The Grand Cathedral of Viremont stood like a monument to certainty—its white spires slicing the sky, its bells ringing with the cold precision of ritual.
But beneath the surface, everything was trembling.
Lady Elyndra stood at the altar, the scent of incense clinging to her silver armor. She had always felt peace here—until now.
The words of the High Priest echoed from earlier that morning:
"You will speak against the traitors. Condemn them by name. Kael among them."
Her hand trembled.
Condemn him?
The man who had once saved her life, who had once stood beside her as the light's blade?
Kael. The strategist. The serpent in the court. The man who could make silence scream.
And yet… he had never lied to her.
Not once.
That was the part that disturbed her the most.
In a distant tower wrapped in shadows and smoke, Kael studied a mirror carved from obsidian. The reflection showed not his face, but hers.
Elyndra.
She was conflicted. The mask was cracking.
"What will she choose?" Evelyne asked from behind, crossing her arms.
"She's already chosen," Kael murmured.
"She's still in the Cathedral."
"Exactly," Kael said. "If she truly hated me, she'd be out hunting."
He set the mirror down.
"Guilt is the leash. Doubt is the chain. And I've wrapped them both around her soul."
That afternoon, Elyndra walked through the streets disguised beneath a plain cloak. Viremont was supposed to be safe. Devout. Loyal.
But she saw the graffiti first—painted across a holy statue:
"THE HERO IS THE HERETIC."
Then the whispers from a merchant stall:
"They say the executions were rigged. That the Church paid those heretics to die."
"What if Kael was right all along?"
And finally, a child—no older than ten—pretending to be the Hero in a game.
"You're the killer priest!" the child shouted, pointing a wooden sword.
"No, I'm Kael! I expose the lies!"
The game ended in laughter.
Elyndra felt only dread.
She found Kael where she expected him—at the abandoned rose garden near the southern cliff. The petals had long withered, but the view still overlooked the empire's heart.
He didn't turn when she approached.
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
"You came anyway," Kael replied.
"The Church is calling for your execution."
"Let them call."
He finally turned. His gaze was calm—dangerously calm.
"Do you believe them?"
Elyndra looked away. "I don't know what to believe."
"Then believe that doubt is the beginning of truth."
She clenched her fists. "You manipulated everything. The heretics, the crowd, even Auron—"
"And yet here you are," Kael interrupted, "not stopping me. Not drawing your blade. Why?"
Silence.
"You want to know," Kael said, voice low, "if what I say is true. Because some part of you sees the cracks in their light."
He stepped closer.
"They want blind obedience. I want you to see."
"You want me to betray the gods?"
"No," he whispered. "I want you to stop worshiping masks."
Their eyes locked. Hers, filled with conflict. His, brimming with certainty.
"You will choose," Kael said. "Not today. But soon."
"And when I do?"
Kael smiled faintly. "Then the world will tremble with your answer."
Later, in the throne chamber of the Imperial Palace, the Empress listened to reports of the Church's waning control.
"They've lost the Hero's shine," her spymaster said. "And Elyndra… hesitates."
The Empress tapped her fingers on the throne armrest, her golden gaze narrowing.
"Then perhaps it's time we decide what kind of empire we want," she murmured. "One ruled by faith—or by fear."
"Kael's influence grows."
"Then bring him to me."
She stood.
"I want to see what makes even angels bleed."
To be continued...