Elian woke in darkness. Not the soft kind that came with closing one's eyes, nor the peaceful black of sleep, but a suffocating dark that pressed on her chest like a weight. Her wrists ached. Iron dug deep into her skin, chains rattling whenever she moved. The ground was stone, damp and bitterly cold, and her cheek rested on it as if she were no better than the filth that pooled in its cracks.
Her head throbbed, heavy with memories. The fire in the cathedral, the screams of the faithful, the Pope's blazing eyes—then nothing. She had thought herself clever, brave even, but now she was moving like an animal tied with chains .
She pushed herself forward on shaking knees . Around her stretched a cavern so vast it seemed to have no walls, only endless shadows. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of others moved chained in rows. Some muttered to themselves, rocking back and forth. Others stared with hollow eyes, lips cracked from thirst.
The Realm of Madness.
Elian's heart pounded. She had heard whispers of this place, buried in forbidden texts. A pit for the condemned, where the mind twisted until one forgot their own name. She touched her chest as if to steady herself, but the iron collar bit into her neck, dragging her back to reality. She was no longer the Pope's chosen, no longer the hand that held the dagger. She was a slave and nothing more .
A man chained beside her coughed, his voice brittle. "Don't speak or else the demon with come for you . I hear it's screams in the mountains."
Elian looked at him. His hair was patchy, his eyes clouded white. He did not meet her gaze again, only turned away and began humming, a tune so broken it made her shiver.
She turned and looked at the mountains Infront of them and indeed they looked as if the devil's pet lived in there.
She tried to calm her breathing. She tried to tell herself this was not real. But the pain in her wrists, the stench of rot, and the weight in the air told her otherwise.
Hours—or was it days?—passed without measure. Elian's lips cracked, her stomach clawed at itself. She began to fade, slipping into the same blank despair that gripped the others.
Then—light.
It came suddenly, tearing through the dark like a blade. The slaves around her did not stir. Their hollow eyes remained fixed on nothing. Only Elian saw it: a single shaft of brilliance pouring down from the unseen heights.
Her breath caught. She knew without knowing—this was not a trick of her mind. Something had come.
The light thickened, shaped itself, and from it stepped an angel.
Its wings stretched wide, so white they burned her eyes. Its face was hidden beneath a veil, yet its presence crushed her to her knees. The chains rattled as she Bowed without meaning to, her forehead pressed against the stone. Every beat of her heart screamed that this was no vision. It was truth made flesh.
"Elian," the voice rang, not through her ears but inside her skull. It was not soft, not kind. It was thunder in the hollow of her chest.
The angel flew towards Elian and brushed his finger against her forehead and instantly everything vanished .
Not slowly. Not like mist scattering. The world collapsed all at once, as though it had never been.
A blinding light filled her vision, sharper than any dawn. It pressed against her eyes like fire. For a second she thought she had gone blind, for she saw nothing but white. It was not the white of walls or clouds but the raw brilliance of a thousand suns blazing at once. The light carved into her mind, searing her thoughts until she felt hollowed out.
Then came the sound.
It rose like a tide, swelling from silence into thunder. A choir of voices—millions—singing and wailing together. She could not grasp the words, yet their rhythm struck something familiar, like echoes of the great basilica choirs she had once heard whispered about in hushed prayers. But this was grander and heavier .
When the light softened, Elian realized she was no longer alone.
All around her were thousands angels. Their faces gleamed with radiance, yet none were distinct. Every angel looked familiar, yet she could not name a single one. It was as though the being that had touched her had multiplied into countless reflections, indistinguishable yet overwhelming.
Her eyes were drawn upward.
Above her stretched an endless stairway, vanishing into heights she could not measure. At its summit sat a throne unlike anything she had ever imagined. From it poured a brilliance that swallowed all other light, scattering across the heavens like shards of diamond dust.
Beside the great throne stretched twelve smaller thrones, arrayed in a solemn line. Eleven were occupied. Each figure was clad differently—robes of crimson, of gold, of plain white, of shadowed gray. They were human in form, but weight pressed from them, heavy as mountains.
A single angel broke from the host, wings flashing as he soared upward. He lifted a golden horn to his lips.
"Praise the Highest Saint!"
The sound of the horn split the heavens.
At once the eleven elders rose from their thrones and fell to their knees, pressing their faces into the ground.
"He who judges the moon," the angel's voice thundered, "He who calls upon the sun. He who forever brings glory to the endless universe. Behold—the Light of Creation, the power of blessing!"
The elders bowed deeper, their foreheads striking the floor with a sound like thunder.
"We are guilty of disobedience," they cried as one, their voices shaking the sky. "In our eyes the world has turned to dust. The endless night brings no blessing, only curses. Twelve is one. Eleven is a thousand."
Elian's mouth went dry.
The angel turned toward her, gaze sharp as a blade. "Human being," he said, his voice both command and lament. "Do you understand what you see?"
Elian's throat closed. Words fled her. She shook her head, trembling, unable to answer.
The angel descended. His wings folded away until they disappeared entirely. He stepped onto the ground, walking toward her.
With each step, his form shifted. His radiant skin darkened, turning ashen, then black. His glow faded into shadow. His face twisted, features contorting into something monstrous. From his forehead burst two massive horns, curved and sharp, like those of a bull. His jaw jutted forward, teeth lengthening. By the time he stood before her, no angel remained—only a beast cloaked in ruin.
Elian's breath hitched. Terror clawed into her chest. Her hands shook. Her knees locked. She could not run, could not scream. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but her body betrayed her, rooted to the ground.
The vision around her twisted further.
The elders who had bowed lay sprawled across the floor. Their bodies shriveled, flesh sloughing away until only bones remained, brittle and cracked. The radiant throne dulled, swallowed by shadows, and the figure seated upon it slumped as if in eternal sleep. Around her, the countless angels collapsed one by one, their glory fading into heaps of skeletal remains. The heavenly choir fell silent, replaced by the stench of rot.
The horned figure stepped closer, his hooves cracking the ground beneath him. His eyes glowed red like molten iron.
"Human," he rumbled, voice deep as stone grinding against stone. "You cannot understand now. But the curse is upon you. The fear is yours to carry.
"Follow the thousand springs. Kiss the ocean. Enter the wasteland. Eat bone."
He raised a hand, fingers clawed, and swept it through the air.
The force slammed into Elian like a wave. She flew backward, spinning, her stomach lurching as if the ground itself had been torn away
Elian hit the earth hard. Dust filled her mouth as the chain at her neck dragged against the stones.
"Hey! Move slowly!"
Her head jerked up.
The vision was gone. The blazing thrones, the angels, the rot—all vanished. She was back in the world of chains and dust, lying in the middle of a slave caravan.
A young guard on horseback pulled his silver steed to a halt beside her. His armor gleamed faintly, polished but modest compared to the others. A gray cloak hung loose from his shoulders. His brows furrowed as he glanced down at her.
"You there," he said sharply, nodding toward one of the chained men. "Help her up."
A thin, ragged slave staggered forward. His eyes were sunken, his arms little more than sticks. He bent to lift Elian but could barely budge her. His strength gave out and he collapsed beside her, panting. The chain line behind them jolted to a halt, slaves stumbling as the caravan jammed.
The air filled with groans. Dust swirled around boots and hooves.
"What's the hold-up?"
Another rider approached, the sound of hooves heavier, sharper. His black horse tossed its head, mane whipping like fire. The man sat tall, posture arrogant, expression twisted with disdain. His armor gleamed brighter, traced with golden lines that marked him as higher rank. His eyes darted across the slaves like one surveying insects.
The young guard straightened in his saddle. "Guard King," he said carefully, "the slaves are exhausted. Perhaps we should rest in the mountains ahead."
The Guard King spat, his lip curling in disgust as he glared at a nearby slave. The spittle struck the man's cheek, and the slave did not even flinch.
"Pathetic," the Guard King muttered. His voice dripped with contempt. He turned to the young rider. "Li Xuan, you've just been promoted to silver lieutenant. Stop wasting your time yawning over wretches like her. Do something useful."
His gaze fixed on Elian. His eyes narrowed, filled with loathing, as though she were some revolting creature.
"Worthless bitch," he spat. "Carry your own load. If you're going to die, at least die doing something impressive."
The words stung sharper than chains. Elian clenched her jaw and forced herself to rise, though her head throbbed, her body still trembling from the vision. She bent to help the fallen male slave, straining to haul him to his feet.
"Get moving!" the Guard King barked. His voice cracked like a whip across the caravan.
The slaves shuffled forward again, chains rattling in unison.
Li Xuan let out a sigh. His eyes lingered briefly on Elian, but he said nothing more. He spurred his horse ahead letting the situation go .
Elian stumbled back into step, the iron collar biting into her neck. Her head ached, pounding with the memory of what she had just seen.
Many of whom believed in Christ has visions and would be considered as blessed ones . Elian except being a disciple of the glorious church of light with hidden intentions,she didn't possesses any attribute like the Pope or cardinals even nuns
.
"Alright ,you freaks . We will rest in the mulian mountains ",the guard king thundered .
Even though after being such a brat earlier,it was clear the slaves couldn't walk anymore or else some would die either due to starvation or tiredness .
Elian turned her head towards the huge rocks stretching towards the endless sky . She was new here and didn't know much about this place but just staring at the mountains made her feel unsettled