The Guardian Knight arrived without thunder.
That was the first thing Isaiah noticed.
No alarms.
No citywide prayer chimes.
No announcement from the Covenant towers.
One moment the sky above Crescent City was a patient blue-gray.
The next, it was cut open, not violently, but decisively , by a descending cathedral-shaped vessel wrapped in gold-veined light.
It hovered.
Not because it needed to.
Because it wanted everyone to look up.
The city slowed.
Ships rerouted instinctively.
Market drones dimmed their lights.
Even the wind softened, as if remembering its manners.
Isaiah stood on the Upper Terrace with the other trainees, watching.
"That's a Cathedral Ship," Kaveh said beside him. "Church of Celestial Veins."
Isaiah swallowed.
"I thought they didn't interfere directly."
"They don't," Kaveh replied.
"Until they do."
The vessel's hull bore the sigil of the Four Gods' Luna, Sol, Midnight, Eclipse ' etched not as icons, but as flowing veins of light. The ship was grown, not built. Biotech sanctified through centuries of ritual and belief.
"Guardian Knight onboard," someone murmured.
A ripple of tension spread through the Covenant ranks.
One Guardian Knight equaled ten thousand soldiers.
Not because of raw force, but because Guardian DOMAs were shaped by faith, not personal trauma. The Church believed suffering belonged to the gods first, and men merely borrowed it.
Isaiah felt his chest tighten.
The Smiling Gentleman appeared beside him, hands in pockets, whistling softly.
"Yoh," he said. "That's never a good sign."
"You sound excited," Isaiah said.
"Oh, I am," the Commander replied cheerfully. "I love it when people who think they run the world come say hi."
The ship's lower sanctum opened.
Light poured out, warm, blinding, authoritative.
A single figure descended.
The Guardian Knight did not wear armor.
He wore ceremony.
White and gold robes draped over a frame that radiated stillness. His skin was dark, his head shaved, his eyes milk-pale - not blind, Isaiah realized, but inward-looking. A halo-like construct hovered behind him, slowly rotating, etched with scripture fragments.
The air around him felt... heavy.
Not like the Quiet King's silence.
This was weight through belief.
The Guardian Knight's feet touched Covenant stone.
And the stone cracked.
Just a little.
Isaiah exhaled shakily.
The Quiet King stepped forward alone.
No guards.
No display.
Cane grounded.
Back straight.
Two philosophies meeting in the open.
"Welcome to neutral ground," the Quiet King said calmly.
"You bring the Church close to places it does not usually tread."
The Guardian Knight smiled faintly.
"Balance requires proximity," he replied.
"I am Seraphiel of the Fourth Vein."
A murmur passed through the onlookers.
Fourth Vein meant Eclipse, balance, contradiction, union of opposites.
Dangerous.
Seraphiel's gaze drifted - slowly, precisely - across the Covenant members... and stopped on Isaiah.
Isaiah felt it.
That inward pull.
Like his pain was being read.
"You have taken in a Lion's exile," Seraphiel said.
"House Lion does not forgive weakness easily."
Isaiah stiffened.
The Quiet King did not turn.
"We do not collect Houses," he said.
"We receive people."
Seraphiel chuckled softly.
"A semantic luxury," he said. "The gods are curious. A new DOMA stirs. Unnamed. Untitled."
Isaiah's breath caught.
The Smiling Gentleman leaned over.
"Ah," he whispered. "See? You're already trending."
Seraphiel raised one hand.
The sky dimmed.
"This is not an accusation," the Guardian Knight said.
"This is an audit."
Isaiah's knees threatened to buckle.
Seraphiel turned fully toward him now.
"Boy," he said gently. "Do you know why the Church fears uncontrolled DOMAs?"
Isaiah swallowed.
"Because they're dangerous?"
Seraphiel shook his head.
"No. Because they remind us the gods are not finished grieving."
Silence stretched.
"In Verden's Reach," Seraphiel continued, "the Houses rule space through legacy. The Covenant regulates restraint. And the Church-"
He tapped his chest.
"-interprets suffering so the universe does not drown in it."
The Quiet King finally spoke.
"And yet," he said softly, "wars are still fought. Children still break. Faith still kills."
Seraphiel met his gaze.
"Because balance is not peace," the Guardian Knight replied.
"It is tension, held correctly."
The Smiling Gentleman sighed dramatically.
"Yoh. This is why nobody invites theologians to braais."
A few Covenant members stifled smiles.
Seraphiel's eyes flicked toward him - lingering just a fraction too long.
"You," the Guardian Knight said.
"Are... interesting."
The Smiling Gentleman grinned.
"I get that a lot."
The halo behind Seraphiel pulsed faintly.
Then he turned back to the Quiet King.
"The Church will observe," he said.
"This Lion will not be touched. For now."
Isaiah's heart pounded.
"But understand this," Seraphiel added.
"If his DOMA grows without doctrine, the gods will intervene."
The Quiet King inclined his head.
"And if the gods overreach," he said calmly,
"the Covenant will respond."
The air tightened.
Two ancient systems locking eyes.
Then Seraphiel stepped backward, ascending slowly into light.
The Cathedral Ship sealed itself and rose into the sky, leaving behind a city exhaling in relief.
Isaiah slumped slightly.
The Smiling Gentleman clapped him on the shoulder.
"Congrats," he said. "You just survived divine HR."
Isaiah laughed weakly.
"That was terrifying."
"Good," the Commander replied.
"That means you understand the stakes."
The Quiet King turned to Isaiah at last.
"The world will now watch you," he said.
"Houses, Church, things without names."
Isaiah nodded slowly.
"I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does," the Quiet King said.
"But you will decide what it becomes."
Isaiah looked up at the sky - at the retreating light, the watching planets, the weight of everything pressing down.
For the first time since exile...
He did not feel small.
He felt seen.
And somewhere beyond records and memory,
something unseen took note.
The Powers of Verden
The Houses inherit trauma.
The Church interprets it.
The Covenant restrains it.
But the Forgotten...
They erase it
when even memory becomes too dangerous to keep.