Julian Arcadia Pahaliah V, honorary name Novinatus, stood silently. While this caused great unease in those around him, expecting some, any kind of engagement from him, it was due to his wandering thoughts. There were a number of core philosophic questions regarding the mechanisms of self-sustaining blood rune magic that weighed on his mind, along with the far less understandable question of what, exactly, his Wards were doing and thinking. He'd been speculating that they were operating more or less optimally, but considering that Alexander had questioned him about matters regarding other students - and specifically him, not one of his other teachers - he had to wonder if something was out of specifications.
Likely, it was just his paranoia.
Ordinator Johan Rome Netzach I and Vicar Isaac Constantine, leaders of the Angelic Order of Saint Michael and Demetrian Order of Battle-Priests respectively, swept into the chapel. The three of them, and what they represented, filled the church nearly as much as the light flowing in through its expanse of stained glass.
They both nodded at him as they passed up onto the dais behind the pulpit, and he nodded back at them.
"So, Julian," Ordinator Johan said. There was a certain majesty to him, visually - his silver hair was long enough to be swept back, though not long enough to fall below his chin. By Angelic standards, he was positively ancient, and the experience of being that old - 79, by Julian's reckoning, though the Ordinator didn't advertise that - as an Angel was mostly unprecedented. Angels died young without supreme effort and support systems, and whatever mechanisms allowed an Ordinator to persist were either kept unknown, or simply were not understood. After all, there had only been three of them so far - Ordinator Quintus, the leader of the first crop of successfully created Angels, Michael VII, shaper of most of the systems that Angels lived with today, who passed away shortly before Julian was born, and Johan Rome Netzach I, one of the last students of the failed Rome school of Angels.
"Yes. So, Julian," Vicar Isaac Constantine added. As the leader of the Demetrian Order of Battle-Priests, he commanded the legions that allowed the True Church to, at least historically, exist at all. It was they who stepped up in the course of the apocalypse, who understood how to work magic safely, and sacrificed themselves in order to keep a holy civilization going while the world was falling apart. And after the world stabilized, somewhat, they still passed over a hundred and fifty years in which they were the only force keeping mankind from falling into an abyss. It was they who initially created the Angels, before they became a self-ruling class within the True Church. And while they tried to act like the impartial observers, the ones that manned the ranks of the magically talented and organically grown clergy, the responsible adults in the room when the Angels failed to understand the finer nuances of theology, what they really wanted was to once again hold power over their wayward creations, the Angels. Rome had been their school, Arcadia the school of the Angelic Order of Saint Michael, and Oxford a compromise school in which their ideals could compete, a seemingly fair arrangement. Arcadia was the only one that remained, and what that said about their ideological conflict was still up for debate.
"Yes," Julian responded, nodding. That nod meant different things to the both of them, and he could deal with the specifics later. What mattered is that both of them saw what they expected in him.
"How is your research going?" the Vicar asked him. Julian could sense his disinterest, but understood why he was asking.
"Yes, how is it going?" the Ordinator asked - that was why. To lure out the Ordinator's response. Julian was used to playing the role of a political puppet. Any one of them could see that the Ordinator was invested in Julian's answer, and that in and of itself had political value.
Julian shrugged. A degree of humility - though only a degree - was useful in these interactions. It also gave him a heartbeat's worth of time to consider his answer. He could lie - talk about various things that were, certainly, epochal advances in the study of magic, but didn't touch on old wounds, but that was meaningless to him. Just satisfying their questions meant nothing to him. Whatever emotional satisfaction he desired had to be achieved through scratching his own itches, and he couldn't scratch an itch that didn't factually exist. And so, he told the truth.
"My research into temporal shims is proceeding apace," he said. He knew the words would mean little even to the two of them, ostensibly the most knowledgeable authorities on magic in the Empire of Christendom.
"Temporal shims?" The Ordinator asked.
"Intentional gaps in conscious experience intended to skip from one moment to another without creating a fatal disconnect from the physical realm," the Vicar said.
While Julian had created a space for the two of them to compete against each other, it also provided a space for Julian to evaluate the knowledge at their disposal. The Ordinator's question was legitimate - the concept of a "temporal shim", while linguistically independent from everyone other than Julian, was also clearly conceptually beyond the Ordinator. The Angelic Order of Saint Michael had not yet put together the obvious conclusions of his previous progress report, meaning that they were either not particularly focused on him (unlikely) or that they did not possess the necessary per-requisite knowledge (the necessary conclusion). Meaning that their high-end research was currently dealing with other issues. Julian's current working theory was that they were dealing in the creation of souls, or soul-simulacra, via the advancement of blood rune technology, but they would almost certainly hide such things, as it was both potentially heretical and extremely dangerous. Possibly to the fundamental nature of reality, but that really depended on the factual conditions that precluded the existence of the soul and magic in general.
It also meant, more menacingly, that the Demetrian Order had a deep enough understanding of magic, despite the obvious limitations, to keep up with Julian. Julian had suspected this, of course - Angels were bred and educated in order to create beings, specialized from birth, who could handle greater magical exertion and deviation from physical reality (conceptually) without causing enough deviation in physical reality itself to turn themselves into demons, blink out of existence, or create any number of other unpleasant consequences. But that was an idea that worked on averages - training humans from birth certainly raised the lowest bar of magical realization, but it was theoretically possible for someone without Angelic training to be immensely powerful and to have an elevated understanding of the nature of the soul, reality, and thus, magic. He still had not been able to find out just how long Isaac Constantine had been the Vicar of the Demetrian Order, but he suspected that whatever he'd accomplished had given him an extended lifespan and a greater understanding of magic than most Angels. Not like Julian could tell anyone, of course - these were secrets that he'd best keep to himself, lest other people find out that someone, anyone, knew them.
"Exactly," Julian said. "One of the fundamental limitations of magic is, of course, the necessary interaction between the physical and spiritual realms. While we do not understand how we exist in a purely spiritual sense-" Julian paused, and crossed himself more for affect than effect - "other than what is revealed to us through the holy texts, our contiguous existence as we are depends, fundamentally, on maintaining a mostly-constant link to the physical body." Julian, of course, knew that this was a lie. Or at least, part of a lie. While he suspected that the physical body was unnecessary, he had yet to put it into practice, and no one else had dared try. Even he was fearful enough of losing his conscious progression in the world to test the theory to its limits.
"Of course," the Ordinator said. He rolled his eyes. "Others have tried to maintain conscious connection through blood runes, once that was well-understood. And their understanding suggests a fundamental limit imposed by an external force that makes sure that the contiguous existence of the body - as we conceive it, of course - is necessary."
"The outside force being God, of course, correct?" The Vicar said. There was a surety in his voice that made the Ordinator second-guess himself.
"Yes," the Ordinator and Julian said at once.
"But they died," the Vicar said.
"Yes," the Ordinator confirmed.
The Vicar cocked his head. "Just, yes? No caveats?"
Ordinator Netzach I rolled his eyes. "I'm not among the unknowing. Between you, me, and Julian, we likely have the greatest understanding of magic and the soul that any human beings after the Garden have ever had. Unless someone's been conversing with God himself, we have no secrets between each other."
Julian knew this was incorrect. While he'd like to speak with God, who he suspected did, in fact, exist, not just as a metaphorical construct of moral certitude, he had not... but he was fairly certain that he knew more of magic than the Ordinator or the Vicar. He was not sure - but he suspected.
His experience in the Antarctic cemented that in his mind.
The Ordinator cocked his head. He was beautiful, considering his ancient body, shaped more by magic and self-definition than anything else, much like demons and monsters, but held coherent by the force of righteous piety that defined the heroes of the True Church. "I believe that we are approaching true answers, Julian."
"Yes?" The Vicar said, though his words were ignored.
Julian, eventually, nodded. "How so?" he asked.
The Ordinator looked, strangely, awkward. Julian was used to this. Since his accumulation of power and prestige had accelerated to its current levels, he'd grown accustomed to sources of authority revealing themselves as just as needy as the rest of them. There was still a tiny part of his mind that found it disconcerting, but the sheer weight of pain he'd experienced rendered it insignificant.
The Ordinator looked to the Vicar, and back to Julian, who nodded at him. As the two most powerful representatives of the Angelic Order of Saint Michael, it was up to them to reveal its secrets, and all present had just voted to do so.
"I've been thinking of arranging a Third Antarctic Expedition, Julian," the Ordinator said.
"Oh?" the Vicar said.
The two of them ignored him. While he could overhear them, he was not privy to this conversation, and did not count as a participant.
"Didn't the first two go poorly enough?" Julian said. He didn't particularly mind being the sole Angelic survivor of the second expedition, and by extension, the only Angel to survive either. But pouring lives, especially lives that took so much effort to create, into an endless pit, didn't sit well with him. Though he could imagine the goal.
The Ordinator took a deep breath, and exhaled while rolling his eyes performatively. "Just because the first two failed does not mean that a third would as well. You survived, after all. If we just assembled a few Angels of your caliber, we could establish a Nail in the Antarctic."
This was a striking proposition. Investigating the Antarctic further, making temporary bases, and doing tactical research, that was one thing. But a Nail? Evoking both the nails of the True Cross, and of the mental image of striking a nail into the fabric of reality, creating an immovable, solid point, Nails were unconquerable fortresses manned by some of the greatest Angels, placed deep in hostile territory to draw attention, and bleed the enemy dry with their consistent and utter failure to remove them. It was an honor of the highest order to be assigned to a Nail, and an even higher honor to die fighting to defend one.
And establishing one in the Antarctic would be a declaration of war to whatever lay hidden in the ice and snow.
The Vicar laughed. "Of his caliber? You'd have better luck finding subzero-viable staple crops."
"Oh, hush," the Ordinator said, dismissively. "He might be the best, but this is a matter of degree, not kind, surely."
"Surely," the Vicar said, sarcastically. Whatever mechanism drove the Demetrian Order, they'd grown skeptical of the Angelic Order in the past century since the fall of their school in Rome.
"It's possible," Julian said. "After all, why else would I be undergoing my Guardianship?"
"An island of safety when my esteemed college-" the Vicar nodded towards the Ordinator, "would rather throw you into a wood-chipper of men?"
The Ordinator looked uncharacteristically offended. "I wouldn't."
"Anyway," Julian said, "It is imperative that I continue my task here. While I appreciate your goals, and while I will continue my research, I am but one man. Without being able to replicate me, you, or perhaps your successors, will be limited in the scope of their magical research."
The Ordinator frowned. "While I would love to have more of you, Julian, I don't think that your circumstances are replicable."
Julian flinched. "Not directly, of course," he said. "But I'm growing to understand who and what I am. Just like Ordinator Quintus, the effects may be re-created without directly recreating the circumstances."
The Vicar smirked. "And if you fail, of course, the Demetrian Order will be there to pick up the pieces, as we always have."
"And I thank you for that," Julian said, with a little bow. The Demetrian Order never failed to infer their superiority. "But, Ordinator- may I assure you of something?"
The Ordinator looked confused. Something about what Julian was doing struck him as a reversal of the natural order of things, like he suddenly had the power in their interaction. Nonetheless, the Ordinator nodded. "Go ahead, Julian."
"By the end of my tenure as a Guardian, the next crop of Angels will be able to face the task of civilizing the world," Julian said.
"I would hope so," the Vicar said, his sharp features growing ever more sardonic. "Isn't that what you're all here for?"
The Ordinator, however, seemed to get Julian's meaning. Julian had a tendency to be exceedingly literal, and "the world", if he said it, likely meant the entirety of the planet. And civilizing that would be a triumph of triumphs for the Angelic Order of Saint Michael, and for the True Church.
"Consider my offer, and keep up the good work," the Ordinator said, and walked off, leaving the empty church just a little more so. Julian and the Vicar watched him leave in silence. No matter what Julian offered, no matter what he promised, to the Ordinator, there would always be an important question hanging over discussions of Julian's future: How would he choose to die? His strength would render any cause he devoted himself to an almost certain success, and if he found himself aimless when he finally succumbed to the forces of nature and magic, the consequences could be dire.
"He only sees you as a tool, you know," the Vicar said, once he was certain that the Ordinator's enhanced hearing couldn't pierce the veil of silence the Vicar laid over the two of them.
"Don't you?" Julian said.
The Vicar laughed. "Yes, but you know that. At least I'm honest with you, Julian. And isn't honesty a virtue?"
Julian smiled. He had to force himself to do so, but he knew that that's how he should respond to the Vicar's "joke". A laugh might be a bit much, and his fake laughs weren't very good, though he tried his best. "Did you just want to see what he wanted from me, or did you have something more to say?" Julian asked.
The Vicar held his tongue for a moment, considering before responding. "I didn't expect the Nail proposal." He put his hand on Julian's shoulder. "You know that I've seen your potential since you were a student. And you know that I only ask for loyalty. What do you think I'm here to offer you?"
Julian stared into the distance, past the wooden boards and steel beams of the church. The Vicar couldn't possibly know his heart. But in his ruthless, pragmatic understanding of the world, perhaps they could reach an understanding.
"Time," Julian said, after quite a bit of thought.
The Vicar laughed, a wheezing sort of sound, like his lungs had been burned once upon a time. "You're so direct, Julian. But yes."
"How so?"
The Vicar's grin could have cut glass. "Even Ordinators die. And someone will need to replace Johan when he does."
Julian frowned skeptically at him. "And you think that'll happen in my lifetime?"
"We can assure it," the Vicar said. "Through keeping you safe, of course."
The prospect of power on that scale was intriguing. He hadn't accounted for this possibility, and he would have to run through the various scenarios.
"So you want a loyal candidate for when succession comes into play?" Julian asked.
"Correct," the Vicar said. "Though I can see that you need to think on it. While Ordinator Johan has had the pleasure of psychologically analyzing thousands of Angels, his experience pales in comparison to mine. Maybe if you work more closely with me, I'll be able to explain further."
And with that, the Vicar left, the sun shining in through the stained glass windows of the church on Julian alone.
Frustratingly, both of them understood a fundamental part of Julian's mind.
He didn't leave questions unanswered.
And so, giving him open opportunities, mysteries without detail, and just leaving? That was an attack directly on him. Julian sat down in the first row of pews, and started the long process of brushing out his waist-length hair. Every little tangle and knot was an obstruction, like every conversation and machination designed to distract him from his goals. And he would brush them out, like all the rest.
They wanted answers?
Well, they would just have to wait.