The temple's inner halls were hushed, candlelit veins carved into stone, where whispers seemed to travel farther than footsteps. Seth walked at Aldric's side, the heavy doors they had passed already sealing behind them like gates of judgment.
The man's hand rested firmly on his shoulder, steadying him but also preventing retreat. Seth could hear the faint echo of chanting in the distance, a low hymn that throbbed against the walls. He could not tell if it comforted or unsettled him.
When they entered the chamber, the air changed.
It was larger than he expected, a sanctum flooded with the pallid glow of a dozen silver lanterns suspended from chains. At its center stood a woman in long robes of deep indigo, embroidered with crescent sigils. Her face was half-concealed by a veil of translucent silk, leaving only her eyes exposed—eyes cool, steady, carrying a patience that seemed carved by years of silent observation.
The priestess.
She turned when Aldric cleared his throat. His voice, normally hard, carried a trace of reverence.
"Priestess. This boy… saw Her."
The air seemed to sink. The priestess' steps faltered before she crossed the space in silence.
Her gaze fixed on Seth with piercing focus. The weight of it pressed on him like invisible fingers tracing his bones.
"Young one," she said softly, though her voice reverberated in the chamber. "What did you see?"
Seth felt his lips go dry. The words rose unbidden, carried by memory rather than will:
"A sky where the sun eternally sets, yet never falls. A horizon balanced on the edge of night, bleeding violet. Countless eyes, each sealed shut, waited beneath veils of shadow. And… a woman in a veil."
His words lingered, echoing into silence.
The priestess' veil quivered faintly as her breath caught. Her eyes widened ever so slightly—shock breaking through her composure.
"…The Twilight Matron."
Her hand touched the crescent sigil at her breast. She turned sharply to Aldric, her tone hushed but urgent.
"This is no mistake. He has glimpsed Her."
"I know," Aldric replied grimly.
Priestess faced Seth again, the weight in her voice doubling. "Do you understand what this means? Those who are not yet Ascendants cannot look upon Her sky and remain whole. Their minds collapse, their tongues unravel into endless hymns. Yet you stand here, unbroken."
Her eyes narrowed, as if trying to peel away layers of his soul. "…There must be a reason you did not fall into madness."
Seth lowered his gaze, unsure whether to feign ignorance or admit his terror. His fingers twitched. He wanted to say: Because the Final Page was already there. Because the Pillar anchored me. But he bit back the words.
Priestess straightened, decision crystallizing in her tone.
"You must remain here while I report this to the higher authorities. They will decide how to proceed."
She raised a hand to forestall protest. "Do not fear. You will not be harmed. If the Matron has spared your mind, then perhaps you are chosen. But until the Cathedral decides, you must remain."
Her gaze swept to Aldric. "See him to his quarters."
The hallways were quieter still as they left. Seth walked in silence until the thought pressed too heavily to stay inside.
"What did she mean by higher authorities?" he asked cautiously.
Aldric's jaw flexed before he answered.
"The church you see here is just a branch," he said, voice low, steady. "A flicker of candlelight beside the bonfire. The true seat lies in the Moonlight District, where the Cathedral of Twilight rests. Every decree that matters comes from there."
"So… they'll decide what to do with me?"
"Yes." Aldric's steps echoed ahead of him. "It will take time. Letters must travel. Messengers must return. Days, perhaps weeks. Until then, you will remain here."
He glanced at Seth briefly. "Do not worry. You will be cared for. We are not gaolers. If anything, you will be treated as an honored guest."
Seth gave a hollow laugh. "A guest who cannot leave."
Aldric did not reply.
When they reached the door, Aldric pushed it open, revealing a chamber that took Seth's breath.
Velvet carpet stretched across the floor, muffling his hesitant steps. A broad bed stood against the wall, draped in linens white as frost, embroidered with threads of silver. A polished desk sat near the window, its surface clear except for an ink set and quill. A side door revealed tiled stonework and a bath already steaming faintly.
It was a room for nobility, not a prisoner.
Seth turned, incredulous. "This… is mine?"
Aldric nodded, his expression unreadable.
"You will stay here. Your meals will be delivered. Whatever you require, ask. It will be brought." He hesitated, then added in a softer voice: "Dinner will arrive shortly. Rest if you can."
And with that, he left.
The door shut with a click, leaving Seth alone in a silence heavy enough to suffocate.
He wandered the room, touching furniture, running his hand across the cool glass of the window. Outside, he could see the city stretching beneath the dusk sky, lamplight flickering alive in the narrow streets.
He exhaled sharply. "A gilded cage," he muttered. "Nothing more."
His mind circled back to the priestess' words. A reason you did not fall into madness.
Yes. There was a reason.
The Final Page.
The Pillar that hummed like a hidden chord at the edge of his thoughts. Even now, in this perfumed chamber, he felt its quiet pulse, steady as a heartbeat.
"If I am to survive this, I need answers. And if the Page is truly mine… I must risk using it again."
Seth sat heavily on the bed, pressing his palms against his knees. His breath quickened as he closed his eyes.
The memory returned instantly: a throne beneath a skyless vault, shelves of blank tomes, a candle burning with black ink for flame. The hall where thought itself bent.
"Final Page…" His voice was a whisper, half-prayer, half-command. "Open."
The room blurred. The velvet, the glass, the polished desk—all dissolved into black ink that bled away into nothingness.
And once again, he stood in the endless hall.
The throne loomed before him, cracked yet vast. The shelves whispered blankness. The candle still burned, steady, unyielding.
He approached slowly, each footstep loud in the silence. When he sat, the stone was cold against his back, yet the weight of the seat fit him as though it had always waited.
Seth gripped the arms of the throne. "Show yourself," he said quietly.
At first, only silence answered.
Then a ripple stirred the air, like parchment tearing. From the shadow between shelves, a figure emerged—indistinct, cloaked, as though reality itself refused to sketch its details.
Its voice came low, sonorous, edged with dark amusement.
"You call again, Closurist. So soon."
Seth's heart hammered. His voice cracked. "I need help. They've seen me. The Church knows I saw Her. They mean to keep me here until the Cathedral decides what to do."
He swallowed. "Tell me—how do I escape this? How do I survive?"
The figure tilted its head, as if studying him.
"You sit upon a Pillar. You hold the Final Page. Do you not yet see? Chains cannot hold the one who writes his own story."
The words struck him like thunder. Seth shook his head, half in denial, half in awe. "Write… my own story?"
The figure stepped closer, though its form remained veiled. Its tone deepened.
"Write, or be written. That is the only law."
The hall trembled faintly. The candle's ink-flame guttered once, then steadied.
Seth stared, pulse racing. "Then… what must I write?"
The shadow gave no answer, only a soft laugh that seemed to echo forever.
Then it was gone.
The silence returned.
Seth sat frozen, the words reverberating in his chest like a second heartbeat.
Write, or be written.
His breath shuddered out. He pressed trembling fingers to his temples, caught between terror and revelation.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the luxurious chamber. The bed beneath him, the velvet carpet at his feet, the faint sound of a knock at the door.
"Dinner," a voice called politely.
Seth let out a hollow laugh, clutching his chest.
"Yes," he whispered to himself. "Dinner… in a cage."
But deep beneath the fear, the words still burned:
Write, or be written.
And for the first time, Seth wondered if the cage around him was weaker than it seemed.