The sun dipped low behind the tall spires of the cathedral as I completed my final duties of the day.
The scent of incense filled my breath, and the murmurs of chanting priests echoed softly behind me as I made my way down the marble corridors of the Sanctum.
I had one more task today—one that couldn't wait.
I found High Priest Garven in the scriptorium, hunched over a stack of dusty manuscripts. His eyes flicked up as I approached, a crease forming on his brow.
"I need a favor," I said.
Garven arched a skeptical brow. "You always do."
"I need to meet with Her Holiness."
He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to judge whether I was serious. Then he scoffed. "You don't just ask to meet the Pope, Cassian. She's not someone you can visit because it suits you."
"She'll want to meet me," I said calmly. "I have something she won't be able to ignore."
That got his attention. The flicker in his eyes betrayed his curiosity.
"And what exactly do you think that is?"
"I'll only tell her."
Garven sighed, clearly torn between intrigue and irritation.
Finally, he rose from his seat and dusted off his robe.
"You better not be wasting my time," he muttered. "Let's go."
The main hall where Pope Marlin resided was nothing short of magnificent—vaulted ceilings adorned with sacred murals, golden archways gleaming in the candlelight, and the heavy scent of sanctity clinging to every stone.
Outside the grand double doors stood two guards clad in ceremonial armor. The doors themselves were a marvel, covered in intricate golden etchings depicting the divine covenant, a radiant sun at the center flanked by twin wings.
As we approached, the guards crossed their spears and demanded our purpose.
Garven glanced at me.
I reached into my robe and produced a small vial—an glass bottle typically used for storing refined pills. I handed it to one of the guards.
"Give this to Her Holiness. She'll understand."
The guards exchanged a brief look, clearly confused. Still, one of them turned and disappeared behind the doors, with the vial in hand.
We waited.
Garven's eyes never left me, his voice low with suspicion. "If this is some elaborate joke, Cassian, I'll see to it you never step foot in the Sanctum again."
I didn't reply. I didn't need to.
Just as Garven drew breath to say more, the door creaked open.
The guard returned. "Her Holiness wants to see you now."
We stepped through the grand doors into a hall unlike any I'd ever seen.
The ceiling stretched high above us, arched and painted with sacred motifs, while flickering candlelight bathed the gilded walls in a golden glow. Ornate sconces held shimmering glass lamps, and at the very center hung a massive chandelier—crystal and gold intertwined—casting a regal radiance across the marble floor.
Dozens of velvet-lined chairs lined either side of the hall, clearly reserved for noble guests and high-ranking clergy. And at the far end, atop a dais, stood the throne.
No, not just a throne—a symbol of divine authority. Carved from ancient wood and gilded in gold, the throne rose like a relic from a forgotten age.
And seated upon it—Her Holiness, Pope Marlin.
She was ethereal. Her sapphire eyes shone like polished gemstones, calm yet piercing.Her Hair —the color of sun crystal flowed over her shoulders, catching the light with every movement. She wore a robe of silver and gold, intricate yet flowing, a veil of gossamer obscuring part of her face—yet doing little to hide her beauty. Around her neck and ears hung delicate crosses, marking her sacred station.
She radiated an aura not just of divinity—but of command.
I took a moment longer than I should have to admire her, then stepped forward with Garven, lowering myself to one knee a respectful distance from the throne.
"Your Holiness," I greeted, voice steady.
Garven followed suit, bowing in practiced reverence.
She nodded gracefully. "So you're Cassian. How have you been?"
"I am doing well, Your Holiness. Thank you for granting me this audience."
A small smile touched her lips. "Hmm, that's good. Now"—she raised the small glass vial—"will you explain where you got this?"
"I refined them myself, Your Holiness."
Silence. Then—
Garven scoffed. "Don't lie, boy. This isn't a game."
Even Pope Marlin arched a brow, as though she'd misheard. "This is not the time for jokes, Cassian."
"I'm not joking, Your Holiness," I replied, firm.
"You expect me to believe," she said slowly, "that a boy who isn't even a registered pill master—but a healer—refined this?"
"I'm simply stating the truth. If you can't believe it, there's nothing more I can say."
She studied me carefully, eyes narrowed beneath the veil. "Fine. Let's assume for a moment that you did make these. Then tell me—who taught you? Who passed you this method?"
"No one taught me. I've had a interest for alchemy since birth. After beginning my healer's duties, I started learning and experimenting on my own."
She exchanged a look with Garven—he looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor.
"You expect us to believe that?" she asked flatly.
"You don't have to," I replied. "Not yet, anyway."
She leaned back slightly, resting the vial on the throne's arm. "Very well then—tell me, Cassian. What do you want?"
"I want the Church to sponsor me. I can continue to refine these pills in secret, but if I try to sell them on my own, it'll raise too many questions. With the Church's support, I'll be safe. And the Church, in turn, can distribute the pills under its own banner."
Her eyes glinted with interest, "So you Church's support. How will you repay us then?"
I pressed on. "Your Holiness, Corruption has led to widespread disease in the lower districts. The Church is forced to stretch its priests thin to treat the sick. These pills could save time and lives. Even low-tier versions can be sold cheaply to the poor—giving them relief without debt or desperation. It would increase public faith, and lessen pressure on the clergy."
"Anything else?" she asked, now clearly listening.
"There are also many pills which sometimes get burned and can't be sold. But they still work—just less effectively. The Church can distribute them freely to beggars, the forgotten. Even in failure, they bring healing."
"It will increase Church's respect and reputation in their eyes."
Pope Marlin was silent for a moment. Then: "Hmm. Interesting indeed. I'm still curious how you taught yourself—but I'll let that be, for now."
She tilted her head slightly. "What is your success rate?"
I hesitated, then answered honestly. "Around fifty percent."
She stared. "Fifty percent?" Her voice grew sharper. "So you take me for a fool, boy?"
Garven, "Oh holy God...", beside me, practically began praying for my soul on the spot.
I took a breath.
"With all due respect, Your Holiness," I said firmly, "As I've said before—if you don't trust me, I can't force you. Trust must be earned through effort, through results. All I ask is a chance. Let me earn your belief with my actions."
The silence in the hall was deep. Heavy.
Pope Marlin stared at me, her eyes unreadable behind the veil. Then, slowly, she leaned forward.
Pope Marlin leaned forward, resting her chin delicately on her gloved fingers, her sapphire eyes locked onto mine.
"You speak boldly for someone asking for protection," she said, voice cool and composed. "Most who stand where you do bow, flatter, and beg. But you…" Her tone carried a trace of amusement. "You challenge."
I held her gaze. "I only speak the truth, Your Holiness."
A long pause followed. Then she rose slowly from her throne.
The room seemed to still with her movement, as though the very air recognized her authority. Her robes flowed around her like silver fire, each step echoing on the polished marble as she descended the dais. She stopped just a few steps away from me.
I remained kneeling, but my spine straightened. I refused to flinch.
"You ask me to risk the Church's name, our gold, and the safety of our people... on trust." She tilted her head slightly. "Yet you offer no proof. Only pills in a bottle."
She extended the vial between us. "Then prove it."
I blinked. "How?"
"Here," she confirmed. "Right now. You will refine a pill in front of me. You say you're no pill master—then show me a miracle. Or walk away as a fraud."
Garven's face turned white as snow. "Your Holiness, with all due respect—alchemy is dangerous without the proper—"
"I'm aware," she said, silencing him with a glance. Then, softly, to me: "Can you do it, Cassian? Or is your truth just another clever tale?"
This was a test—no, a gauntlet thrown by someone who had likely seen hundreds of liars and opportunists crawl to her throne.
I slowly stood. "I'll need a cauldron, a flame source, and some basic ingredients."
She gestured to one of the guards. "Bring the chamber set. Now."
The guard vanished with military precision.
As we waited, she regarded me with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "If what you claim is real, Cassian, then you may have just changed the future of the Church. But if this is deception, understand—I won't be merciful."
"I understand," I said quietly. "And I don't need mercy."
—To be continued...