Vermin

 Razel remembered the shrine as being bigger the last time he had visited, although to be fair he had left it significantly smaller than it is now. What once grew past the trees in a monument to blind worship now sufficed with a few measly floors and a much more squat design. He thought it looked as though someone had left the old design in the sun for too long. 

The light crowd prevented him from being suspicious by presence alone, with most taking his curiosity for that of the non-local, which in the strictest sense was quite true. It was this assumption that brought one of the officials to him with a warm smile.

"Welcome to the Center for the Cult of the Dragon! Is this your first time?"

Razel shot the man a skeptical look.

"You literally call yourselves a cult?"

The man laughed.

"Oh, no! We study the old Dragon Cult here. They disbanded in these parts after the incident."

Razel smiled and nodded as he recalled that night.

"Right, of course. Sorry, I've been traveling a lot to do my research and sometimes the obvious escapes me. I had heard this place was rebuilt but not the specifics of the new tenants."

"Word travels, but not always accurately or completely. What sort of research are you doing? Perhaps I can help."

He placed a hand on Razel's shoulder and motioned towards the doors. They stepped into the main foyer, taking a moment to read the guiding placards posted by the many halls.

"Well, I guess we should start with the basics, really. Who or what is the Dragon?"

The guide chuckled.

"Aside from a Dragon, we assume. Come, that would be this way."

They entered a hall lined with display cases protecting tableaus, statues, and scrollwork all sharing the same locus - the elder dragon himself, as the guide helpfully explained.

"The cult believed the dragon was a god from another realm, outside of the heavens and hells orthodox Verimnity teaches us. His name was never to be spoken aloud except in special and extreme circumstance, although thankfully it was recorded by a captive on a bit of scrap we recovered from one of the cells. They call him Nickel Bolus."

Razel stifled a laugh and decided against interrupting him to correct the error.

"The Dragon-God Bolus was strict, but offered rewards in the form of blessings and occasional gifts, some of which we have in other halls. None that work as described, for us at least."

Razel nodded.

"Fetishes and idols. I've seen my share. First I've heard that name, though! What was he the god of, according to the cult? I can't seem to get a clear answer elsewhere."

"That's likely because of their view that he came from another realm. The Verminit pantheon, as you know, is representative of our world - the forces that drive it and us. They posit Bolus is from outside this entire Reality. He proclaimed himself a god-king, but of what was never made explicit. The cult simply viewed him as an apex and worshipped him as such."

Razel stroked his chin in mock thought.

"Did they have anything to say about the reality he was from, or where he went?"

The old man got a twinkle in his eye and turned them down another hallway, this one clear of displays but lined with labeled doors.

"There was precisely one account with something like that, which I believe you will find quite enlightening in your work. It seems that shortly before the collapse, someone showed up claiming to be one of Bolus' associates from another realm."

Razel's eyes went wide.

"Do you think they had something to do with the collapse?"

"We aren't sure yet, but not likely. They died a few months beforehand, but we can't rule out sabotage."

"How did they die?"

"That's the suspicious part."

The man opened a door, escorting Razel into his office. The desk in the corner was buried behind several racks, each overstuffed with specimens in all manner of containers. Razel took the seat opposite the desk, his eyes drawn to the planeswalking scar above the main door. It was relatively fresh, but well past visibility to anyone who didn't know to look for it. The guide sat in his desk and reclined his chair against the wall.

"Their policy of not using Bolus' name meant that his nature wasn't really discussed much. There was no theological debate, only indoctrination. This stranger worked his way up their ranks for an unspecified amount of time, winding up one of their leaders."

"If he knew the dragon, it would make sense."

"Which is what he proceeded to explain one night. After an extended drinking session with a few fellow cultists, he started berating them for their understanding of Bolus' nature."

He slid a sleeved document to Razel, who gingerly picked it up and began skimming it as the guide hit its key points.

"The archivist in the room says the man, whose name they struck, was also capable of traveling between realms, going so far as to claim Bolus was no god, but merely a regular Dragon with this specific power, which he supposedly demonstrated for them by disappearing and reappearing nearby."

"I would assume even a 'regular' dragon would wield frightful power, so pretending to be divine isn't outside of the imagination. But teleportation?"

"Whatever he did convinced them, at least. Someone asked him where the dragon came from, at which point he describes a world at the center of all worlds, which he called Dominion."

Razel gaped for a moment as he kept reading, hiding his expression before the old man could see it and nodding along intently.

"Then-and here's where your question about where he may go comes in-he started describing a personal retreat used by Bolus to meditate. Within moments of starting his description, he seized, foamed at the mouth, and died."

"Wow."

"Wow indeed. The accuracy of the account is in question with regards to conversation only, since even while drunk they had the good sense to sequester his remains and belongings away. We have most of them in another room further down."

"Most of them?"

The guide rose and motioned for Razel to follow him into the hall.

"We had a break-in about a week back. Someone seemed interested in those artifacts specifically, which worries me. Means there may still be cultists about."

He paused mid-step and shot Razel a stern look.

"What sort of research did you say you were doing again?"

"Theology. Cult of the Dragon."

"For what institution?"

Razel laughed.

"You think anyone would finance something like this? Not where I'm from. No, this is an independent venture. I'd show you my notes, but I left them back in my room. I didn't anticipate being taken backstage on my first visit!"

The old man smirked at that.

"Yes, the state of academia is a sorry one at the moment. I'm sure you'll want to be back, and I would love to see those notes when you return. I may be able to offer insight on those too!"

"Definitely."

"Ah! Here we are."

The room they entered was large, but without much free space. Razel was led several shelves in, to a row near the far wall. The first thing he noticed was the second scar about two-thirds of the way down the aisle, sitting at gut-height. Same age as the one above the door, by all appearances, which told Razel this was the escape route. The guide led them right up to it, stopping a few feet away and rolling a large bin out from below the bottom shelf.

"I have to ask that you do not touch, however they should be laid out well enough to make out some details."

Razel rested his hands against the bin, his attention immediately drawn to the empty depression in the fabric.

"What'd they steal?"

"A journal, we think. It was handwritten, but unintelligible. We hadn't gotten around to making a copy yet."

Razel furrowed his brow.

"Had you gotten a chance to see it? Was it all text?"

"Some sketches, some diagrams. Nothing we could make sense of. Several astronomical diagrams that were made-up."

"Hmm."

Razel gently stepped past the guide and looked directly into the scar.

"Well my good man, I think I can leave you with something for your notes."

The old man peered over Razel's shoulder to try and get a look at whatever was drawing his attention, but found nothing.

"What might that be?"

He turned to the guide with a grin.

"That cultist was right."

Focused will shunted Razel through the scar in Kinva's wake, leaving a very startled man alone in his archive.