Sapientia (Norway)

[Patricus I]

As the chill of Norway blanketed the expansive wilderness, Patricus, robed in the less formal but still conspicuous white cassock of his office, trudged alongside his companions towards their destination. The cold air was swathed with a relentless expanse of gray, promising the onset of the arctic dusk. Armande approached him, his expression solemn yet alight with the spark of anticipation. Although no words were exchanged initially, the intent in Armande's eyes heralded the end of their search; they had located the foreseen tree, a beacon in their mystic quest.

The Pope’s reaction was a complex tapestry of internal conflict. Reverence for the destination battled with his overt discomfort at the prospect of spending the night enveloped by the raw elements of nature. Camping under the open sky, far removed from the protective walls of the Vatican, was not an endeavor he had ever envisioned for himself. Yet, God had a peculiar way of uprooting the most entrenched trees, let alone men. He grit his teeth and endured Armande’s eagerness.

As the group neared the site, Philip was just as drawn to the tree. Its branches, gnarled and wide, stretched towards the heavens as if in silent prayer. The ground beneath it felt sacred, hallowed. With a quiet, almost inaudible sigh, he resigned himself to the reality of his circumstances. While the others began to unpack their supplies, he examined the massive tree trunk. “There is only one holy tree, and it’s not this,” he uttered, the words dissipating into the cold air, watched only by the silent witnesses of the forest.

Setting up camp was a procedural affair, managed mainly by his more outdoorsy companions. Patricus participated where he could, which was to find someplace nearby to pray. By the time the tents were pitched and the fire was kindled, a profound fatigue settled over him—not just of the body, but of the spirit too.

As night descended, the temperature dropped sharply. The fire provided a small circle of warmth, its crackling sounds a transient comfort against the backdrop of an eerie silence. Conversation among his companions punctuated the air, but Philip ignored the lude insinuations suggested by Valeriya. Wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag, Patricus lay back, the ground beneath him hard and unyielding. He stared up through the bare branches at the stars peeking through the racing clouds. The physical discomfort was palpable—every stone and root beneath him a reminder of his physical displacement from Rome.

Yet, as sleep claimed him, it bore him away into a world unfettered by physical constraints. He was standing beneath the same tree, but the shroud of night had rolled away and in its place lay the diffuse light of the dream.

At his side stood his three companions, and they soon realized they was not alone. A mysterious woman awaited, her presence as unexpected as the legends suggested. Gowned in an etherial robe, her hair long and silvery was decorated with a sparkling chair. She beckoned to him with a serene smile. At her gesture, the intertwined branches of the very tree under which they slept parted into a natural archway. He paused before descending, stretching out his mind quietly to examine what else was out there, but there was no sense of familiar. No Thalia. Nobody. He was alone in this. With a deep breath, he entered. The realm unfurled with an irisdecent glow.

The scenery transformed dramatically. Within the tree emerged an innerworldly forest, denser, more enchanted, imbued with a mystical quality that tingled in the air. Ethereal figures, resembling the Huldra but each distinct in their ethereal beauty and garb, flitted between the trees and over streams that glittered under the perpetual twilight of this hidden world. Their movements were graceful, almost floating, reminiscent of immortal beings from the oldest of tales, blending seamlessly into the natural beauty around them.

The clearing they entered was a hub of this mystical activity, with more Huldra gathered there, their curious eyes on Philip. At the center, the key hung suspended in midair, its intricate design casting patterns of light that danced on the soft moss below. The Huldra who had led him here stepped closer to the key alongside him, her expression serious yet gentle.

"Philip Patrick Sullivan,” she began, her voice echoing slightly in the still air. "This key holds power beyond the ordinary, a gift that we, its guardians, bestow only upon one who proves themselves worthy. Its purpose is sacred, tied to the very essence of the planet’s death, rebirth, and survival. Tell me, why should you be its keeper? What brings you to seek such a burden?"

The weight of her question hung in the air, heavier than the mist that swirled around their feet. His frown dug deep lines around his mouth, as he studied the key and his reaction to its lure. He had already taken the key of cunning, but what if he claimed them all? Would it imbue him with insight into salvation? He was certainly the wisest of the group, best positioned to handle its authority.

The Huldra weighed his hesitation intently, her eyes searching his face as if to read the sincerity etched in his lines of age and wisdom. After a moment that stretched like the endless night, she nodded slowly. "To claim this is to be worthy. But remember, the burden of this key is to connect, to unlock barriers and forge paths where none existed.”

With a resolve that surprised even him, Patricus responded, “It is not mine to claim,” he stepped back, adding, “And my name is Patricus the First.”

Satisfied, the Huldra turned to each of them, asking the same question and receiving the same conflicted answer until finally Armande stepped forward.  As he reached out to touch it, the metal cool and seemingly alive under his fingers, it began to turn by itself. The key twisted in the air, winding as if it unlocked something unseen, something profound. Then, with a bright flare that momentarily blinded them, it vanished, leaving behind a lingering glow that slowly faded.

The Huldra's eyes, now filled with a gentle sadness mixed with hope, met theirs. "The key is now awake. Follow the stars.”

When they woke, Armande held the key. Philip climbed to his feet, acknowledging. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”