The guard froze for a moment, and as his gaze settled, he beheld a youth in white robes, black hair cascading over his shoulders, prostrate at the feet of the goddess. His shoulders trembled as he wept bitterly, his frame steeped in grief and torment.
Then, the guard's eyes fell upon the shattered remains of the Yalan Goddess's statue—only half of it still standing. With a heart-rending cry that split the air, tears burst forth in torrents. He no longer spared Robert a glance, but leapt frantically into the crevice of the ruins, throwing himself at the goddess's feet, and wailed in anguish:"O Goddess! My sins are unforgivable—I failed to protect Your sacred effigy!"
This guard was no false believer like Robert; he belonged to the Yalan priesthood, a devout zealot who revered the goddess as both mother and savior.
Robert, meanwhile, stole a glance at the sobbing man. Taking advantage of the convulsions of grief that shook the guard's shoulders, he subtly shifted his own posture, making his presence appear more natural amid the rubble and drawing himself farther from the statue. For if the guard were to realize Robert's lamentations were a sham—that he had dared touch the goddess's thigh—Robert could not escape the charge of blasphemy.
When his performance was complete, Robert feigned a startled daze, as though roused by the guard's outburst. He raised his head sluggishly, muttering, "You are…?"
The zealot seized Robert by the collar in a sudden frenzy. "Speak! Tell me what you saw of the thunderbolt that smote the cathedral! You alone were in the nave—only you beheld it clearly!"
The roar crashed upon Robert's ears like thunder itself, leaving him reeling. Cursing inwardly, he shoved the man away and resumed his wailing. "Ask me not! I know nothing! Leave me here to die with the goddess's statue!"
At length, the guard calmed, helping Robert to his feet. "Child, forgive my impatience. Rise! The Yalan Church still needs you, to help us hunt down the culprit!"
"You… you came to save me?"
Robert shook his head blankly, then suddenly thrust the guard aside again. Collapsing once more at the goddess's feet, he cried hoarsely, "I will not leave! I am guilty! I must remain and beg forgiveness!"
Ashen, with nose reddened and cheeks streaming, Robert looked the very image of one who had long wept in penitence—yet could not absolve himself of his 'sin.'
This child is a true zealot as well, the guard thought with a sigh. Wiping his own tears, he forced Robert up, slung him onto his back, and staggered from the ruins. "Up, child! Up! The ruin of the goddess's image is not your fault! Live on—we must avenge Her!"
Lying across the guard's back, Robert wondered whether his performance had been too exaggerated. But seeing the guard's lack of suspicion, he reassured himself. Surely, it was not overdone…
The dignitaries of the Yalan Church had now witnessed his piety with their own eyes. If his father heard of this, the old man would be grinning from ear to ear. Thinking of that beloved father—comrade, confidant, as dear as any sworn brother—Robert could not help but smile in secret.
Outside the church, commoners had already been dispersed by soldiers, who now cordoned the ruins with a tight perimeter. The church's guards toiled grimly amid the rubble, and among them was the crimson-robed elder who had earlier tasked Robert with a mission.
The guard set Robert down before him, weeping. "Lord Michel, the goddess's statue lies in ruin! In the sanctum, only this boy survived beneath Her protection."
"No need to tell me—I saw it with my own eyes!"
Michel's visage darkened, wrath blazing. He waved sharply, then cast a softer glance at Robert. "Child, let not guilt consume you. The goddess shall forgive… Tell me your name."
Choking on his sobs, Robert gave his name and station, then lamented: "My father sent me only to translate for you, my lord. Yet… O Yalan above, I have failed!"
"Roxon may be a coarse man, but he has reared a son of true devotion."
Michel's stern gaze warmed as he fixed Robert's name in his heart. Then his voice rose like a trumpet: "That thunderbolt bore the mark of power divine—ordinary lightning could not have shattered a consecrated image! Robert, dry your tears. You alone saw it! For the goddess's sake, you must commit every detail you recall into a written report, and deliver it to me at once. Do you understand?"
Robert hesitated in bewilderment, until Michel thundered his command thrice more. At last he straightened, declaring with fervor: "To serve the goddess and the Church is the sacred duty of every Yalan faithful!"
Michel gave a grave nod. "Since you are the son of Lord Roxon, you will go to him with my decree. Tell him: By order of Michel of the Yalan Church, Moonwatch City is under immediate martial law—no one may enter or leave! Roxon is to lead his troops southeast, where the thunder arose, and arrest any suspicious persons without delay. Should any resist…"
A chilling smile curved Michel's lips. "I grant Lord Roxon the divine right to slay any soul within Moonwatch City."
Any soul? The city teemed with nobles by the hundreds. Could Michel truly execute them without the empire's sanction?
Indeed, he could. Such is the power of the gods' chosen—their word outweighs the crown.
Carrying this weighty decree, Robert hastened to the lord's mansion, trailed by two church guards. Until his report was delivered, the only eyewitness could not be allowed his freedom.
Robert relayed Michel's command to his father, who quickly mobilized the troops. Moonwatch fell into martial law, while church envoys sealed the ruins, gathering fragments of the shattered statue and seeking clues. Word spread that Michel had summoned master sculptors, for the image would soon be restored. Naturally, only women could undertake such sacred work—no unclean hands of men might dare touch the goddess's form, whose beauty revealed even her most private grace.
In his study, under the watch of the guards, Robert gripped his pen and forced himself to recall the thunderbolt. Truth be told, he had been too stunned to see much—merely a flash and a blur. To reconstruct every detail was nearly impossible.
Yet pondering longer, he remembered: unlike common lightning, this bolt was veined with pale, ghastly threads of white, lines so stark they chilled the soul, carrying a terror that pierced bone and spirit alike.
He set this detail in his report and passed it to the guards for Michel. Then, collapsing upon his bed, he raised his left hand and whispered, "Yal, I did not mention you in my account. No one is here now—tell me, was that thunder… your 'transdimensional affliction'?"
The thought amused him. After sharing so many strange terms, he found his own speech almost alien. Yet those very teachings had hinted that such a thunderbolt might be the byproduct of Yal's passage through the realms—a vortex of raw energy.
Energy vortex—another name to add to their list. His smile deepened.
But soon the smile froze. He had called her name many times, yet the peerless beauty did not answer.
And far away, in the southeastern sky, unseen by any, a thunderbolt streaked and vanished—its body laced with dreadful white threads.