite of Enlightenment

The dawn broke over the horizon, casting its golden light through the high, arched windows of the Great Library of Oghma's temple. The sacred scrolls and tomes, symbols of wisdom preserved for ages, glowed faintly in the early morning sun. The air felt heavy with the weight of the impending ceremony, but within me, there was an emptiness—a doubt I could not shake.

I knelt before the elders, their eyes fixed upon me, each holding a scroll or sacred text. The High Loremaster stood at the center, his gaze serene as he held the blank scroll that represented the knowledge I would soon seek to uncover. But my thoughts were distant, scattered, turning not toward the future, but toward the past.

I had not felt Oghma's hand in my life. Not once had I experienced a miracle or seen any clear sign of divine favor. The absence of such moments had shaped my doubt, not just in the world, but in myself. Why had Oghma chosen me for this task? It made no sense.

In my heart, I had been preparing for a different path entirely. The temple of Gond, the sister temple to Oghma's, had always made more sense to me. My skill with crafting, my knowledge of weapons, the practical, hands-on work that could shape the tools I would need to fight Thanir—it felt more suited to my abilities. Gond, the god of craft and invention, had always seemed closer to me than the abstract pursuit of truth that Oghma embodied.

I wasn't like Alexion—no, Thanir—who had been so confident, so certain of his path. He had always been the favored one, the one who could draw on small miracles, who had that divine spark of connection with Oghma. I had been the one left in the shadows, always searching, but never truly finding.

The elders began the ceremony, their eyes fixed on me with reverence, but inside, my heart churned. How could I, who had never seen Oghma's favor, be expected to bring justice to someone who had fallen so far, so deeply into darkness? I had prepared myself to take up Gond's hammer, to forge the weapons I might need to stop Thanir. And yet, here I was, kneeling in Oghma's temple, tasked with a mission that seemed beyond my grasp.

I closed my eyes, fighting the rising wave of uncertainty. How could I possibly live up to the expectations that had been placed on me?

The ceremony began.

The Trial of Questions

One by one, the elders approached, each posing a question designed not only to test my knowledge but my wisdom—my ability to see beyond the simple answers, to grasp the deeper truths hidden beneath the surface.

"Is knowledge still sacred when used to deceive?" one elder asked, her eyes sharp, her tone challenging.

I hesitated, considering the question carefully. "Knowledge in itself is sacred," I answered slowly, "but its misuse for deception corrupts its purpose. Truth must always guide its use."

The elder nodded, satisfied.

Another elder stepped forward. "Does power corrupt, or does it reveal?"

"Power reveals what is already there," I replied. "It amplifies the nature of those who wield it. In those with pure intent, power can bring change for good. In others... it leads to destruction, as we have seen."

A third elder, his voice low and contemplative, asked, "Can one save a soul already lost?"

This question cut deep. I thought of Alexion—of the friend who had fallen so far. "A soul is never fully lost," I said, though my voice wavered slightly. "There is always a chance for redemption. But... it must be chosen. It cannot be forced upon someone who has given themselves to the darkness."

The elder regarded me for a long moment before nodding, his expression unreadable.

Each question seemed designed to challenge not only my knowledge but my very understanding of the path I had chosen. With every answer, I felt the weight of Oghma's teachings settle over me, and slowly, I realized that the truth was far more complex than I had ever imagined.

The elders stepped back, satisfied with my responses. The Trial of Questions was complete.

The Oath of Truth

As the elders stood before me, their eyes filled with expectation, I knew what was coming next. It was time to take the Oath of Truth, the sacred vow that would bind me to Oghma's service for the rest of my life. I rose slowly from my knees, my heart steadying itself despite the lingering doubt.

I faced the assembly, and for a moment, the silence was overwhelming. The Great Library, normally filled with the quiet rustle of scrolls and the scratching of quills, was utterly still. Every eye was upon me, waiting for the words that would seal my fate.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon my shoulders. And then, with as much strength as I could summon, I began to speak.

"My voice rang out clear and strong, filling the temple with the weight of my conviction:

"I pledge to seek knowledge relentlessly. To preserve truth above all. To share wisdom with others responsibly. To combat ignorance, falsehood, and deception. By Oghma's light, I stand as a bearer of knowledge, A protector of truth."

The words echoed through the Great Library, resonating off the walls and into my very soul. Each phrase felt heavier than the last, as if with every word, the responsibility I bore became more tangible, more real. I could feel the weight of the vow pressing into my heart, its gravity undeniable.

The Scroll of Enlightenment

The High Loremaster stepped forward, holding the sacred quill that had been blessed by Oghma's temple. The quill gleamed faintly in the temple's light, a reminder of the divine connection between knowledge and those who sought to preserve and share it. In his other hand, the Loremaster carried a blank scroll, its pristine surface waiting to be marked with the first truth I would uncover—a symbol of the wisdom I was bound to seek for the rest of my days.

As he presented the quill and the scroll to me, my heart pounded in my chest. I felt the weight of all the moments that had led me here—the shattered ruins of my home, the terrible transformation of Thanir, the quiet, miraculous act of faith from my father. I could feel the gravity of my path press down on me, heavier than any weapon I had ever wielded, heavier even than the hammer that now hung at my side.

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the quill, my fingers brushing its feathered surface. The enormity of what lay before me threatened to overwhelm my resolve, but I steeled myself. This was no longer just about me—this was about truth. About the light that Oghma had entrusted me to carry. About the knowledge that could heal, or if necessary, destroy.

I looked down at the blank scroll, its pure white surface reflecting back the uncertainty in my heart. For a moment, my mind raced, a thousand thoughts swirling together in a storm of doubt and determination. What could I write that would be worthy of this moment? What truth could I offer that hadn't already been spoken, taught, or understood by the many who had come before me?

But then, as I knelt there, I thought of Thanir. I thought of his fall, of the way his hunger for power had driven him into the shadows. I thought of the lies that had been woven around him, the falsehoods that had drawn him further and further from the light of Oghma's truth.

And suddenly, it became clear.

No knowledge is complete until it is shared. For truth must be brought into the light, Not hoarded in shadow.

My hand moved almost of its own accord as I wrote the words, the ink flowing smoothly across the parchment. Each letter seemed to carry the weight of my conviction, shaped not only by my understanding but by the trials I had faced, by the lives I had seen torn apart by deceit. The words were not just a reflection of what I believed—they were a reflection of what I had lived.

I paused when the final stroke was made, staring at the words etched in the sacred ink. No knowledge is complete until it is shared. Those words carried the full weight of Oghma's teachings—the essence of why I had been chosen, even if I didn't fully understand it yet. I realized then that Thanir's greatest downfall had been his refusal to share. He had taken knowledge in secret, and had been bent by it towards darkness. He had allowed it to fester in the shadows, rather than exposing it to the light.

The truth, I understood now, wasn't just a thing to be discovered. It was something that had to be given back, shared with the world, or else it would become like the knowledge Thanir had hoarded—corrupt, distorted, dangerous.

When I finished, the High Loremaster stepped forward again, taking the scroll from my hands. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a quiet approval, and then carefully placed the scroll within the temple's archives, where it would remain as a testament to my commitment to Oghma's path.

But as the scroll disappeared into the library's depths, I couldn't help but feel that small revealed truth was only just a beginning. There were so many things I still didn't understand—about myself, about the task that lay before me, and about why Oghma had chosen me. Yet, in that moment, as the quill left my hand and the scroll was sealed away, I knew one thing for certain:

I would not walk this path alone.

The knowledge I had been tasked with finding, the truth I had pledged to protect, wasn't meant for me alone. It was meant for the world, for those who sought the light. For those, like my father, who had struggled in the darkness but had, in the end, found the strength to believe.

The Revelation of the Religious Name

Now came the most sacred part of the ceremony—the revelation of my religious name. It was a name that would reflect the truth Oghma had seen within me, the purpose I had yet to fully understand. The High Loremaster stepped forward, carrying a second blank scroll, but this one was different. It shimmered faintly, as if the very fabric of the parchment was imbued with divine magic. The air around it seemed charged with energy, and as it was placed in my hands, I could feel a subtle hum coursing through the surface, like a heartbeat.

I knelt before the grand symbol of Oghma—the radiant quill and scroll, glowing softly in the temple's light. My eyes closed as I bowed my head in meditation, seeking clarity amidst the swirl of emotions inside me. My mind was a storm of doubts and questions.

I had spent so long doubting myself, feeling the absence of divine favor that so many others in the temple had received. I had never felt Oghma's hand upon me like Alexion had.

The High Loremaster's voice rose in prayer, filling the library with its deep, resonant tone:

"O great Binder of Knowledge, reveal the truth hidden within this acolyte. Show us his purpose, his place in the eternal pursuit of wisdom."

As his words echoed around me, I felt a warmth begin to spread through my body. It started as a gentle heat in my chest, like a small flame, but soon it grew, radiating outward until it enveloped me completely. It was a warmth I had never felt before—a comforting, reassuring light that seemed to chase away the lingering doubts, replacing them with a quiet sense of peace. For the first time, I felt connected to something beyond myself, as though Oghma's presence was there, watching over me, guiding me.

I opened my eyes slowly, and as I did, the blank scroll in my hands began to glow. At first, the light was soft, barely visible in the dimness of the temple. But then it grew brighter, filling the entire room with a blinding radiance. The scroll seemed to hum with life, vibrating gently as the golden light pulsed from its surface.

I squinted, my breath catching in my throat as the glow intensified, becoming almost too bright to look at. It was as if the very essence of truth, of knowledge, was being drawn from the air around me, condensed into this single, sacred moment. My heart raced as I watched, my hands trembling slightly from the sheer weight of what was happening.

Then, just as quickly as the light had come, it began to fade. And in its place, Celestial script appeared on the scroll, its letters etched in shimmering gold. The High Loremaster stepped forward, his voice reverent and filled with awe as he read the words aloud:

"Ignotus Veritas." ("The Unknown Truth.")

The room fell into a profound silence as the name echoed through the library, its meaning settling deep within my heart. Ignotus Veritas. The Unknown Truth. My chest tightened as I tried to comprehend the gravity of what had just been revealed. This name—this purpose—was not something I had anticipated. It wasn't an answer, but rather a reminder that my journey would be filled with uncertainty, that I was being called to seek truths that had yet to be uncovered. Oghma had not chosen me for what I already knew, but for what I would come to discover.

It wasn't about what I had already achieved, or the favor I hadn't yet received. It was about the potential Oghma had seen in me—the potential to unravel the mysteries that others couldn't, to walk paths that others feared to tread. I was not chosen because I had all the answers, but because I was willing to search for them, no matter how difficult or dangerous the journey might be.

As the High Loremaster looked at me, his eyes filled with reverence and understanding, I felt the weight of the name settle on my shoulders. It wasn't a burden—it was a challenge. A challenge to become something greater than I had ever believed myself to be. A challenge to seek out the hidden knowledge, the truths that had been lost or buried, and to bring them into the light.

I knelt there, the golden letters of Ignotus Veritas still shimmering on the scroll before me, and I realized that, for the first time, I wasn't afraid. I didn't need to understand everything. I didn't need to have all the answers. All I needed was the will to keep searching, to keep pushing forward, to keep seeking the unknown truths that Oghma had called me to find.

With that realization, the last of my doubts fell away. Oghma had chosen me. I didn't know why, and perhaps I never would. But I would not fail him. I would walk this path, no matter where it led, and I would uncover the truths that had been hidden for too long.

The room remained silent, the air heavy with the divine presence that had just filled it. I rose slowly, the scroll still glowing faintly in my hands, and bowed my head before the symbol of Oghma. The journey ahead would be long and fraught with peril. But I knew, deep in my heart, that I would not face it alone.

The Grand Miracle

As the ceremony neared what should have been its peaceful conclusion, the air in the Great Library suddenly felt different—charged, as though the very atmosphere had shifted in anticipation. The quiet reverence that had filled the room moments before now held a strange tension, an unspoken expectancy. Something was about to happen.

I knelt before the High Loremaster, my heart still racing from the revelation of my religious name—Ignotus Veritas—and the weight of the truth it held. My body was steady, but my mind churned with everything I had seen and experienced. The final part of the ceremony was about to begin—the Blessing of Insight, Oghma's final gift to those who completed the Rite of Enlightenment.

The High Loremaster stepped forward, placing his hands gently on my forehead, his voice deep and filled with reverence as he began to invoke the blessing.

"In the name of Oghma, I call upon the Binder of Knowledge to bestow insight upon this one, to guide him in his pursuit of truth, to open his mind to the mysteries yet unseen."

But as his words echoed through the library, something unusual began to stir.

The scrolls that lined the walls rustled as though touched by a breeze—except no breeze was blowing. The air thickened, heavy with a presence I couldn't quite comprehend. A low hum, barely noticeable at first, began to vibrate through the room. It was subtle, but it grew louder with each passing second, until it filled the library with a deep, resonant sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

I glanced up at the elders surrounding me, and I could see the unease in their eyes. This was not part of the ceremony. This was something else. Something greater.

Without warning, a radiant light exploded from the symbol of Oghma above the altar—a quill and scroll etched in gold—and filled the entire library with blinding brilliance. It was as though the very essence of Oghma had descended into the room, flooding it with divine energy. The elders gasped, stumbling back as they shielded their eyes from the overwhelming radiance.

I felt the warmth of the light wash over me, enveloping my body in its brilliance. I had never felt anything like it before—pure, undiluted power coursing through me, lifting me from the ground as though I weighed nothing at all. I hovered in the center of the library, suspended in the radiant light of Oghma's presence, and for that moment, I was no longer in the world I had known.

Time seemed to stretch, and I was pulled into something far greater than myself. My mind opened to the infinite, as if the boundaries of reality had been torn away, and all that remained was knowledge—endless knowledge. I glimpsed the vastness of the universe, felt the threads of truth that connected every living being, every event, every idea. It was beautiful, terrifying, and overwhelming all at once.

I saw flashes of Thanir, standing atop a broken world, his wings outstretched as cities crumbled beneath him. I saw ancient tomes, buried deep within forgotten vaults, waiting to be uncovered. I saw distant realms where truths lay hidden, waiting for someone with the courage to bring them to light. I saw Alexion's face, twisted and transformed, yet still somehow recognizable. I saw the choices I would face, the paths that would open before me, each leading toward a different truth, a different destiny.

It was too much—too vast for any mortal mind to comprehend. The sheer magnitude of it nearly broke me. I wanted to close my eyes, to shut out the endless stream of knowledge that flooded my mind. But I couldn't. I was part of it now, connected to something far beyond myself.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the vision shifted. It became focused, narrowing down to one simple truth. A voice—soft, but clear and undeniable—spoke within me:

"Seek the unknown. Unravel what has been hidden."

The words echoed through my mind, reverberating with a power that made my entire body tremble. I didn't know where they had come from—whether it was Oghma himself speaking, or the universe guiding me toward my path. But I knew, without a doubt, that this was my purpose. Not because I had all the answers, but because I was meant to seek them, to uncover the truths that had been hidden for so long.

The light began to fade, its brilliance slowly dimming until the library returned to its usual dim glow. The elders stood frozen, their faces pale with shock and awe. The scrolls and books that had once rustled in the unseen breeze now lay still, but the energy in the room lingered—heavy, sacred, and unmistakably divine.

I lowered gently to the ground, my knees weak beneath me, but my mind... my mind had never been clearer. I was no longer just Aetherion, the uncertain acolyte who had doubted his worthiness. I had been touched by something far greater than myself—something that had revealed a glimpse of what was to come.

As the light faded completely, the High Loremaster stepped forward again, his face pale but reverent. His voice trembled with awe as he spoke.

"Never before... never before has Oghma revealed himself in such a way during the Rite of Enlightenment."

The elders murmured in agreement, their voices filled with a mix of fear and wonder. They had witnessed something unprecedented—something that had never happened in the temple's long history. Oghma had manifested, and he had done so for me.

I knelt there, my heart still racing from the experience, my mind filled with the echoes of the divine light that had flooded my soul. I felt humbled, but also... empowered. Oghma had shown me a glimpse of the truth I was meant to uncover, of the path I was meant to walk.

When the High Loremaster placed his hands on my head to deliver the final blessing, I no longer felt the weight of doubt or fear. My path, though filled with uncertainty, was clear. I was willing to seek what others could not. I would unravel the hidden truths, face the darkness that had claimed Alexion, and bring either redemption or justice.

As I rose from the ground, the warmth of Oghma's light still lingering in my chest, I knew that my journey had only just begun.

The Presentation of the Libram

The ceremony, though nearing its conclusion, still held its final and most personal moment—the presentation of the Libram of Knowledge. The High Loremaster stepped forward once more, his eyes filled with solemnity and respect, carrying the sacred Libram in both hands. Its cover gleamed softly in the temple's light, etched with golden markings that symbolized the eternal pursuit of truth.

I could feel the weight of tradition, of history, as I prepared to receive it. Every cleric of Oghma carried this book as their most sacred possession, a vessel for the knowledge they would uncover throughout their lifetime. It was more than just a book—it was a testament to their journey, a record of the truths they sought to protect and share with the world.

The High Loremaster held the Libram out to me, and for a moment, I hesitated, staring at it. The enormity of the moment washed over me again. This was the final act of my ordination, the moment I fully became a Loremaster of Oghma. As I took the Libram from his hands, a warmth spread through me—not unlike the warmth I had felt during the Grand Miracle, but softer, more personal. The book was light in my hands, yet I knew it carried the weight of a lifetime of service.

"Carry this with honor," the High Loremaster said, his voice quiet but powerful. "Within these pages, you will write the truths you uncover, the knowledge you safeguard, and the wisdom you share with the world. Let it be a reminder of your duty to Oghma, and to the light of truth."

I nodded, reverently cradling the Libram against my chest. This was my vow, my burden, and my privilege. I had been chosen to walk a path of uncertainty, to uncover truths hidden in shadow, and to confront the darkness that had taken Alexion—now Thanir.

As I stood there, holding the Libram, I felt a deep, unshakable sense of purpose. I may not have fully understood why Oghma had chosen me, but I knew my cause was just. The journey ahead would be difficult, filled with unknowns and trials I couldn't yet foresee, but I was ready. I had to be.

I whispered softly to myself, gripping the Libram tighter. "Oghma chose me. I may not know why, but I will not fail."

A Moment with My Grandfather

After the ceremony, I stepped outside the Great Library, the cool air of dawn washing over me. My thoughts were still racing from the enormity of what had just happened—the Grand Miracle, the Libram, and the weight of my mission. But as I looked ahead, I saw my grandfather waiting for me, standing near the temple's stone steps.

His face, though lined with age and grief, held a soft smile. He looked at me with pride that radiated from him in waves, and in that moment, I felt a deep sense of connection—a grounding force that brought me back from the divine intensity of the ceremony.

He stepped forward, his eyes misting over as he clasped my shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. "I watched the whole thing," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I've never seen anything like it in my life, Aetherion. Not once in all my years."

I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. "Oghma... he showed me things, Grandfather. I still don't fully understand it all, but I know my path. I know what I have to do."

My grandfather's eyes softened, and for a moment, he simply stood there, looking at me with a depth of love and pride that I hadn't seen in a long time. "Your parents," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Especially your father... they would be so proud of you."

The mention of my father brought tears to my eyes, and I swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "He... he saved me, Grandfather. In his final moments, he performed a miracle. He found his faith."

My grandfather smiled through his tears, nodding. "He did. I always believed he would, in his own way. And you... you've taken up the mantle, Aetherion. You're carrying forward what he began, but on your own terms. Oghma saw something in you, something that none of us could have predicted. And now you've been chosen for something far greater."

I felt the Libram in my hands, the weight of my duty pressing down on me again. But this time, it didn't feel so heavy. "I'll find Alexion," I said, my voice firm but filled with the emotion of the moment. "And if I can save him, I will. But if I can't... then I'll do what has to be done. For him. For all of us."

My grandfather nodded, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "You will. I believe in you, Aetherion. And so would your father. He would have been proud beyond words to see the man you've become."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I let them fall. My grandfather pulled me into a tight embrace, and for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to simply feel—to grieve, to hope, and to find strength in the love that still surrounded me.

As we stood there in the quiet of the morning, the path ahead felt clearer. I didn't know why Oghma had chosen me, but I knew that with my grandfather's support, my parents' memory, and the truth burning within me, I would not fail.

I would seek the unknown. I would bring justice or redemption. And I would make them proud.