-----Chapter 21: The Unanswered Silence-----
The war chamber had never felt heavier.
It wasn't the air, thick with damp stone and candle smoke. Nor was it the worn-out table, scratched by the weight of too many sleepless discussions. It was the silence.
Sylvian sat at the head of the room, his gaze fixed on the map sprawled across the table, though his thoughts were elsewhere. Something was shifting in the world. He could feel it in the way the wind carried whispers of things unseen, in the way the ruins outside seemed to breathe with an unnatural stillness.
And Aldric, standing near the doorway, had seen it firsthand.
The knight's face was lined with exhaustion, his armor dulled from travel, but his posture remained rigid. His voice, however, held something colder than weariness.
"The world isn't the same as it was a few days ago."
He let the words settle, let them sink into the silence like lead.
Varen, leaning back with his arms crossed, exhaled sharply. "That's vague as hell."
Sylvian shot Varen a look, sharp enough to silence him. Then, turning back to Aldric, he spoke, his tone measured.
"Sir Aldric," he said, "tell me everything."
Aldric stepped forward, placing a rolled parchment on the table.
Sylvian unrolled it carefully.
What he saw was impossible.
Scattered across the map were marks of newly risen structures—tombs, monoliths, ruins that hadn't existed before. Their locations weren't random; they followed a pattern, but one that had yet to be deciphered.
Aldric's voice was grave.
"These places weren't built. They rose. As if they had always been there, waiting beneath the ground."
Sylvian's fingers traced one of the marks on the map. His voice was quiet, but firm. "How many?"
"Dozens," Aldric answered. "Maybe more. And that's just what we've confirmed."
The silence in the room became suffocating.
But Aldric wasn't done.
"There's more," he continued, his voice lowering. "The gods' followers… they've changed."
---
Varen's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"
Aldric hesitated before answering. "They aren't the same as before."
He cast a glance at Sylvian, as if making sure he was listening. He was.
"They aren't helping survivors anymore," Aldric said. "Not like they used to. They pass through ruined towns without a glance, ignoring the sick, the dying. They don't care about the people anymore."
Sylvian felt something cold settle in his chest.
"What do they care about?" he asked.
Aldric's answer came like a hammer.
"Reaching the structures."
The room fell silent.
Varen scoffed, but there was no humor in it. "So they've abandoned their so-called 'divine duty' just like that?"
Aldric shook his head. "Not abandoned. Replaced. It's like they've been given a new purpose, something higher than tending to their own people."
Sylvian clenched his jaw. Faith was never stable. It bent, it shifted, but it never broke completely. Yet now, the gods' followers were acting with a conviction that even he hadn't seen before.
And something about it felt wrong.
Aldric exhaled. "That's not all. Bishop Veylin has been acting strange as well. His priests still aid the wounded, but he keeps his own counsel. He's meeting people in secret, giving orders he doesn't share with us."
Varen leaned forward, his smirk returning but colder than before. "So the good Bishop's got his own plans, huh?"
Sylvian didn't answer immediately. He glanced at Aldric, his voice lowering slightly.
"Sir Aldric, what do you think?"
Aldric paused.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"I think we're walking blind into something bigger than we understand."
Sylvian respected Aldric's judgment.
If the old knight had doubts, it meant the problem ran deeper than they could see.
"Then we observe," Sylvian finally said. "No action yet. But we don't let them out of our sight."
Aldric gave a firm nod. "Understood."
He turned to leave—
Then stopped.
He stood still for a moment, then looked back.
"There's something else."
---
Sylvian straightened. "Go on."
Aldric hesitated. Then, his voice came lower, heavier.
"There's another force at work. One that isn't the gods' doing."
Varen raised an eyebrow. "More bad news? Great. Lay it on us."
Aldric didn't react to the sarcasm. "We thought they were just another group of bandits. People who had lost their morals and turned to killing to survive."
He exhaled. "But they aren't."
Sylvian's fingers drummed against the table. "Explain."
Aldric took a step closer, his gaze sharp.
"They don't kill randomly. They don't pillage like raiders. They move with intent. And they have only one kind of target."
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"They attack villages controlled by the gods' followers. And they don't slaughter everyone—only priests, only the clergy."
Varen's smirk vanished.
Sylvian remained unreadable.
"They take supplies," Aldric continued. "But they don't hoard them. They give them to the survivors. Sometimes they even protect them."
The room felt colder.
Varen's voice came slow. "So what are they? A bunch of priest-killing saints?"
Aldric's jaw tensed. "I don't know. That's the problem."
A force that targeted priests, not people. One that pillaged the holy, but spared the lost.
"At first, they were active," Aldric went on. "Raiding settlements, eliminating priests, striking at religious strongholds."
Sylvian listened. Waiting.
"But now… they've gone silent."
The words sent a ripple through the air.
Sylvian's gaze darkened. "Silent?"
Aldric nodded. "No movements. No raids. They've stopped. Almost as if they were never there."
That made no sense.
Sylvian leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Which means one of two things."
Varen tilted his head. "Either they're waiting for something…"
Sylvian finished the thought.
"Or they've already done what they set out to do."
The room fell into another silence.
Aldric didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Because they both knew waiting for an answer wasn't an option.
---
The war chamber wasn't loud. But it felt deafening.
Varen's fingers tapped against the wood, his thoughts unreadable. Aldric stood rigid, as if already preparing for whatever came next.
And Sylvian?
He felt something pressing against him.
Not a sword.
Not a crown.
Something far greater.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't sure if they were walking toward something greater…
Or something they could never come back from.
-------
The stone halls of the ruined temple had long since been stripped of their grandeur.
What once stood as a monument to faith now felt hollow, its walls cracked, its towering pillars worn by time and abandonment. The scent of melted wax and stale incense clung to the air, a feeble remnant of the prayers once spoken here.
And in the center of it all, standing beneath the fractured gaze of a goddess who no longer answered, Sofia watched.
Her golden eyes lingered on the statue of Aria—the deity she had once called upon in desperation. The same goddess who had, in the end, only offered silence.
Her fingers curled into a fist.
She could feel it—the mark etched into her wrist, burning faintly beneath her glove. The same mark Sylvian bore. The same mark Alec had revealed.
For days now, something had been gnawing at the edges of her mind. The gods were shifting.
They had always been cruel in their indifference, but now… now, it was something worse.
They were changing.
Becoming something else.
---
The dim candlelight flickered as Sofia exhaled slowly, letting her gaze drift past the statue, toward the open window beyond.
Outside, her people moved through the remnants of the ruined city—survivors, war priests, those who still clung to belief.
They worked tirelessly, tending to the wounded, distributing rations, sharing words of comfort that rang hollow even to her own ears.
They didn't know.
Didn't know that the gods who once demanded their faith now moved in patterns unknown, in silence unbroken, in whispers that no longer spoke to their devoted.
The day she had received her vision, something had changed.
She hadn't spoken of it—not to her people, not to Sylvian. Because even she didn't understand it.
A glimpse. A moment. A voice that was not a voice.
And then—the weight of something pressing against her soul.
Her fingers tightened over her wrist, where the stigma pulsed beneath her skin, unseen but never unfelt.
She clenched her teeth.
Something was wrong.
---
Her gaze flickered back to the statue of Aria, her carved expression serene, almost cruel in its indifference.
For so long, Sofia had prayed beneath that gaze. Had whispered the names of those she could not save, had begged for strength, for purpose, for something more than silence.
And now, the gods moved with purpose once more—but it was not for them.
Their followers had changed. Their actions no longer aligned with the faith they once preached.
Where once they had sought worship, now they sought something else.
They walked past the dying without pause.
They abandoned their wounded without question.
They ignored the desperate calls of those who had once given them everything.
And they walked—walked toward the strange tombs and rising structures, as if drawn by something far greater than faith itself.
Her stomach twisted.
She had devoted herself to something that no longer made sense.
---
A sound echoed behind her—soft footsteps against the stone.
She didn't turn.
"You're troubled," a voice murmured.
Samantha.
The war priest's presence was steady, but there was something in her voice—something heavy, like a truth waiting to be spoken.
Sofia closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled. "Faith is meant to be unshaken," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
A dry chuckle. "Faith is meant to be many things."
Silence stretched between them.
Sofia finally turned.
Samantha stood near one of the shattered pews, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Her robes, once pristine, were stained with blood and dust, her once-steady devotion now cracked in ways that mirrored the temple walls.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you?" Sofia asked.
Samantha didn't answer immediately. She didn't need to.
The silence spoke for her.
Finally, the war priest sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "They don't pray anymore," she muttered.
Sofia frowned.
Samantha looked up, her eyes dark with something unreadable. "The priests. The followers. They recite the words, they move through the motions, but…" She hesitated. "There's no belief behind them. It's like they're waiting for something."
Sofia's breath slowed.
Waiting.
Not for salvation.
Not for divine mercy.
For something else.
Something greater.
Or something worse.
---
Sofia's hand instinctively pressed against her wrist again.
Against the mark that separated her from the rest.
The stigma. The thing that had appeared after her vision, the same way it had appeared on Sylvian, on Alec.
The same mark that had glowed when Alec fought those creatures.
And yet, the gods had never spoken of it.
Had never acknowledged it.
Her fingers curled into a fist.
"...The gods don't move without reason," she murmured.
Samantha's gaze lingered on her. "No. They don't."
Sofia turned back to the statue of Aria, her throat tightening.
Then tell me, she thought bitterly, why does this all feel so wrong?
---
Outside, the war priests continued their work, faces weary but obedient.
They did not know.
They did not know their gods had turned their gaze away.
Did not know they were walking toward something unknown, something that would not save them.
And yet, they still followed.
Followed with silent devotion.
Followed without question.
And for the first time, Sofia wasn't sure if she would follow with them.
The candlelight flickered.
The goddess above her remained silent.
And the mark on her wrist burned like an unspoken truth.