The council chamber of Adala’s Great Basilica was a sanctified place, where decisions were made under the gaze of their pantheon, represented in vivid stained glass that caught the sunlight streaming through the high windows. Bartholomew stood at the center, the long shadows of the depictions dancing across his finely tailored robes. The leaders of Adala sat in a semi-circle before him, their ceremonial attire emphasizing their deep commitment to their gods and their people.
Adala was a theocracy to its core, and Bartholomew knew this negotiation would not be about land, coin, or armies. It would hinge on faith—and the acceptance of Marcus Aumont, the ruler of Espada, as their destined leader under their divine principles.
With a deep bow, Bartholomew began. “Honored councilors and esteemed high priests, I come to you bearing a message of partnership and unity. Espada recognizes the strength of Adala, not only in its people and traditions but in its unwavering faith. It is for this reason that King Marcus Aumont, the chosen of the divine, seeks to bring your great city under the protective mantle of Espada. Not as conquerors, but as brothers and sisters united in purpose.”
The High Speaker of the council, an elderly man with sharp eyes and a weathered face, leaned forward. “Bartholomew of Espada, Adala has endured for centuries, guided by the light of our gods. To submit to a mortal king, no matter how noble, is to forsake the divine order that has sustained us. Tell me, why should we believe your Marcus Aumont is more than a man? What proof do you offer of his divine mandate?”
Bartholomew clasped his hands behind his back, his voice steady and reverent. “King Marcus Aumont is no ordinary king. He is the chosen instrument of the God-Machine, the force that turns the wheels of destiny and guides us toward enlightenment and order. He does not seek to replace your gods but to fulfill their purpose through his rule. It is not submission we ask for, but partnership—a sacred bond that will see Adala flourish.”
A murmur spread through the council. Some of the priests exchanged wary glances, while others appeared intrigued. The High Speaker raised a hand to silence them. “You speak of fulfillment, yet your words echo ambition. Faith cannot be bartered, envoy. If Marcus truly carries the blessing of the divine, then let him prove it here, before us.”
Bartholomew nodded, as if expecting the challenge. From within his robes, he produced a relic—a shimmering crystal, its surface etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly in the ambient light. He held it aloft, his voice resonant with authority.
“This crystal carries the blessing of Marcus Aumont, the manifestation of his divine will. Through it, his voice speaks to those who would hear, his truth revealed to those with the faith to accept it.”
As the chamber fell into hushed anticipation, Bartholomew closed his eyes and focused on the relic. A low hum filled the air, and the light from the stained glass seemed to refract unnaturally, casting swirling patterns around the room. A deep, commanding voice echoed through the chamber—not from Bartholomew, but from the relic itself.
“I am Marcus Aumont, the one chosen to guide this age to its ordained glory. Through my rule, your gods shall know completion, their will aligned with the great design. Stand with Espada, and your faith will stand eternal. Reject me, and you reject their divine plan.”
The leaders froze, their faces a mix of awe and fear. Even the High Speaker seemed shaken, his voice faltering as he spoke. “This… power. Is it truly of the divine?”
Bartholomew lowered the relic, his voice softening. “The God-Machine does not demand blind obedience, but faith tested and proven. What you have heard is but a fragment of Marcus Aumont’s divinity. Under his leadership, Adala will remain a beacon of faith, its traditions honored and strengthened. The temples will stand, the priesthood will flourish, and your gods will guide your people through him.”
One of the younger priests, her eyes wide with wonder, rose to her feet. “If we accept, what does Adala gain from this alliance?”
Bartholomew smiled gently. “You gain the strength of Espada, a kingdom unified in faith and purpose. Your lands will be protected, your people enriched, and your faith elevated to heights unimaginable. In Marcus Aumont, you will find not just a king, but the hand of the divine working through a mortal vessel.”
The High Speaker nodded slowly, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “We will deliberate. But know this, envoy—if what you say is true, and Marcus Aumont is indeed the instrument of the divine, Adala will not merely follow. We will devote ourselves to him.”
Bartholomew bowed deeply. “May your deliberations be guided by wisdom and faith, honorable councilors. I await your answer.”
As he turned to leave the chamber, the light of the stained glass reflected off the relic in his hands, casting a faint but unmistakable image of a great wheel turning—a symbol that did not go unnoticed by the councilors. The seeds of belief had been sown, and Bartholomew knew that soon, Adala would embrace their place in Espada’s divine design.
Adala was a theocracy to its core, and Bartholomew knew this negotiation would not be about land, coin, or armies. It would hinge on faith—and the acceptance of Marcus Aumont, the ruler of Espada, as their destined leader under their divine principles.
With a deep bow, Bartholomew began. “Honored councilors and esteemed high priests, I come to you bearing a message of partnership and unity. Espada recognizes the strength of Adala, not only in its people and traditions but in its unwavering faith. It is for this reason that King Marcus Aumont, the chosen of the divine, seeks to bring your great city under the protective mantle of Espada. Not as conquerors, but as brothers and sisters united in purpose.”
The High Speaker of the council, an elderly man with sharp eyes and a weathered face, leaned forward. “Bartholomew of Espada, Adala has endured for centuries, guided by the light of our gods. To submit to a mortal king, no matter how noble, is to forsake the divine order that has sustained us. Tell me, why should we believe your Marcus Aumont is more than a man? What proof do you offer of his divine mandate?”
Bartholomew clasped his hands behind his back, his voice steady and reverent. “King Marcus Aumont is no ordinary king. He is the chosen instrument of the God-Machine, the force that turns the wheels of destiny and guides us toward enlightenment and order. He does not seek to replace your gods but to fulfill their purpose through his rule. It is not submission we ask for, but partnership—a sacred bond that will see Adala flourish.”
A murmur spread through the council. Some of the priests exchanged wary glances, while others appeared intrigued. The High Speaker raised a hand to silence them. “You speak of fulfillment, yet your words echo ambition. Faith cannot be bartered, envoy. If Marcus truly carries the blessing of the divine, then let him prove it here, before us.”
Bartholomew nodded, as if expecting the challenge. From within his robes, he produced a relic—a shimmering crystal, its surface etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly in the ambient light. He held it aloft, his voice resonant with authority.
“This crystal carries the blessing of Marcus Aumont, the manifestation of his divine will. Through it, his voice speaks to those who would hear, his truth revealed to those with the faith to accept it.”
As the chamber fell into hushed anticipation, Bartholomew closed his eyes and focused on the relic. A low hum filled the air, and the light from the stained glass seemed to refract unnaturally, casting swirling patterns around the room. A deep, commanding voice echoed through the chamber—not from Bartholomew, but from the relic itself.
“I am Marcus Aumont, the one chosen to guide this age to its ordained glory. Through my rule, your gods shall know completion, their will aligned with the great design. Stand with Espada, and your faith will stand eternal. Reject me, and you reject their divine plan.”
The leaders froze, their faces a mix of awe and fear. Even the High Speaker seemed shaken, his voice faltering as he spoke. “This… power. Is it truly of the divine?”
Bartholomew lowered the relic, his voice softening. “The God-Machine does not demand blind obedience, but faith tested and proven. What you have heard is but a fragment of Marcus Aumont’s divinity. Under his leadership, Adala will remain a beacon of faith, its traditions honored and strengthened. The temples will stand, the priesthood will flourish, and your gods will guide your people through him.”
One of the younger priests, her eyes wide with wonder, rose to her feet. “If we accept, what does Adala gain from this alliance?”
Bartholomew smiled gently. “You gain the strength of Espada, a kingdom unified in faith and purpose. Your lands will be protected, your people enriched, and your faith elevated to heights unimaginable. In Marcus Aumont, you will find not just a king, but the hand of the divine working through a mortal vessel.”
The High Speaker nodded slowly, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “We will deliberate. But know this, envoy—if what you say is true, and Marcus Aumont is indeed the instrument of the divine, Adala will not merely follow. We will devote ourselves to him.”
Bartholomew bowed deeply. “May your deliberations be guided by wisdom and faith, honorable councilors. I await your answer.”
As he turned to leave the chamber, the light of the stained glass reflected off the relic in his hands, casting a faint but unmistakable image of a great wheel turning—a symbol that did not go unnoticed by the councilors. The seeds of belief had been sown, and Bartholomew knew that soon, Adala would embrace their place in Espada’s divine design.
