"My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. Wind is my foe. What am I?" Such was the riddle I solved to become a Scholar. And it was a simple riddle, really. "You’re a candle", I said without letting the question rest, eyes still fixated on the elder Ancient‘s lips. I was never a believer. Yes, I answered the Ancient's riddle — became a Scholar of the Empyrean. Perhaps I was curious. Enamored by the prospect of scouring the world for knowledge. But a devout follower of the Flame, I was not. Still, I followed the call and brought many a scroll and secret into the Night Sanctums, along with lit candles and reading glasses. The knowledge was said to vanish without a trace during the day, but I was certain this would prove to be a simple magic trick. A riddle to solve. A candle in the wind. I’ve lingered in the Sanctum, listened at the door, and observed the closed entrance as it stood dormant during the midday hours. I never saw an Ancient or trickery. Whatever wisdom I stored in the Sanctum was gone the next day. Every time, the only thing they leave is the candle. Snuffed out, sitting alone in the dark, and devoured.