Captain Eva of the Aethelburg Royal Guard was a woman forged from discipline and duty. Her world was one of stone walls, polished steel, and the unwavering certainty of the law. While priests debated the moods of the heavens and merchants fretted over ledgers, Eva's concern was the city itself, a sprawling organism of nearly half a million souls that was currently sickening with a fever of fear.
The Great Silence had lasted for nearly a year, and the capital was transforming. The once-bustling market squares were now subdued, the cheerful cacophony of commerce replaced by the low, constant murmur of public prayer circles. Groups of desperate citizens would gather around a makeshift altar, their Whispers growing more vocal, more pleading with each passing week. Crime was on the rise; not the work of organized guilds, but desperate, clumsy acts of theft by those who had lost their faith in a prosperous morrow.
Eva's patrol that morning was a tour of this slow-motion decay. She moved through the streets with an air of contained energy, her silver-inlaid leather armor creaking softly, her expression a mask of stern neutrality. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe, practical braid, and her eyes, the color of hard grey flint, missed nothing. They saw the merchant quietly watering down his ale, the child with hunger-pinched cheeks, the guard on the wall whose gaze was turned inward in prayer instead of outward toward the horizon.
"Captain," her second-in-command, a young, earnest man named Joric, said, nodding towards a particularly loud prayer circle. "Another new prophet. That's the third this week."
Eva's gaze fell upon the man in the center of the crowd. He was gaunt, his eyes burning with a zealot's fire as he preached of the need for blood sacrifice and extreme penance. His words were a poison, preying on the terror of his audience.
"Break it up," Eva commanded, her voice low and sharp. "Gently. Tell them public sermons are suspended until the High Priest gives his address. Disperse them. Don't make martyrs."
Joric nodded and moved to carry out her order. It was a delicate, exhausting balancing act: maintaining order without crushing the fragile hope of the people. King Valerius had been clear. The Guard's purpose was to be a wall, not a hammer. But every day, that wall felt a little bit thinner.
Their patrol route took them to the city's main artery, the grand processional way that led from the outer gates to the Great Observatory. It was here, at the towering North Gate, that the day's true disruption arrived.
A commotion drew her attention. Two of her guards were struggling to restrain a man who looked more like a wild beast than a citizen. He was skeletal and weather-beaten, his robes little more than rags, and his grey-streaked hair was a tangled mess. But it was his eyes that stopped Eva in her tracks. They were not the glazed-over eyes of a madman, nor the frantic eyes of a common criminal. They were alight with a terrifying, absolute certainty.
"I must see the High Priest!" the man was shouting, his voice raspy but surprisingly strong. "The fate of this world depends on it!"
"This is your last warning, old man," one of the guards grunted, trying to force the man's hands behind his back. "Utter another word of blasphemy and you'll find yourself in a dungeon."
Eva strode forward, her presence alone enough to make the guards pause. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Captain," the guard said, relieved. "This vagrant is causing a disturbance. He demands an audience with the High Priest. Says the sky is a lie and that our God is dead."
Eva's flint-grey eyes settled on the ragged man. It was Praxus. "These are serious accusations," she said, her voice cold and level. "Heresy is a crime, old man. What is your name?"
"My name is Praxus," he replied, his gaze unwavering. He did not seem intimidated by her rank or the steel of her guards. He looked at her as if she were a child who simply didn't understand the gravity of the situation. "And it is not heresy if it is the truth. The silence in your temples is not an absence. It is a presence. A new, hostile presence. Qy'iel is gone. He was defeated. I have the proof."
The guards looked at each other, their expressions a mixture of pity and disgust. This was madness of the highest order. But Eva didn't move. She had heard the whispers from the palace, the rumors of the High Priest's failed rite, the story of the Oracle's cold ashes. The word 'defeated' struck a chord of ice in her soul.
"Proof?" Eva asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Praxus's eyes narrowed. He saw the flicker of something other than blind dismissal in her expression. He took a calculated risk. "Ask your High Priest about the war between the Builder of Light and the Carver of Silence. Ask him why a constellation named for a serpent is missing from a sky that is supposed to be eternal. Ask him why his Heartstone no longer hums."
Eva's professional mask did not crack, but inside, a wall of certainty crumbled. This madman knew things he had no right to know. The silence of the Heartstone was a secret known only to the highest echelons of the Observatory.
She made a decision that went against every rule of protocol and every instinct for maintaining public order.
"Release him," she commanded.
The guards stared at her, dumbfounded. "Captain?" Joric asked, having returned just in time to witness the scene. "He's a blasphemer. The law is clear."
"The law is designed to protect this city," Eva countered, her gaze locked with Praxus. "And I will not risk this city's soul on the chance that he might be right. You," she said to Praxus, "will come with me. You will get your audience with the High Priest. And if you are lying, if this is some elaborate madness, I will personally escort you to the executioner's block. Do you understand?"
"I understand completely," Praxus said, a flicker of profound relief in his eyes. He had found someone who would listen.
The walk to the Great Observatory was the most tense of Eva's life. She flanked the ragged scholar, Joric and two other guards trailing behind. The citizens they passed stared, whispering, their expressions a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. A Captain of the Guard escorting a known heretic to the foot of the holiest site in the world was a sight that defied all logic.
They arrived at the gleaming marble steps of the Great Observatory. The temple guards, recognizing Eva, were about to grant her entry when they saw the man beside her. They immediately lowered their ceremonial spears, barring the way.
"Captain, this man is not welcome here," the lead guard said, his face a mask of pious outrage. "He is a purveyor of lies and fear."
"By order of the Royal Guard, under the authority of the King's peace, he will be granted entry," Eva stated, her voice ringing with an authority that allowed no argument. "He is here to speak with High Priest Theron. Announce us."
The guard hesitated, then bowed stiffly and disappeared inside.
Eva led Praxus into the Observatory's Grand Foyer. The air was cold and still. The magnificent chamber, designed to be filled with the harmonious hum of the Heartstone, was unnervingly silent. It felt less like a house of worship and more like a pristine, beautiful tomb.
They waited. After what felt like an eternity, High Priest Theron appeared at the top of the grand staircase. He looked older than he had just weeks ago, the weight of his secret failure having carved new lines into his face. His eyes, once full of serene authority, were now haunted.
His gaze fell upon Eva, and then to the ragged man beside her. A flicker of confusion, then annoyance, crossed his features.
"Captain Eva," Theron began, his voice strained. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? And why have you brought this… unfortunate soul… into this sacred place?"
Praxus stepped forward, his chains rattling. He looked up at the High Priest, the man of faith, and his voice was not the shout of a madman, but the quiet, weary tone of a messenger delivering a verdict that was already a year old.
"I have come to tell you what you already know in your heart, High Priest," Praxus said, his voice echoing in the vast, silent hall. "I have come to tell you why your Oracle turned to ash."