Brewyn's eyes never left Cal as he stood in the heavy silence, the weight of the unspoken hanging thick between them. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice measured, devoid of emotion but carrying an unmistakable edge.
"You don't need to know anything beyond what's necessary, Cal," Brewyn said, his tone firm. "Your role is to do what's required, not to question every detail. Don't look for answers where you have no right to seek them. This is bigger than you and me."
Cal's mind raced, but he held his tongue, his gut twisting with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and dread. The truth about the monastery, about the Church of Moar, was slipping through his fingers like sand. But something within him, perhaps a sliver of instinct, told him to hold back. For now, at least.
He nodded slowly, trying to suppress the flood of questions that clamored for attention. He didn't fully understand what Brewyn was saying, or why things had to be kept secret, but there was no denying the truth in the older man's words. He didn't have the luxury of prying.
"I understand," Cal said quietly, his voice steady, even as his thoughts swirled in disarray. "And... I'm grateful. Grateful that I'm useful enough to be separate from... that." He motioned vaguely toward the direction of the monastery's other inhabitants, his voice carrying an undercurrent of reluctant acceptance.
Brewyn's expression softened just a fraction, the faintest hint of approval crossing his face, but he didn't comment further. Instead, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod before turning away.
"Good," Brewyn said, his voice still calm, though there was a sharpness to it now, as if the matter was settled. "Keep it that way. The less you know, the safer you'll be." He gave a small shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Now, focus on the task ahead."
Brewyn's voice cut through the air once more, steady and purposeful.
"There's a wedding," he began, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more businesslike. "Two noble families from the kingdom are joining, and a Lord—one of our patrons—will attend. I'll be sending you there, with two of my Inquisitors. They'll reveal the specifics of the mission to you when the time comes."
Cal straightened, his curiosity piqued once more, though a sense of foreboding lingered at the edges of his mind. He nodded, silently agreeing to the task, though questions already began to pile up.
"Get as much experience as you can, Cal," Brewyn continued, his voice lowering with a gravitas that was impossible to ignore. "The world is a complicated place, and you need to understand it if you're going to be of any use to us. You'll be a strength for the Church—there's no turning back now."
Cal paused, a single question slipping out before he could stop it.
"What is the Church?" he asked, his voice betraying his confusion. "What is it really?"
Brewyn hesitated, just a fraction of a moment, before answering. The change in his expression was subtle, but it didn't escape Cal's notice.
"The Church you know," Brewyn said slowly, "the one that operates on the surface, that asks for offerings, that shapes the minds of the people—that's not what we're a part of. No, that's a facade. What we belong to, Cal, is something far more... intricate. Something hidden."
Cal felt a shiver run through him, the weight of Brewyn's words settling deep in his chest. He was afraid to ask more, but the questions burned nonetheless.
"What... what part of the Church are we in?" Cal asked, his voice barely above a whisper, like the very words held weight beyond his comprehension.
Brewyn's eyes darkened, the faintest flicker of something almost paternal crossing his features, but there was no warmth behind it. "We," he said, his voice low, "are part of the true backbone of the Church. The Sons of Moar. Known also as The Sons."
Cal's mind reeled with the new information. The Sons of Moar. A name he had never heard before, but one that carried a promise of something much darker. Brewyn's voice remained calm as he spoke, but there was no denying the power behind his words.
"Our purpose," Brewyn continued, his expression growing even more serious, "is to protect the Church and its influence, to strengthen it. To make sure that it survives, no matter what."
Cal swallowed, trying to digest what he was hearing, but another question slipped out almost involuntarily.
"For what?" he asked, his voice strained. "What's the end goal? What's the real purpose?"
Brewyn's lips curled into a faint, fatherly smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He didn't answer, merely patting Cal on the shoulder in a way that felt more like a finality than reassurance.
"Not yet, Cal," Brewyn said gently, but his voice was final. "You'll understand when the time comes. But for now, focus. We don't have time for distractions. The Inquisitors will be on their way soon. You need to get to the stables."
With that, he turned and began to walk toward the door, not waiting for any further response. Cal stood there, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd just learned, but as Brewyn disappeared from the room, Cal knew one thing for certain—his life was no longer his own.
The monastery, the Church, the power in his hands—it all had a purpose, one far greater than he could have imagined. And now, as he made his way toward the stables to meet the Inquisitors, Cal realized that whatever lay ahead, he would have to walk it without looking back.