The Hierophant is a story about secrecy and what it costs. Every character hides something, and every structure that holds power does the same. The orders in this world are only the most formal expression of that instinct to conceal. They exist to manage truth, deciding who knows what, when, and how much of it they can bear. Their grip on knowledge threads straight into the arguments I map in Secrets and Mysteries.

Their hierarchies are not ladders of command but filters of knowledge. Titles mark how deeply someone has been allowed to look behind the curtain. The outer ranks perform the spectacle: robes, language, and ritual meant to protect what lies beneath. The inner circles carry the burden of understanding, bound together by fear and complicity. Silence is not obedience here. It is devotion.

Across the world, these systems overlap and contradict each other. Some protect holy secrets, others guard political ones, but all behave like living organisms, breathing, adapting, scheming for survival. When they meet, they rarely fight in open conflict. They trade information, twist loyalties, and use belief as currency. Keeping track of who gets to speak for them is the daily labor of Hands of Authority; the titles matter less than the voices invested with divine permission.

The story moves through those intersections, where human needs and institutional control collide. The orders are mirrors for the characters themselves, each struggling to decide what must be hidden, what must be revealed, and who pays the price when a secret finally breaks.