The team dispersed from the hall with purpose and practiced discipline, each member already moving into roles they'd long mastered. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. When Everestus Paulissen gave an order, it was more than a command—it was a divine mandate.
As the doors shut behind the last of the exorcists, Everestus remained alone in the dimly lit chamber. His eyes, though returned to their normal blue, carried the weight of a thousand missions, a thousand fallen comrades. He turned toward the old wooden crucifix affixed to the far wall of the chamber—an artifact carved by a saint long before the current Order existed.
He knelt before it, lowering his head.
"Father… if You see me unworthy, then let another carry this burden. But if this war is truly to fall upon the shoulders of my children—then give me strength. Let me clear the path before their feet ever touch the battlefield."
There was no answer.
There never was.
But he rose with a quiet certainty anyway.
