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Unrolled parchment scrolls and neatly arranged old books lined the large stone slab – decorated with traditional square runic patterns – in the center of the temple, where a young African-American woman in a black Consignat robe sat, intently writing something in black ink in a thick tome.

Calestine Moore. An Earth Quatura two years older than me, who had dedicated herself to the service of the Consignat and now recorded data for the Quatura society's Consignat in the rank of Scriba.

Consigni like her joined the Consignat – exclusively consisting of Earth Quatura – at the age of fourteen, underwent a four-year training program in the rank of Tiro, the first rank of the Consignat, and forswore secular education to devote themselves entirely to the study of the Quatura scriptures.

After that came the rank of Scriba, the years of record-keeping, during which a Consigna served from the age of eighteen until thirty, keeping records of every event within Quatura society, of paranormal world politics, as well as of specific traditions – such as festivals, bonding ceremonies, rituals, visits, deaths, and births – and, at the same time, preparing for the next rank of the Consignat.

The Consigni of the next rank bore the title Interpres and, from the age of thirty to fifty, interpreted texts, such as prophecies.

In addition to Latin, they typically mastered several languages, including Ancient Greek, Ancient Hebrew, Akkadian, and Sumerian, acquired in-depth knowledge of paleography, and were trained in specific fields such as the natural sciences, astronomy, mathematics, history, and other disciplines.

At the age of fifty, after many years of study and practice, they were elevated to the rank of Scriptrix in a highly ceremonial investiture. This was the final and highest rank within the Consignat, in which written sources were expanded upon and authored by the Scriptrix themselves.

Members of the Consignat were highly respected and enjoyed a high level of protection, as they were considered Guardians of Knowledge and Upholders of the Gods’ Wisdom who devoted their entire lives to the study of Quatura scriptures in order to serve the greater good of Quatura society. In addition, just like the Sacrifici, they were required to abstain from politics, which prevented them from ever becoming direct targets of internal political intrigues throughout history.

As a little girl, I had often wondered who those women were whose embroidery on their black robes clearly differed from that of the regular Servus or the Sacrifici, and who, although they spent most of their time on the second through sixth archive floors, always disappeared into the eighth basement level, where – just like on the floor of the Sacrifici below it – absolute silence reigned.

Over the past millennium, during which – even though no Quatura would ever admit it out loud – many traditional Quatura roles within society had been eroded because Circles around the world had been torn apart by persecution and had been forced to keep a low profile, the Consignat had remained one of the traditions that persisted, since the preservation, maintenance, interpretation, and recording of knowledge were seen as an essential cornerstone for the survival of Quatura society.

I was certain that it was easy to maintain authority and position within a hierarchy when not only the history of one’s own kind was marked by uncertainty and fear of persecution and one was the sole constant, but also when one held the role of controlling the preached word and the indoctrinated knowledge.

Ancient Egypt

Celestial Aeon Project

During the third century B.C., the Ptolemaic Dynasty – an influential Fire Quatura dynasty – had begun funding the Library of Alexandria with the goal of establishing a global epicenter of knowledge, research, and scholarship for Quatura society in order to help Alexandria grow into a hub of Quatura politics.

At that time, there had been significantly more male Quatura who had founded the first major Consignat in Alexandria and, over the course of a few centuries, had written and collected a vast quantity of texts there.

But at some point, the Ptolemaic Dynasty – like many powerful Quatura dynasties that had been completely wiped out over the past millennia – had become a target of the most powerful Arcanvis family of that time, the Vartells, whom every Quatura dynasty had feared up until the Renaissance.

The Vartell Dynasty, a dynasty known for its unrestrained use of the dark practices – about whose element, it should be noted, no documented knowledge has been found to this day, not even after their extinction during the Renaissance in Florence – had abducted one of the fireborn children of the Ptolemaic Dynasty and subjected him to years of psychological torture before, one night, sending the boy through the Library of Alexandria, where, driven to madness, he set the entire building ablaze, thereby destroying vast collections of knowledge.

After the devastating fire, a few Arcanvis scrolls – a term that, while used in ancient texts to refer to the supernatural and the paranormal, was quickly weaned out of Quatura children because it implied that we and the other species shared the same source of energy within us – had been saved before eventually becoming scattered across the world throughout the following centuries.

Another large number of texts had been lost during the Middle Ages and the persecutions of that era.

Since the discovery of Blairville and the construction of Moenia by Blairville’s architect Nathaniel Vanderwood on behalf of Jonathan Blair, the Global Quatura Parliament tried to transfer whatever writings remained to Moenia, as the Councils had dedicated themselves to protecting traditional knowledge and the unstable global political climate fueled the Quatura’s growing paranoia, which led to an increase in the Councils’ authority.

“Come closer.”

Hysteresis

Angus McRae

Confused, I brought my surroundings back into focus, noticing my gaze had settled on one of the copper-brown satin banners bearing the Consignat’s distinctive, geometric, shiny black metal symbol, and looked up at Scriba Calestine, who had risen and had now stepped around the table in her black robe with bronze-colored Consignat embroidery, without me having noticed.

She cleared her throat but did not come closer, and I searched her gaze for that judgment that everyone down here directed at me. In vain. Her expression was blank. Or at least unreadable.

“I don’t have all day.”

Immediately, I snapped out of my daze and stepped closer – dressed in my gray Air Quatura robe – trying to ignore the cool tingling in my fingertips.

I knew why I had been brought here. I had been here once before, shortly after the winter ball, except that on that occasion there had been four Scriba, two Interpres, and one Scriptrix present, who had been engaged in a tense discussion about the prophecy and my womb.

Since then, I had to come down here every week so that Calestine could measure the circumference of my belly.

I stopped in front of her, and she reached for her measuring tape, which was traditionally marked with Quatura numbers. Numbers whose digits resembled Roman numerals but functioned like Arabic numerals and had been used since the beginning of Quatura existence.