It was a relief when her door came into view. Still, her heart was beating to quickly as she pushed the door open, slowing only by a fraction as she determined her things had been left undisturbed.

Her unmade bed with the wool blanket shoved to the side, clothing strewn across nearly every surface including the floor. Her dresser had every drawer closed, its top the only tidy surface in the room with a metal holder for her light crystal and her second pare of footwear set neatly side by side.

She carefully pulled her door closed until the latch clicked. Though personal quarters were not allowed to be locked she had found a way to slow the opening of her door. She moved to the dresser to retrieve the sandals, waving her hand over the adjacent light crystal to bring a warm yellow glow to the dim room. Her window would allow natural light in during the day however she preferred to keep her wooden shutters closed during daylight hours, at least when she intended to work with clay.

She moved to place the sandals next to the door, wedging the tip of the leather under the seem at the base. It would not keep someone from shoving the door open, yet it might buy her enough time to hide whatever she was doing. She had not yet had to test the method with such an incident, and she hoped she never would.

With the sandals in place Tia moved the few steps to her bed. She reached beneath narrow gap between the bedframe and the floor retrieving the scripture scroll she kept there when she was not crafting. Though she had never had to use it she liked the idea of being able to turn to the scroll and fake pious study should she be interrupted.

She unrolled the scroll, removed the clay prayer beads she wore around her neck and the second set on her wrist, using them to weigh the scroll in an open position on her bed, she pushed the blanket further against the wall so the scroll would lay relatively flat.

Precautions in place Tia moved about her room, collecting the various bits of clay she had stashed under clothing piles, her bed and behind her dresser. Though she loved having extra clay, even this was a risk she was not certain she could take at the moment. She set the scraps on her table, shoving the clothing to the side.

She would make a decision about the clay after the more important matter was attended to. She lay a tunic over the scraps and turned to the dresser. She unsealed the bottom drawer, releasing the clay she had used to make it appear jammed shut.

The drawer pulled open with little resistance and she stared down into the contents. Even without moving the cloak she used to cover them she knew every mask that lay sequestered there. Every one was magical. Her inert masks hung on the wall over her table, in clear view, each one a perfect replica of one of the designs she had used in her magical masks.

She pulled the cloak aside, taking stock of her many works. There were a few that she could destroy without much heartache, ideas that had been novel in the making but proven less useful when implemented. She pulled those free first, tugging the magic apart and dropping the inert clay with the scraps on the table.

The other masks took more thought. Each one served a purpose, each as dear to her as Kyra was supposed to be. She attempted to force herself to unmake them, her hands trembling as she reached out with her magic. She could not have said how long she stood there, staring down at her collection before she had to accept that without more proof of the validity of this rumor, she simply could not bring herself to destroy her creations.

There were other items she could remove, however. She replaced her cloak, resealed the drawer and moved up two drawers to where she kept the clothing that should have been turned in for reclamation years ago. It was not uncommon for people to delay having their clothing reclaimed whether through absentmindedness or the desire to wear the threadbare garments in the privacy of their own quarters so it was not strange for her to have these items.

Buried beneath the clothing was what she sought, small discs of glass much like the ones she had deconstructed earlier that day and a tiny mirror. The mirror had proven terribly useful in testing some of her masks, and she intended to use it again today so she set it aside. The glass however had no true purpose other than to sate her curiosity so she reached out with her magic to pull the discs apart.

She closed the drawer and moved a stack of tunics to her stool; the cushioning helped her back from seizing when she crafted for hours on end. She began by breaking her scraps of clay down into several large shapeless lumps, she would decide what to do with them later. For now, she separated out enough to form a new mask.

All this talk of truth magic had her curious, she needed to know if the rumor was true and the best way to achieve that was to be certain she could tell if people were telling lies.

The mask she set to crafting now was shaped in the same pattern as the one she was wearing, the purpose and form clear in her sight even as her magic faltered with uncertainty. She did her best to layer truth, deception and clarity into the clay as she formed and reformed the softened material, using fingers and magic in unison to imbed the enchantment. When she crafted the motions were practiced and fluid, more muscle memory that intent, it was the magical embedding that was novel at this point. 

Each purpose she built into her crafting carried its own unique sensation, an almost tactile hallucination. Deception was feathery, barely there and almost ticklish. Truth was slick and subtle like flowing water. Clarity was brittle and thin like dried leaves, handled delicately lest it crack and misfunction. When magic had a clear purpose, such as cleaning water, it felt more stable, sturdy, with an almost a physicality to it; the sensation so common to her day-to-day practice that she hardly noticed it.

She wondered if other clay mages experienced magic in this tangible way, of course she could not ask. Not only was it unlikely Micha and Korrel crafted magic more than once or twice a month, more importantly the spells they did inlay were certain to be relegated to sturdiness, longevity and durability; all of which shared the sensation of cold firmness, like that of chilled stone, for Tia. 

When the form and function of her current crafting matched one another, she hardened the materials, checking to make certain the mask had no aesthetic differences from the one she currently wore which currently showed her nothing more than the material composition of her newest creation. If the magic had taken as she wanted it was not overt, hidden beneath the vine and leaf flourishes around the eyes.

Tia reached up and pulled at her mask, unbinding the clay from her face, the action so habitual as to be nearly without thought or intent. She donned the new mask, running her fingers over its surface as she adhered the interior to her hardened skin, fusing the clays together with practiced ease. Even while wearing it and reaching out with her own innate magics she could not feel the enchantments.

Tia retrieved the tiny mirror she had yet to deconstruct, looking into it she spoke, "My name is Emiel," the lie felt oddly heavy on her tongue, the silver surface of the mirror lighting up with a dull pink glow around her mouth as she spoke. The glow faded away quickly and she saw no other signs of magic. She decided to only speak truth while wearing this mask, uncertain if the glow of her own lie would be visible to anyone else. 

Tia let herself have a moment of wonder and pride. She had crafted something that could reveal truth. Her moment of awe was sweet but she soon pushed the feeling aside. She unfastened the mask once more, double checking that there was no way to tell it apart from her others. While she examined her constructions her eyes caught on the mirror where she had set it on the table

The silver surface reflected her unmasked face back at her. She could almost recognize herself, her bright green eyes with the soft eyelids and tan skin surrounding them a sight she had seen nearly as often as the skin around her full lips. The rest of her face, so often concealed beneath clay... the part she hid at the request of her betters, that she had not seen in many years.

From hairline to the base of her nose, ear to ear, her skin was hard and pale as porcelain. Unmoving and expressionless, the skin cool to the touch. At her hairline there were a few thick black hairs that grew through the porcelain skin before the hair reached her scalp and reverted to her natural dark brown curls which she kept shorn short in order to avoid the hassle of taming it with a brush on a daily basis.

Tia sighed, her eyes showing a weariness she did not know she carried. She recalled the words of her mentor from years ago, after her seeking had left her with her altered features. 'You need to cover that up, it unnerves people. You look like a doll.'

At the time Tia had not understood the comparison having grown up only seeing the straw and cloth dolls from the orphanage. Later, when she had been working in deconstruction a few months, she had finally seen the object her mentor had compared her too. A stiff cloth bodied doll with a hollow porcelain head, features painted on with faded hues, hair attached through small holes in the scalp much like the strange hairs she had at the peak of her forehead.

Tia traced a finger over the strange texture of those hairs, feeling the way they refused to move like natural hair, too stiff. When she cut her hair, it took extra strength to snap those strands.

Her face had given her a power few had, she could hide herself, she could wear her masks and see the world in ways other did not dare. She was expected to present herself covered where others were meant to remain open, easily read, easily observed. All Tia had to do was keep her smile in place, give no one a reason to look too closely at her curiosity, and if they did, she could always take the mask off and leave her unnerving appearance to drive them away. She had been blessed, no matter if it felt a loss at times. 

She flipped the mirror over, tired of seeing her own features. Her new mask had passed inspection; she adhered it to her face and began cleaning up her table. The mask she wore to work went into the sealed drawer, the mirror into a bundle of old socks. She tried to make a decision about the clay lumps; she had too many creations to justify the amount of raw material on her table.

She could either pull the clay apart, turn it to dust so it would take up less space and store it somewhere out of sight, a viable option but one that would require even more water to make the clay usable again. Or she could form it into an innocuous item, a plate or mug perhaps. Tia glanced about her room, trying to determine something that would not be seen as transgressive.

Her eyes landed on her bed where the prayer beads she had used to weigh down the scroll still lay. It would not be common to have extra sets of prayer strands but she might be able to pass it off as a form of piety. Decision made she sat down to form the clay into beads. She would need to acquire leather thongs to string them on, until then she would use the remaining clay to shape a bowl to keep them in.

That done she moved to reset her possessions, double checking for any other items that might raise questions before she retrieved her sandals and placed them back upon the dresser, donned her prayer beads and rolled the scroll before shoving it beneath her bed. With her room back in order, she opened the shutters covering her window and glanced out into the late day sunlight.

Too often the weather hid the sun from view, gray skies and drizzling rain the most common temperament of the skies. Some, the more superstitious of her peers claimed sunny days were a mark of Kyra's pleasure in their devotions. Tia thought that if Kyra controlled the weather there would be more sunny days. Why let the people forget the radiance and glory of the sun with whole months of gray skies and drizzling rain? Such sacrilegious thoughts were, of course, sacrilegious and thus never to be spoken aloud.

Tia shifted to her left so as to view the calendar spire more clearly. Large golden lines spelled out the day for all to read. It was fifth day, the ceremony of renewal was fast approaching. She usually enjoyed this time of the week, the days when work and routine were paramount, when last week’s proclamation and sermons had begun to fade from people's minds and next week’s were far enough away to not be dwelt upon.

The lack of rain and time of day meant that there may still be a few people still out enjoying the gardens. She knew of one in particular that truth mages often congregated in, and best of all it was directly in the line of the route needed to reach the library. With the Ceremony nearly upon them a visit to the library would not be seen as abnormal, no matter that it was not part of her usual routine.

Tia gathered her nerve and exited her room, making certain the latch clicked into place before she headed towards the garden. Though she was not a marble mage there was enough clay in the gardens that she often felt a sense of belonging when she visited them. The soil used in most courtyards was clay heavy enough that pearlite was sometimes mixed in before new plants were added to help with water drainage.

As Tia neared her goal a cluster of truth mages came into view. Though she dared not slow her steps or stare she was careful to capture as much of their whispered conversation as she could in her passing. She strained her peripheral vision as she listened, seeing not a single hint of pink anywhere amongst them. 

"-is gone-"

"-nothing but rubble-"

"-what now?"

"-last of us-"

Tia kept her smile in place, pace even as she let the fragments of conversation she had heard sink in. No more truth mages, they truly believed it. She might be living in the last generation of their kind. What would happen when the final truth mage died? What methods would the church resort to when lies were no longer detectable with the simple application of a mage’s efforts? She suppressed the shudder that rose up her spine.

When Tia had first started crafting enchanted items it had crossed her mind that she could try to gain Favor by submitting her creations as theory to the church. Favor was sought by many, even mages. It was what allowed a person to carry enchanted items with the permission of the church, it could earn you more water or special food. There was much Favor could be used for, yet Tia had never been able to convince herself to covet it. The freedom, limited as it was, that her anonymity gained her was worth more than any Favor the church could bestow.

If this was the end of truth mages the mask she wore now could be the solution to an impending problem for the church. The thought filled her with horror and no small amount of fear. It was already the bane of her life that truth mages could out her secrets if she was not careful, with the mask anyone could read a lie. Truth mages were rare, their seeking perilous, having their power become common place was a thing of her nightmares. All the more reason to hide what she was capable of.

Her musing had her reaching the library faster than she expected, the doors rising high above her before she realized she had reached her destination. She pushed at the well-balanced wooden door, letting it swing shut behind her.

The library with its dust and tall wooden cubbies had little she wanted to view, mostly consisting of scripture and doctrine, but this was the destination she had chosen so she resigned herself to an hour of boredom. There were wooden tables with uncomfortable chairs, light crystals hung by chain balanced sconces from the ceiling. Rolling ladders that could be maneuvered to reach the highest cubbies of scrolls lined each wall.

She found a scroll on the festival of lights and settled at a table to review its contents. She already knew everything here but it did no harm in letting her eyes scan over the hand written words, barely taking any of it in as she dwelt upon the idea that a gate could stop existing. Her gaze caught on the pink glimmer of a lie.

The scroll described the festival of light as coinciding with the light of the sun being at its most powerful, that it was Kyra's power being shared with the people, too much for any mortal to withstand direct contact with but a blessing all the same, washing them in favor and virtue. Nearly every other word glowed with lies.

Tia had not expected the mask to reveal lies in writing, nor had she anticipated there to be any lies in divine scripture. For all her jaded thoughts about her Goddess and the church the idea of a direct lie written down had not actually occurred to her. Not that she spent a great deal of time contemplating doctrine. Yet to have it written here, so blatantly... was it not truth mages tasked with making these scrolls? Did they perceive written lies and ignore them or had she made an ability they lacked?

Tia scanned the remainder of the scroll, finding three more lies, all tied to the purpose of the festival or the light that was cast in a cascade of colors once every hundred and ninety-two years.

Curious Tia returned the scroll to the shelves and retrieved an armful more to study, each held untruths within them. Some lies were small, centered around a single word, others spanned nearly the whole scroll. The eclipse that had marked the truth acolytes’ departure into the now destroyed gate a fortnight ago was mostly true, only the word truth visible as dishonest on the parchment.

Tia felt the itch to scowl but pushed it away. This was no time to show emotion. She returned her scrolls, pulling more and skimming each, trying to piece together where the lies intersected, what pattern could be gleaned from the honest and dishonest portions of each document.

There was no way that truth mages had the ability to see lies in written form, how could they have committed these words to parchment if they did? Would it not grate at them; at the nature of their magic? And what of the reputation they held, if they could write lies did that mean that they could hide their deceit from one another?

Through her myriad of questions she persisted in her skimming, seeking the falsehoods her people took as the honest word of their Goddess. It was in the scripture of reality and creation that she finally had to pause her efforts. 

'In the beginning there was darkness, in darkness formed all that is seen and known today, overseen by a cruel and calculating entity that used mortals as cattle it was the Sun, in her magnificent glory, that took pity upon the mortals in their despair. Seeing with her light the plight of the people she cast the entity out, leaving mortals to their own free will for the first time. Mortals had little experience in such responsibility and once more the Sun took pity upon their suffering, coming to the land in the shape of a mortal woman. As the Goddess of the Sun it was within her power to offer the people hope and redemption in her light.'

Tia swallowed hard, her eyes burning with the sudden need to weep. Every word after ‘overseen’ was brilliant with lies. Every word. Tia glanced down the rest of the document, spotting clusters of fabrications and shimmers of dishonesty speckling it like mildew on bread. Tia rolled the scroll, returning it to its home with hands that trembled. She turned, heading back the way she had come, passing by the same cluster of truth mages, their words a drone in her ears.

She entered her quarters, closing the door behind her before she let the feelings that had been growing within overwhelm her. She sank to her rug covered floor, setting her mask aside she finally allowed her tears to flow.

An overwhelming thought crowded her mind, repeating in a loop until the words felt meaningless, 'none of it is real, none of it is true.'