Contrary to expectations, Deimar said nothing. Instead, he kneeled down; there, sitting mostly unnoticed throughout the awards ceremony, rested a small box covered in a black cloth bearing the symbol of the Arcanum.
Holding it from both sides, Deimar approached the podium and held the box out toward Eximium. Without being prompted, Prophet Adria retrieved a similar box. It was thinner and longer, but draped in an identical cloth. The two stood behind either shoulder of Eximium, who smiled and placed his hands on the podium once again. The magister cleared his throat, adopting a more somber tone as he addressed the crowd once again.
"Five centuries ago today, the Vis guided our ancestors to this lost bastion. Always before, Castus had sheltered us, his boundless mercy sparing our predecessors from catastrophe. For such benevolence and for the gifts that the Viskar bestowed upon us, they asked only that those gifts never be allowed to rule our hearts. However, as recounted in
Natalis Viskar, in complacency, the Vis took their gifts for granted, and by extension so, too, did the people.
"The Viskar guides us still, those of us who hear His voice, His mercy still comforting us in times of need, but no longer would we be sheltered from all danger. So, we grew fearful, we grew desperate. In fear, slings were thrown. In desperation, arrows loosed. In greed, swords were drawn. Even in a world where the greatest enemy had been the planet itself, conflict broke out among the survivors, again and again.
"None can say who it was that first broke the bond of trust between the Viskar and the Vis. The records do not give answer." Eximium looked out across the crowd, his solemn tone having quieted the revelry. "However, we throughout history the continued misuse of the gifts of the Viskar. The gift of tongues, used to beguile. The gift of wings, used to isolate. The gift of fervor, used to incite war.
"Yet, are we not thinking, rational beings? Are we not possessed of clarity, capable of seeing errors and correcting them? The Cursus Wars, the Battle of Occidens, the Assault of Red Hill, the March of the North... as dark and terrible as each was, we thankfully leave them in the past. For many years now, we have enjoyed peace and prosperity the likes of which I imagine our ancestors once enjoyed. A peace and prosperity that we, all of us, hope to preserve!"
Magister Eximium gestured to the two prophets by his side. From behind them, Vexus strode forward, pinching the corner of each cloth. With a flourish, he yanked the covers from the boxes. The more squared box on the left was carved of a delicate rosewood. The longer box on the right was of pale ash. In unison, Adria and Deimar opened their respective boxes. Deimar's held an item so small as to barely be visible to the crowd -- and as if in answer to that, the image on the grandis speculae around the square and throughout Terminus zoomed in close, revealing a blue-sided metallic pen. Adria's box, meanwhile, held a silver scroll, capped in copper.
"As a lasting symbol of this prosperity, you see before you the
Pactum Quingenti. All of the great leaders of Araevis have contributed to its creation. The treaty itself is capped in dahlitium, mined in the city of Cursus. From the city of Astrum in Boreas, bigatium pulveris fashioned into parchment. Auritium extracted from both the north and south faces of the Denuntiares makes the tip of the pen. The ink is composed of pure vitatium from beneath the royal city of Pelagia. The casing of the pen is cast from the caelitium of the Specula Sorcere itself!"
Eximium paused for effect. "The
Pactum Quingenti has already been on a lengthy journey, crossing the world over. The treaty calls for lasting peace between all countries. No threats of violence mar its surface. Already, it has been brought before the leaders of Araevis!" Eximium reverently lifted the caelitium pen from the box, holding it up for the crowd. "With this very pen, it has already been signed again and again." On cue, Adria unfurled the silvery scroll. The treaty was covered in densely-packed writing, but she opened only the bottom portion, where signatures had indeed been etched into the unique materials, glimmering with a green tint.
The magister began reading off the names. "Emperor Thadal Neptunum et Pelagius!"
"King Valen Septen of Excelsus!
"Queen Lucida Fortuna of Prendere!
"Decurio Virens of Zephii, Decurio Audacia of Lignum, and Decurio Polus of Astrum!
"The four Modii of the Demvir: Abiciere est Nil of Terminus, Sonos vei Causa of Cursus, Cines de Excol of Eleutheria, and Duros Veteribus of Eruditio!" Those nearest the front could see that there were many other signatures as well. The magister had focused only on the best-known.
"Only one signature remains to be added, one which will pledge the full support of the Arcanum, to the future, and to peace." Eximium's smile spread once again, full of bright hope for what the treaty might bring. Though it was true that no war had broken out in recent years, the relations between the various countries were often tenuous. Growing encroachment of corrupted beings also served to raise tensions, especially in eastern Secare.
Parts of the crowd began cheering once the magister paused, while others remained respectfully silent.
"Harper," Eximium suddenly called out. "I would like to give you the honor of holding the treaty for this occasion." With a look of shock, the man rushed over, accepting the scroll from Adria with shaking hands. The three prophets retreated back to their original positions, taking the boxes with him. "Right over here, son," Eximium urged, having Harper stand right in the center of the image on the screens, facing the crowds.
Eximium smiled kindly at the laicar, turning to hold up the glimmering pen once again. "With this signature, I usher in a new era, blessed by Castus and the support of all people." Eximium turned his back to the crowd, facing the treaty. A cheer rose up again as the magister lowered the pen toward the metallic paper.
Once the tip of the pen touched the treaty, there was a sudden flash of light.
The sound of an explosion was almost completely muffled by the roar of the crowd, but there was no hiding the splash of red from the magister's back. The old man stumbled backward, knocking over the podium as he fell at the edge of the platform. The magister's head lolled backward over the edge, hanging upside down, a glassy stare meeting the nearest onlookers.
The shattered remains of the pen rolled from his hand, vitatium ink spilling across the stage, and in shock, Harper dropped the treaty, landing face-down atop the pooling ink.
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