Upstairs a wide open hall welcomed them, it was flodded with light although outside it was already past nightfall. The opening of the stairs was surrounded by a few dozen guards, while a man stood above them on an elevated level.

Both Jelendor and Warlin wanted to leap at the guards that had awaited them but saw that they inched away from the intruders. “Are you giving up?” Farlynna addressed Seerlon also noticing the withdrawing guards. “You should know better!” the voice of Seerlon was surprisingly thin, but his words well pronounced.

“This man,” she pointed at Ferlon, who tried to look fierce, but feared that decades in sanctum service had made him too much of an observer than a man who actually interferes. “has come to end your reign of terror.” Seerlon looked Ferlon up and down.

“His powers are grwater than yours!” she smirked adding a remark to her previous words. “Is that so?”

Ferlon studied the composure of the skinny man. The robes he wore were as simple as Farlynnas, hung on him as on a long pole. “You delivered this source of power and longevity to me!” he laughed. Irritated the three men turned their attention from the guards to Seerlon and to Farlynna.

“Yes father, I did.” she walked slowly to Seerlon, Farlon felt a sudden heavy pain deep inside him. “But he has to live!” in her pleeing voice was a note if desperation. Ferlon felt a building charge around the high priest, he summoned his powers to smite the intruders.

Two incandescent discharges sped towards Jelendor and Warlin, but began to hurl around the three in a vortex that stretched them, the discharges passed by the two men as long streaks of light, and disappeared at Ferlon. “You shouldn’t weave to destroy!” both Warlin and Jelendor felt a strong pull to the stairwell, pushing them down the stairs, immediately after them the walls of the staircase crumbled, burying them from Seerlons access. “Weavery isn’t about power, it is about your unity with the world that is allowing you to weave.” Ferlon had his eyes closed, his words were those once taught to him by Danarien.

Words all Albin weavers were taught.

At least those who still lived in unison with their surroundings.

“This!” Seerlon reached for the orb of the undying fire, “This allows me to weave how I please!” another discharge was fired at Ferlon, but intercepted by a similar discharge by Farlynna. “He must not die!”

Seerlon threw his daughter off of himself with a wave of his hand, slowly he turned to the orb. “It will grant me all the power” his eyes narrowed to mere slits, as Ferlons face appeared behind the orb. His eyes were open and glowed in an amethyst tone. “It needs to be guarded, not abused.” Seerlon stumbled backwards, he felt the powers of the orb fleeing his body, his natural powers were diminishing at the same time.

Weakened and disoriented the elderly man fell off of the podest lying still at its base, as life itself fled his body into the orb.