A gray and somber dawn broke, as fine, unrelenting rain cascaded from the heavens, cleansing the towering silhouette of an ancient black cathedral. Beneath that relentless drizzle, nearly a thousand soldiers in obsidian armor stood in rigid formation before the cathedral's gates, their ranks forming an unbroken barricade. Clad in drenched battle-plate, long spears glinting in the pallid light, they held their ground with grim vigilance, unflinching as rivulets streamed across their stern faces, betraying not a flicker of weariness.
Opposite them surged a sea of humanity, tens of thousands of fervent citizens pressing forward with restless zeal, the vast square choked to suffocation. Were it not for the soldiers' unyielding discipline, the cathedral doors might long since have splintered under the crush, yielding to the flood of desperate worshipers eager to pour inside.
This was the cathedral's front gate. Yet along the narrow path at its rear, another cordon of guards stood watch, sealing every approach against trespassers who might dare to slip inside unnoticed.
At that very moment, however, two youths came striding down the path with careless boldness, heading straight for the fortified rear entrance. A guard stepped forward to block their way, but one of the boys produced a token with a casual flick of his wrist. At once the soldier bowed with deference, granting passage without further challenge.
Thus unimpeded, the two reached the door itself. One stretched out his hand to push it open, yet his companion seized him in anxious hesitation.
"Robert… are we truly right to do this? Yes, your father may be the Lord of this city, but outside—tens of thousands stand in the rain, waiting their turn. And here we are, abusing your privilege, masquerading as attendants to steal our way inside. Won't this provoke the people's wrath?"
The youth named Robert, a dark-haired figure in a white robe, about twenty years of age, merely cast him a sidelong glance. With his left hand, clad in black fingerless gloves, he gestured toward the southeast sky where thunderclouds boiled and faint streaks of lightning writhed. "Do you see? The storm is nearly upon us. Sena, my dearest friend—would you rather share the privilege of entering early with the son of the city lord, or join the huddled masses at the gates, drenched and shivering as the tempest breaks?"
Sena lowered his gaze, pondering, then sighed and followed timidly after Robert. Under his breath he muttered, "So be it… to behold the fairest of goddesses with my own eyes, I'll risk anything!"
Both Robert and Sena were students of the Seminary, devout adherents of faith—or at least, outwardly so.
The creed they embraced was the sacred cult of Yalan, whose most exalted deity was none other than the Goddess Yalan herself. Legend proclaimed her the most beautiful of all divine beings, possessed of such peerless grace that a single glance from her could banish from a man's heart all earthly desire, binding his devotion to her alone for eternity.
Yet gods dwell aloof and veiled in mystery. Though Yalan was whispered of as the loveliest of the pantheon, to most men her visage remained an enigma. Even Robert, who had worshiped her devoutly for years, had never truly known the measure of her beauty.
And yet—what is more alluring than the unknown? The greater the mystery, the deeper a man's hunger to unveil it. Robert, like countless others, yearned desperately for the chance to behold the goddess's true countenance.
At last, that chance had come.
Not long ago, the high elders of Yalan's church devised a grand design: they would unveil the holiest of relics—a statue carved, it was said, in the likeness of the goddess herself. With it, they would embark upon a continental procession, allowing the multitudes to draw near to the divine image, that their faith might be kindled and the church's dominion strengthened.
To Robert, however, this was no mission of faith—it was the rarest opportunity to pierce the veil, to seize a glimpse of the goddess's eternal beauty.
He had waited months for this day, counting the hours until the procession reached Moonwatch City. Yet there was a cruel truth: the idol would be here for but a single day, and already tens of thousands thronged the cathedral. Looking at the teeming crowd, soaked and desperate, Robert and Sena knew it was all but impossible to gain entry by ordinary means.
But Robert was no ordinary youth—he was the son of Moonwatch's lord.
At first he had sought to claim entry through his father's authority. Yet the cathedral guards were no mere local watchmen—they were the elite sent directly by the Yalan Church, fanatical and incorruptible, bound by no earthly jurisdiction. Their decree was iron: "Until the appointed hour of the procession, none may enter save the consecrated attendants. Any violation is sacrilege against the Goddess herself."
Robert had known then that persuasion was futile. These were zealots, willing to shed blood before they would bend the rules.
And yet, from their words, inspiration struck. Seizing a token from his father's manor, he and Sena returned, cloaked in the guise of "official envoys sent to aid the procession." With that simple ruse, the guarded rear door had yielded to them.
Now, within the sanctified walls, Robert cast a glance over the freshly painted plaster and whispered, "Sena—remember. We are no longer students of the Seminary, but attendants dispatched by the city lord. Breathe not a word of professors or tutors, or our deception will be laid bare."
Sena nodded nervously just as a procession of crimson-robed elders emerged from the inner cloister. At once he shrank behind Robert's back.
Robert stepped forward with a respectful bow, presenting the token with practiced reverence. "May the Goddess Yalan bless all mankind. Esteemed masters, we are attendants dispatched from the lord of Moonwatch, here to assist in the holy procession. I beg you to examine our token."
One elder frowned, glancing at Robert with puzzlement. "We requested no such aid."
Robert bent lower, his voice steeped in humility. "My lords, Moonwatch lies far from the heartlands. Its people speak with thick accents, steeped in dialect and colloquial tongue. Our city lord feared that misunderstanding might arise between the faithful and your honored selves. Thus he bid us hasten here, through the storm, to serve as interpreters for the glory of the goddess."
The elder pondered, then gave a slight nod, handing back the token. "So be it. Go, then, to the great hall where the goddess's statue awaits. When the procession begins, you shall serve the preachers as their tongues."
Robert's heart leapt with triumph. At last—O radiant Yalan, fairest goddess beneath the heavens—at last your visage shall be mine to behold.
Yet outwardly he betrayed nothing but reverent composure. With a discreet nudge to Sena, the two youths turned and stepped into the passage leading toward the sacred hall.
But just as they did—