I treat religious knowledge like contraband because everyone else does. Open traditions insist every altar should teach without a veil, mystery cults counter with initiation vows, and priestly houses hoard manuscripts the way treasuries guard coin. When a new revelation surfaces, half the world asks who controls it and the other half wonders who will weaponize it. I keep a ledger tracking who shares, who hides, and who dies trying to move wisdom across borders, especially when the orders in Orders and Hierarchies tighten their grips.

Secrecy births hierarchies. Some orders claim secrecy protects the unready; others use that rationale to consolidate power. Prophets cut through the tension by declaring the gods bypassed institutions altogether. Reformers throw open temple doors, flooding the streets with previously forbidden rites. Every time someone claims universal access, another faction doubles down on initiation, swearing the mysteries will collapse if they spill into the public square. It’s the same dynamic that fuels the salons in Expression Societies and the power brokers recorded in Hands of Authority.

That tug-of-war gives me plenty of story fuel. A character might tote a scroll that could dismantle a priesthood, or decide whether to share a healing rite that only works if belief remains rare. Secrets in this world have weight because the gods themselves once guarded knowledge, and mortals learned from the best gatekeepers available.