The Cult of Four. Unknown Territory.
Inside a magnificent, colossal palace—a domain reserved only for those ranking above the Twelve Pontiffs—a man in a gold-trimmed white robe sat on the high seat. The mural behind him depicted the four gods cradling a holy flame. Dozens of devout believers knelt before the Pontiff, their auras thick and heavy with power.
"Merciful Four Gods, we thank you for bestowing Divine Art and power upon your humble servants," the congregation chanted. "May your divine light grace the mortal realm eternally. We shall guard your gifts with absolute devotion and boundless courage. May your light guide our every day..."
When the prayers finally concluded, the cultists filed out. Only one woman in a sheer white robe remained, her gaze locked onto the Pontiff still basking in the residual faith of his flock.
"I can feel it. You've grown stronger again," the woman said. Her voice was as clear as moonlight, carrying a cold, holy resonance.
