The candlelight trembled faintly against the stone corridor walls, as if even flame hesitated in the presence of what had just occurred. Seth Virell walked behind Aldric Moraine, his legs still heavy, knees threatening to buckle with every step. His mind felt as though it had been scraped by glass — the images of veils, the silhouette of a woman who was not meant to be seen, the unbearable hush of the abyss that accompanied her presence — they lingered in his thoughts, staining them like ink spilled across parchment.
Aldric strode ahead, shoulders rigid, every step clipped with military precision. His silence was not the silence of calmness but of a mind racing too quickly for words.
Seth swallowed, his throat dry, and finally forced his voice out.
"Aldric… Have you… Have you ever seen Her? The Twilight Matron?"
The question echoed against the cold stones, too loud in the emptiness.
Aldric slowed. His steps faltered for just a second — barely perceptible, but Seth caught it. He turned his head slightly, shadows clinging to his sharp cheekbones in the torchlight.
"Never," Aldric said, his tone clipped, resolute. "Not once."
Seth's lips parted. His chest tightened as the words he had been suppressing slipped out before he could stop them.
"I saw Her."
The words fell into the corridor like a stone into still water.
Aldric stopped walking altogether. The silence that followed was vast. He turned, his pale eyes gleaming with sudden sharpness. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate, but Seth felt the weight behind it like the point of a dagger at his throat.
"You… saw Her?"
Seth forced a weak laugh, though his skin prickled with sweat. "Is there… any problem with that?"
Aldric's composure cracked. His eyes widened with something between alarm and awe, the faintest tremor passing across his usually stoic face. His voice rose in disbelief.
"Problem? Seth Virell… do you understand what you are saying? Even among us — even among the ordained — only those who have ascended to Verse Two can withstand even a fleeting vision of the Matron. Below that… madness. Absolute and irreversible. No mortal… no unblessed soul should survive such a sight with their mind intact. And yet—"
His gaze raked over Seth, as though trying to find cracks, fractures, evidence that insanity had already begun.
"And yet you stand here, speaking with clarity."
Seth's heart thundered. He felt his mouth dry, the weight of his own recklessness settling over him like chains. He cursed silently in his mind.
"Idiot. Fool. Why did I say that?"
"If they know… If they even suspect what I truly am…"
He forced his face into an expression of wide-eyed confusion, though his thoughts were clawing at themselves.
"Maybe… maybe it was nothing. A dream. A trick of the ritual," Seth offered quickly, words stumbling out. "Perhaps I imagined—"
But Aldric cut him off, voice dropping into something more dangerous.
"No." He stepped closer, looming over Seth. His shadow swallowed Seth's figure in the corridor. "You do not 'imagine' the Matron. Not in the middle of a consecrated rite. Either you saw Her… or you did not. And if you did…"
He trailed off, exhaling harshly, shaking his head as though unable to fit the contradiction into the shape of his thoughts.
Seth's palms grew damp. He lowered his gaze to hide the sharp glint in his eyes.
"Because I am not merely a "mortal." I am an Archivist. A Closurist. My path is not yours, Aldric Moraine. Perhaps your minds break before the veiled abyss — but mine has already been twisted by pages not meant to exist."
But of course, he did not dare speak such thoughts.
Instead, he shifted the subject, voice careful. "This… Verse you mentioned. What is it, exactly? I've heard of ranks, of hierarchies… but never this word."
Aldric exhaled slowly, as though reining himself back under control. He glanced down the corridor, ensuring they were alone, then spoke in a low, firm tone.
"Verse is the order of our ascent. Verse Nine is the lowest — initiates, still blind to the true Scripture. Verse One is the highest… those who can be said to walk a step behind the gods themselves."
His voice grew heavier, reverent.
"To ascend is to comprehend a fragment of divine scripture. To take it into yourself, let it remake your flesh, your mind, your very soul. Each Verse is another word in the hymn, another chord in the eternal chant. Each Verse brings you closer to Her."
Aldric's eyes narrowed, piercing. "That is why what you said is impossible. Even I, Aldric Moraine, Verse Six of the Matron's Church — I have never once beheld Her. But you…"
Seth felt the words coil around him like a tightening noose. He forced a weak laugh, though his stomach turned cold.
"So… you're saying… me seeing Her is…"
"Impossible." Aldric's voice was iron. "And dangerous. Too dangerous."
He turned abruptly, boots striking the stone. "This cannot be ignored. I must tell the priestess."
Seth's heart skipped. His thoughts flared with panic.
"What the hell did I say that for? Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut?"
He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. Each step after Aldric felt heavier, as though the walls themselves leaned in, whispering.
"Archivist. Cipher Nine. A man who sees what should not be seen."
"What will they do when they learn that?"
He imagined the candlelit halls of the church shifting, reshaping into cells. Chains. Ritual knives. His mind pictured a hooded congregation circling him, chanting, dissecting, studying the freak who dared glimpse their goddess and survived.
His stomach churned. His breath came shallow.
"I've gotten myself into huge trouble."
They emerged into the nave once more, the vast figure of the veiled statue looming ahead. Its candle flickered faintly, casting an unmoving shadow.
Aldric walked with grim purpose, his hand never straying far from the hilt of the blade at his side. Seth trailed behind, head bowed, though his thoughts spiraled ceaselessly.
Every instinct screamed at him to flee. But even as he entertained the thought, he remembered the cold grip of the revolver in the alley, the effortless way Aldric had jammed it. The speed, the power. Aldric was no ordinary man. He was Verse Six.
If Seth tried to escape now, it would end before it began.
So he followed, each step echoing like a heartbeat against the cathedral stones.
Perhaps, he thought, perhaps there was still a chance to twist this narrative. To play the victim. To play the weak Cipher Nine who did not know what he was saying. To survive.
But deep inside, beneath the panic, another thought festered — darker, more defiant.
"If I can glimpse the Matron and remain sane… perhaps it is not madness that awaits me. Perhaps it is proof. Proof that I am walking a path that divine ascendant could ever understand."
He lowered his eyes, hiding the thin smile that tried to curve his lips.
And so Seth Virell followed Aldric Moraine deeper into the Twilight Matron's temple, burdened by his slip of the tongue, stalked by the whisper of his own thoughts, and with the weight of a truth too dangerous to be spoken aloud:
That in the silence behind the veil, he had not only survived… but listened.