Miles Phillips paced the grand marble halls of the cathedral, his footsteps echoing beneath towering stained glass windows. The scent of incense mingled with the cold stone air, and distant whispers of the council echoed like ghosts. At the far end, shrouded in shadow and perched atop a golden throne reserved only for Gods, sat Thidos—an imposing figure whose presence bent the very light around them.
Miles stopped and bowed his head, voice low but strained.
"So, tell me… why have the Balataries grown so arrogant lately, my lord? Just days ago, I had to save a Balaterian woman from ending her life. She made a scene, but I had to act—because—"
A voice interrupted, low and chilling:
"I understand your frustrations."
Miles jerked his gaze upward, eyes wide, heart hammering. The shadowed figure's eyes glowed—pure white, unfathomable, like a bottomless void. The very air rippled with divine energy, pressing down on him like a physical weight.
"Humans always crave attention," Thidos said, voice calm but heavy with disdain. "It is... a curious flaw."
Miles swallowed hard, barely able to hold his posture.
"Yet I do not wish to hear complaints from mortals. My focus lies elsewhere. The Imp—the insect—has proven to be a troubling nuisance. Has their identity been uncovered?"
Miles hesitated, sweat forming at his brow. "No, my lord. Despite recovering the bodies of their victims, they have been too mangled to identify. None among us has discerned who this creature truly is."
A harsh laugh echoed through the cathedral.
"You seem to neglect this matter." Thidos's tone shifted, sharp and mocking. "Therefore, I am assigning another to this task. Saraline Grover will take over. You have failed to handle affairs befitting your station."
Before Miles could protest, a snap of divine fingers echoed like thunder.
In an instant, Saraline Grover appeared—kneeling, radiant in her emerald hair and azure eyes, her pale skin almost glowing under the cathedral's light.
"You are dismissed, Miles Phillips of Asaldom."
Miles opened his mouth, but the voice above cut him off with another sharp snap.
Saraline remained kneeling, trembling yet resolute. She dared not meet the eyes of the God directly, but inside, fear churned fiercely.
A new voice whispered in her mind—cold, distant, yet commanding:
"Do not fear, child."
Saraline shivered, feeling the presence like a shadow wrapping around her soul.
"I could forge a new throne. The laws of man bend before me and my siblings."
Her heart thundered at the sheer magnitude of the God's power. She had witnessed such acts many times before as the Seventh Saint of Floria, but never had it felt so personal.
"Slay the Imp. Bring me success where others have failed."
Before she could respond, a wave of force propelled Saraline from the cathedral, hurtling her toward the wasteland—the very place where James had met his end.