The Capital
The highest spire of the High Church pierced the night sky like a blade aimed at the heart of heaven. At its pinnacle lay the Oculus Chamber—a circular devotional room open to the stars through a vast, unglassed oculus.
Moonlight poured straight down in a perfect column of liquid silver, turning the ancient stone floor into a mirror of the cosmos above. Wind whispered through arched openings, carrying the faint toll of midnight bells from far below, where the city glittered like scattered diamonds across the dark empire.
Calipso knelt alone on a single velvet cushion at the center of that silver pool.
Her white shift—thin as a prayer—clung to her chilled skin, translucent where moonlight touched it, outlining every curve she had hidden beneath holy vestments for years.
