Chapter Text
The first time Crick saw Temenos, they were both very young.
He and his parents had been drawing the attention of the local law enforcement in their hometown, and had decided to take an extended leave to the sleepy town of Flamechurch. Crick had taken to wandering the town, and had discovered some places that his friends back home would have enjoyed.
His favorite spot was the sheep pastures. The ewes were calm enough to let him play with their lambs, and he would spend hours running and chasing with them and stroking their velvety wool.
And, of course, it was the place where he first met Temenos.
There was a single tree with big, leafy branches in the sheep pastures, and everyone, including Crick, would congregate there during the hot midday hours.
One morning, however, Crick spotted someone under the tree that he’d never seen before. Another child, a few years older than him, was reading a book out loud to a lamb that was sitting in his lap. He had silver hair and was wearing a long teal shirt. “That’s odd,” Crick thought, “I’ve never met someone with silver hair before.”
He walked up to the boy. “Why are you all alone and depressed?” He asked loudly. He had a way with words. The boy looked up from his book. He blinked at Crick. “I like being alone.” He said plainly.
Crick blinked back.
“Do you want to play with me?” He asked. The boy looked at his book, then the lamb on his lap, then at Crick again. “Sure!” He said, scooping up the lamb in his arms. The little creature didn’t seem to mind.
Crick picked up a small branch that had fallen off the tree. The silver-haired boy picked one up too. “We can play knights! Do you wanna be the princess or the knight?”
“I wanna be the knight! I could go all whoosh boom pow to the monsters!” Crick exclaimed, swinging his branch. The other boy beamed.
“That’s okay! I’ll be the princess! The sheep can be the monsters you save me from, but you can’t really hit them with a sword. You gotta be nice.” He petted his lamb’s ear, and it bleated contentedly. “My name’s Crick,” Crick said, sticking out his hand. “What’s yours?”
“Temenos.” The boy said, shaking it vigorously.
From then on, Crick would meet Temenos every day in the sheep pastures. They would often explore beyond there though, and found their way into every nook and cranny of the town.
Crick’s parents were still wanted because of their shifty market deals and occasional thievery, so the family stayed hidden in Flamechurch for multiple years. His friendship with Temenos grew stronger and stronger, until the two were completely inseparable.
One day, a few years after their meeting, they were exploring the hill up to the cathedral, and even though they’d been up there dozens of times, Crick still got a little thrill when he saw the beautiful building.
Temenos was ten now, and Crick was eight. Crick had begun training with a sword to become the knight he’d always dreamed of being, and Temenos had begun the classes required to be a cleric.
“Will you ever have to go?” Temenos asked. Crick shook his head. “I hope not. I want to stay here forever!” He skipped along the path, while Temenos climbed up on the wall-like cliff and walked on it like a balance beam.
“Suddenly, he stopped walking.” “What’s wrong?” Crick asked, looking up at him.
Temenos grinned. “I just had an idea! When we grow up, we should get married! Then we can be friends forever!”
Crick looked at his brilliant friend in awe. “That’s a great idea!” He said.
Temenos crouched down and extended his pinkie finger. “Then let’s make it a promise!”
Crick curled his pinkie with Temenos’s. “I promise.” He said happily.
Just then, they heard a rustling from the trees further down the path. Temenos stood up. Then, as if from nowhere, a terrifying birdian burst out from the bushes.
The children both screamed. Crick drew his wooden practice sword. “I’ll protect you, Temmy!” “Run, Crick!” Temenos screamed, covering his head.
The birdian grabbed Crick’s sword with its talons and threw it into the undergrowth. Crick looked where it had landed, then at the birdian. It was about to swoop Temenos! Crick shook his head, the sword didn’t matter. He ran toward Temenos, who had scurried down the path to get away from the monster.
He wasn’t fast enough.
The birdian descended on Temenos. He screamed and covered his face with his hands. With no other options, Crick threw a rock at the monster. It was thrown slightly off course, just enough to miss Temenos’s head. Unforunantly… it his his side, knocking him off the stone cliff.
Everything became slow-motion. Crick stood helpless and frozen in place as he watched his friend fall.
Temenos hit the ground hard. And Crick heard a sickening hollow sound. He rushed over to his friend, as fast as his little legs could take him. Temenos’s head had hit a rock on the road, and he was unconscious.
Crick knelt down next to him and tried to shake him awake. Nothing was working. “But he’s still breathing!” Crick said to himself. “He’s gonna be okay!”
Crick had forgotten about the birdian. When he heard the rustling of feathers, he looked up. It had turned around and was about to swoop him too! That was the last thing Crick saw, and then it all went black.
“Why were children on the pilgrim’s path alone?”
“They should have asked a knight or cleric to accompany them.”
“I always said, we ought to put candles of the sacred flame on the path to ward off monsters.”
“This is our own failing, we as a village need to keep track of our children.”
“Look, I think one of them is waking up.”
It was bright when Crick opened his eyes. Too bright. It felt like the light was passing straight through his eyes and into his brain. He blinked a few times, and the pain subsided.
“Is Temmy okay?” He croaked. He looked around. It looked like he and Temenos had been taken up to the cathedral by a cleric. A crowd of priests and townspeople were all around them.
One of the clerics nervously met his eyes. “His breathing is steady, but it looks like he’ll be unconscious for a while…” “What else?” Crick asked. He knew something was wrong, he could see it on the cleric’s face.
“Well…” the cleric said, seemingly unable to finish his sentence. Another finished it for him.
“It seems that he’s lost most of his memories.”
“What? Why? How?!” Crick exclaimed. “When he hit his head on that rock… it was a bad injury, child.”
Crick couldn’t think. “…What does that mean? Will he have to relearn the rules to our game…?” The cleric put a hand on Crick’s shoulder. “In all likelihood… he won’t remember you.”
Crick froze. He wasn’t sure how long he was frozen. He couldn’t see through the tears. A townsperson brought him back to his house, while the clerics tended to Temenos back at the cathedral.
Once his parents got home from whatever they did all day, they had some news.
“Crick, we have to move to another town.” His mother said.
“Okay.” Crick nodded. His best friend was all but a stranger now. He had no reason to stay. His parents looked surprised, like they hadn’t expected him to agree without a fight.
“Okay. Start packing your things, we leave in two days.” His father said. His parents left him alone to pack.
Sure enough, they left two days later. Temenos hadn’t woken up yet. Crick couldn’t say goodbye, even if Temenos wouldn’t know who Crick was.
The years passed. Crick’s family hopped around from town to town, constantly evading the law. His parents lost more and more prestige, and were getting more and more desperate to make their son like them: a dirty, cheating thief and a liar.
He grew to resent his parents, and distanced himself as far as he could from them, even while living under the same roof. He threw himself into his knight training. It hurt, though. Every swing of this sword made him think that if he was a little bit faster… he could have saved Temenos.
Crick shook his head. “We would have left anyway. What good would it have done?” He didn’t believe his own words at all. “What are you talking about?”
Crick turned away from the dummy he had been fighting. His friend, Ort, was walking down the path. They were both training to be knights, nothing special, just guards for whatever noble needed one.
“Nothing, Ort.” Crick said. Ort shrugged. “Spar with me?” He asked. Crick nodded. After an hour or so of sparring, Crick saw another figure walking down the path. He looked like… the inquisitor?
Indeed, the church’s inquisitor Roi was stumbling down the dusty path. He was carrying a large, oddly shaped bag that appeared to be quite heavy. The knights' training grounds were quite a ways away from the town, and he looked thirsty.
“Good afternoon, sir! Could we offer you some water?” Crick asked, saluting the man as he approached. “Yes, thank you.” Roi said. Ort brought over a canteen, and Roi took a long swig.
“Thank you.” He said after. “I can see that you and your friend have a good flame burning inside you.” He picked up his bag, which he had set on the ground for a moment. “I have an important errand to attend to. Farewell, kind knights.”
Crick looked at Ort. “‘A good flame’?” “What does that mean?” Ort asked.
“If the inquisitor thinks we’re good… Wait, aren’t there knights who specifically serve the flame?” Ort’s face lit up. “Yes! The Sacred Guard! Are you… thinking the same thing I am?” “I think I might.” Crick said.
The two chattered about this new idea for hours, as the sun sank lower and they walked back to their homes. “I think it could be worth a try. Ort said when they arrived at the town.” “It is decided, then!” Crick said, more excited than he’d been in years. “We will join the Sacred Guard!”
Easier said than done.
The Sacred Guard expected more out of their knights than Crick and Ort had ever thought. Eventually, through months and years of hard, disciplined practice, the two friends rose through the ranks. And that’s when the idea occurred to them. What if they could move forward to become Sanctum Knights, one of the most difficult ranks to obtain in Solisitia? It seemed worth a try.
Crick trained for hours and hours every day. Now, the memories of his dear childhood friend were all but faded away. He could swing his sword without thinking about someone who didn’t even remember him. That was good… Right?
Then it arrived. The day of the test. “Tell me, Crick,” Captain Kaldena said, “Why do you wield your sword?” Crick had no answer, and Ort didn’t either.
“Never mind. It’ll be apparent by the end of this duel.” After only a minute of sparring, Kaldena said, “I find your swordsmanship lacking, Crick.”
“Wha—“ Crick had held his own against the leader of the Sanctum Knights! What could possibly be lacking? “On the authority of the Thunderblade, I pronounce you both Sanctum Knights. You will receive your assignments in the morning.” Crick and Ort were left alone, baffled.
The next morning, Kaldena summoned them both to her office. “Ort Edgeworth. You are to serve as my bodyguard.” She said, looking at Ort, who was mostly surprised. “And Crick Wellsley…” She said, turning to Crick, “You will take up a post in Flamechurch and assist pilgrims on their way to the Cathedral.
Crick froze. “Flamechurch?” He asked quietly. “Yes, the very same,” Kaldena snapped, “Is there a problem?” “No, no problems.” Crick said.
“What if he’s there?”
“What if he isn’t?”
Thoughts swirled and writhed in Crick’s head all the way to Flamechurch. His thoughts were cut short, however, when he entered the town and heard shouting.
A group of heretics were attacking a cleric!
“Oh dear, it seems I’ve been taken hostage.” The cleric said. “Is he not fazed at all?” Crick wondered.
He quickly handled the situation. “A Sanctum Knight?!” One of the heretics exclaimed as he got between them and the cleric. “Newly anointed, but yes!” Crick said. “Thank you for the assist, dear Godsblade, but I can handle this.”
The cleric held out his staff and muttered something to the gods. A flash of light descended from the heavens, and struck the air between the cleric and his attackers.“Tch!” The one who seemed to be the leader said. He waved to his comrades, and they all ran away.
“Are you all right?” Crick asked. “Quite alright.” The cleric said. “Silver hair…” Crick thought. “Haven’t seen that in a while.”
“Wait… that staff… are you the Inquisitor?!” Crick exclaimed. This didn’t look like Roi… had he died?
“Indeed. Inquisitor Temenos, at your service.” Crick felt his heart drop to his feet. “Temenos…?”
Crick didn’t know what to do, or even what to think. Should he hug him? Ignore him? It wasn’t as if he remembered Crick at all… or at least that’s what the cleric said would happen so long ago. Maybe it wasn’t the case!
“I am Crick Wellsley.” Crick said, waiting to see if Temenos would react. He didn’t. His chest ached. His eyes were watering.
“W-well, I must be on my way to the cathedral!” He said, walking in the first direction he saw.
“Aren’t you heading the wrong direction, then?” Temenos asked. Crick froze. It had been so long since he’d been here, he’d almost forgotten. “Y-yes, well…” He stuttered.
“Fear not, my wayward lamb. I shall guide you to the cathedral.” Temenos said, raising his staff.
**************************
“What are you going to do now?” Crick asked. He could tell that the Pontiff’s death still weighed very heavily on Temenos, just as it did for him.
“I suppose I ought to follow his clue.” Temenos said, holding up the book. Crick still couldn’t believe he had kept it.
He was about to speak, when Deputy Cubaryi came up to him. “You’ve been reassigned, Crick. It’s effective immediately.”
“Ah.. I see…” Crick said. He had to admit, that was a little bit suspicious. He looked back at Temenos, who had, thankfully, hidden the book.
“Farewell, Crick.” He said calmly. Crick smiled.
“Till we meet again, Temenos.”
**************************
Crick had been reassigned to the town of Canalbrine, all the way in the Harborlands. He, along with some others from the Sacred Guard, were there to investigate a string of murders. Someone else was there too.
“Temenos?” He asked, seeing the all-too-familiar silver-haired inquisitor. “Ah, my dear Crick. I suppose you’re here for the same reason I am?” “Y-yes…” Crick said. It looked like they would be working together again.
Temenos, as clever as always, deduced the reversed-prayer nature of the murders, and predicted and saved the next victim, a dancer named Hermes.
“He really shines even brighter than he ever did before…” Crick thought.
After overpowering the murderer, Vados the architect, in the Sacred Guard’s boat, Crick found Temenos pouring over the notes they had found in Lucian’s house. “We have taken Vados into custody. Would you like to come interrogate him in Stormhail?”
“I would be honored. But I now have another trail to follow. One leads to Vados, and the other…” “Yes?” Crick prompted. “…A place called the Fellsun Ruins, mentioned time and time again in these notes.”
“Well…” Crick said, “Whichever you choose to take first, I will be waiting for you at the Sacred Guard headquarters.”
“Farewell, Crick.” Temenos said, closing the book. Crick never got tired of hearing Temenos say that.
**************************
“I’m late I’m late I’m late!!” Crick exclaimed, almost choking on the toast he’d crammed in his mouth. He dashed across the central square, over to the Sacred Guard headquarters.
“I wonder if I’ll see Temenos today…” He thought. It was a foolish notion. It had barely been a week, and surely Temenos was busy. But he missed seeing his smile… the way his eyes lit up when he put together all the pieces of the puzzle. Crick shook his head.
“He doesn’t think of me that way.” He mentally chided himself. “He barely even knows me…” Crick ran up the stairs and— WHAM!
“Ah! My sincerest apologies—“ Crick looked at who he was addressing, and lo and behold, it was none other than Temenos.
“Temenos!” He exclaimed. Temenos rubbed his head. “Good to see you again, little lamb. I just wasn’t expecting our reunion to be so forceful.”
“Are you here to see Vados?” Crick asked, helping the disoriented inquisitor back on his feet. “Indeed I am. Would you care to accompany me?” Crick nodded.
The two made their way inside, where there, for reasons Crick couldn’t begin to figure out, was no record of Vados ever having been brought to the headquarters.
After leaving the building, though, Temenos shared a startling theory. “It must have been one of the Sacred Guard’s own who did this.” Temenos said it, as if it were a fact.
“No, that’s impossible…” Crick said. Temenos raised an eyebrow.
“Then perhaps we should split up to look for clues. To cover more ground.” Crick agreed, with the strange feeling that he’d done something wrong.
Later, Crick met up with Temenos again, who was investigating what appeared to be a trail of blood. Then, at the same time, a dark cloaked figure approached Temenos and tried to attack him! Crick fought the attacker off, and they ran away into the darkness.
“Are you alright, Temenos?” Crick asked. “Quite. Thank you for the assist, little lamb.” Crick blushed at the nickname. Had he blushed at it before? He couldn’t remember.
After following the trail of blood, the two were met with a disturbing sight. Vados’s corpse, in the snow. “It is all but proven. The Sacred Guard killed Vados.” Temenos said solemnly.
Crick’s breathing was getting quicker and quicker. The Sacred Guard… he’d believed in them, in himself… for years. They had been the very definition of virtue and righteousness in his eyes!
“How could they do something like this? Is there anything to believe in anymore?”
“That, you must find out for yourself. Though I must warn you: very few things are worthy of your faith.” Temenos said sadly.
“You must continue your investigations. Maybe there's something we missed!” Crick said as his last resort.
“Perhaps tomorrow, little lamb. Goodnight.” Temenos said, a twinge of sadness in his voice.
Crick bade him goodnight, but instead of going home, he went back to the Sacred Guard headquarters.
“I can investigate myself!” He said to himself, looking around. “Anything suspicious…” He wondered.
While feeling around the walls, there was one brick in a corner that felt loose. He wiggled it around, and it pushed in. To his surprise, there was a creaking sound, and the wall started receding!
It was… a doorway, with stairs depending into the darkness.
Crick gulped. There was no turning back now.
He walked down the stairs into the darkness, wishing he'd brought a light. After endless minutes of blindly climbing, his face hit something hard.
“A door?” Crick said to himself. He felt around the surface until his fingers closed around a doorknob. Bingo.
The door creaked as it opened into a dimly lit basement with a few book stacks. Crick looked around, but it didn’t look like anyone was there. He took a book and flipped it open. “…For the light shall fade…” He said, reading from one of the yellowed pages.
A smile spears across his face. This had to be what Temenos was looking for. Crick could see it now, the curiosity sparkling in the inquisitor’s eyes… Temenos had always been like that, brimming with joy when he solved a puzzle or found a clue. Crick loved that about him.
“I’ll have to stop you right there.” A voice said from the shadows. Crick slammed the book shut and looked around, but not before tearing out the scrap of the page he’d been reading from. A figure stepped into the light. “Deputy Cubaryi?” Crick said, extremely confused.
“I’m sorry you had to go poking your nose where it didn’t belong. You had so much potential, too.” Cubaryi lunged at him. Shocked, Crick had barely enough time to draw his sword and parry the blow.
“What are you doing, Cubaryi?!” He demanded.
“Following orders, Godsblade!” Cubaryi said, sending more strikes Crick’s way.
Crick could hold off some of them, but Cubaryi was deputy for a reason. One of her swings hit its mark… and another… and another. Crick was dizzy from blood loss. He collapsed on the ground, panting for breath.
Cubaryi sheathed her sword. “You’ll be dead within the hour.” She said, and disappeared into the darkness.
Crick, on his hands and knees, started climbing the stairs. “Have… to reach… Temenos…” he said, pushing himself onward. Soon, he was outside.
It was still dark, and no one was out. He was so close to the inn… but he collapsed, exhausted. The paper scrap was still in his hand. “I’m sorry, Temenos… I couldn’t help you… and I couldn’t fulfill our promise…” He let out a final breath, and succumbed to his wounds.