His morning meditations remained undisturbed. The shells of the dead he had summoned had been reshaped into the Father's Seal as was his custom...his offering...his oblation.
The trance began, sifting through the haze of the fallen world to pull the kernels of truth hidden there by the great Exarchs.
The visions came and went until his vision focused on a small chess piece...
Ever since the voice had been killed, he was forced to deal with other Seers directly...something he intended to remedy shortly.
"Apocrisarius, I am honored. What do you want?"
"You have found another cabal of idealists I see."
"The remnants of the Dead Presidents. They'll soon be following the others."
"We both know that's a lie. The signs are clear. They are a threat. Deal with it and I will see to it the next Profane Urim is passed to you."
"Your signs may be clear, but they are not the ones I see. I will do as the Father directs...and not as some self-important yankee says through a mirror."
...7 years bad luck was a worthy price to pay to put his rival in his place...
