Bath’ir looked out over the waves, crashing onto the rocky spires that had guarded the monastery for millenia. His thoughts wandered, back to when he had joined the monastery. He had been different. The world… had been different. Today however, he had received the message he had been dreading: The Empire’s forces were moving on the monastery. As the Abbot, he had long since prepared for this eventuality. The Five Families had fought with their dying breath a few months ago, on the southern plains. The conflict had been going on for some time, but no more. Given the size of The Empire, it was ultimately a matter of time. The Five Families had only held out so long due to their stronger individual fighters compared to The Empire. Their techniques and skills passed down for generations. Now that they were gone, it was only a matter of time before The Empire’s military turned to the small island.

  Over the past year, Bath’ir had tasked each member of his sect with one task: to find any documents, historica, fictional, or educational in nature, and return to the monastery with them. Many had not returned since, and none in the last month. Bath’ir’s goal had been to wait as long as possible for their return. Now, he had to accept their fate. The Empire would be on the shores within a day.

  As he strolled through the stone halls, descending to the lower level, Bath’ir thought about how much the monastery had changed. When he took his oaths at ten, there had hardly been three floors. Now the monastery stood tall, a spire of knowledge on an ocean stone. Many monks had chosen masonry as their calling over the years. Their dedication to knowledge had been that of architecture, shaping and molding the earth as a physical testament to the studies that each type of research and study that the other members devoted their lives to in equal measure. Today, that was Bath’ir’s goal: preserve the knowledge and texts gathered here at all costs.

  Bath’ir had trouble finding his calling upon taking the oaths. Like many, he had grown up in the stone hallways, sneaking around the cool floors at night, using a candle to read in the library long after anyone else had gone to sleep. The library then was much smaller than in the present day, but it represented an entire world of experiences to such a young individual. Every memory he had at the time was of living within the monastery, and on the cold shores of the island which it stood on. Within those pages, the world had unfolded before his eyes. He read of ages past, before cities or governments. Tales of fantastical creatures in faraway lands, of heroic adventurers, downtrodden heroes, and places that he could only visit through the characters written on the page. Many of Bath’ir’s classmates had fallen into a calling easily. Many became masons, cooks, tailors, or other callings essential to the monastery’s function. Others went out into the world, for various purposes. Bath’ir had thought at first that this would also be his calling, setting out with some of them to find his place in the world. At thirteen, he returned to the monastery, without purpose or calling. That was when the previous record-keeper had taken Bath’ir under his wing. Tal had grown older, and needed a young, energetic helper to climb to the top shelves, to sort through records, and to carry on with administrative tasks that he did not have the time or ability to complete. That had become Bath’ir’s calling up until he became abbot, two years prior.

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  The decision to make Bath’ir abbot had been primarily about seniority, and respect. Among the dwindling members of the monastery, a firm and trustworthy leader was needed in response to what was happening in the outside world. Now, Bath’ir would make the most important decision in the history of the monastery. As he arrived at the lower level, almost every member of the monastery was gathered, some three dozen or so. A large circle was drawn on the ground in the middle of the room, with lines crossing it, connecting to each pillar that went around the perimeter of the room. Hushed conversations took place, many knowing this may be the last chance to speak to their brothers. Bath’ir examined the construction, referring to the leatherbound tome he held. It had been completed correctly. There were no further preparations to be made.

  At Bath’ir’s instruction, two concentric circles were formed around the room, with Bath’ir standing in the center. Every member started to chant the monastery’s founding prayer together, intoning in unison, as Bath’ir lead them.

  I stand upon these rocky shores as a servant divine.

  My calling is not to this building, but to the people within.

  With every breath I take, may their pains be mine.

  May all my actions seek to strengthen our bonds, and the world around.

  Bath’ir felt the crescendo of the chant as the brothers repeated it, and as if from a geyser, the magic surged through everyone in the room, lighting the circle with golden light. As the volume, the tempo increased, so did the power surging through the geometry on the floor. It cascaded until every member was part of a single purpose, focusing their energy to achieve one goal. Then, there was nothing.

  The monastery, and the entire island became frozen in time, severed from the outside world.