Inside the acropolis, chaos reigned. The provincial aristocracy, still reeling from the heavenly talent revealed by the young princess, had barely managed to collect their thoughts when the God of Light himself appeared in person.
Apollo, descending from the heavens for the sake of a little girl!
What an honor! What magnanimity!
All the nobility—from patricians to venerable matrons—turned into ecstatic children. They shouted, shoved one another, like fans catching sight of their idol. Every last one of them strained to glimpse the divine silhouette of the most beautiful man alive.
The air filled with whispers and cries of astonishment.
Some of the more self-assured were already preparing marriage proposals. Some of the more resourceful had already ordered their subordinates to sell information. Some of the wiser ones silently watched Catherine's reaction.
The eyes of Fulvius, Eve, and Adam shone in unison with the Altar, visibly demonstrating their devotion to the god. The holy daughter, holding her breath, desperately tried to make out the beautiful face of her divine "father," yet did not dare disturb him.
Mother and son stared unblinkingly at the Altar, hidden behind a veil of light. Like everyone else, they could see only blurred silhouettes.
Young Gray could not calm down. He was excited and happy for his sister. Secretly, he clenched his fists tightly, hoping to receive the same treatment as a result of his own awakening.
Meanwhile, Catherine barely restrained her anxiety. Reason told her that the God of Light would not be unjust to her daughter. Most likely, Grace would gain considerable benefit from this meeting. But maternal instinct rebelled against logic, filling the woman with growing unease.
'It's genuinely unpleasant that someone is talking to my child without my permission. Even if it's the God himself. Am I really such a paranoid mother?' she tormented herself inwardly.
In the entire acropolis, she was the only woman peering into the pillar of light not to see the most beautiful man alive, but her daughter.
Some time passed. The radiance gradually dissipated.
And then, before everyone, appeared the elevated figure of Allaric, who had visibly grown younger. It was clear he had gained some benefit from his patron. His shoulders had straightened, his gaze sharpened, and even his height seemed to have increased slightly.
The girl, however, had not changed at all. Her face was lit by a dimpled smile—a clear sign of her elevated mood. She was satisfied with her performance and was now carefree, fiddling with a new toy.
The priest leisurely led the princess to her older brothers and sisters. He silently nodded to Eve and Fulvius, indicating his right hand with a glance.
His fingers, folded into a "pistol" shape, served as a conditional signal. There was no point in explanations—his colleagues understood everything and froze for a second, unable to believe what was happening.
Apollo had appeared, and all their plans had to be changed. They could only submit and do everything in their power to carry out the order. For the will of a god is law, especially for his faithful followers.
Fulvius hastily issued orders to his subordinates.
Meanwhile, Eve slipped her arm through her husband's and whispered a few words to him—words that made Adam's heart clench. A mix of awe and disbelief did not show on his cold face, but his mind began working at full capacity.
'Haa… Well, this really is unexpected. Who would have thought that utter nonsense invented to preserve reputation would turn out to be true. Should I be happy… or grieve?' the governor pondered, casting timid glances at his third wife.
He seemed to struggle with something, but eventually made his decision.
"I'm sorry, Catherine. I have no choice. For the sake of the province, I must follow divine will," Adam murmured quietly, nodding approvingly to his first wife.
From that moment on, everything unfolded far too swiftly.
Catherine had not yet managed to check on her daughter when Allaric had already taken Gray away, and Adam had taken his word.
"Citizens of the Roman Empire! Sons and daughters of the Province of Light!
Rejoice—for the God of Light himself, the great Apollo, has descended upon us!
His gaze is upon us. His presence is a sign of blessing. The day of today's ceremony will forever enter the annals of history!
I ask you, maintain dignity and order. Allow our patron to see us at our best. Let us carry the ceremony through to its end.
Let no heart forget: all that happens is by divine will. Phoebo!"
The crowd echoed, "Phoebo!"
Hearing her husband's speech, Catherine exhaled and decided to wait until the ceremony ended. She was somewhat frightened by the deity's attention toward her daughter. God only knew what problems she would have to face in the near future. Little Grace would have to work hard to live up to the proud title of "chosen of the god."
But all that would come later. Now it was Gray's turn.
As her son walked toward the Altar, Catherine bitterly realized how quickly her children were growing up. Just yesterday they had been lying in swaddling clothes; today—they were undergoing the awakening ceremony.
A joyful event for any parent, and at the same time, a slightly sorrowful one. Before she could blink, they would have to leave her. Would she have time to enjoy watching them grow?
"It's impossible for Prince Gray to also have an S-class rainbow core," whispered the crowd.
"They're twins—why not? Look how similar they are."
"Gods, two S-class cores of legendary rank in one ceremony? Seriously?"
Gray walked toward the Altar, ignoring the comments of the "extras."
'Hm… where did he even learn that strange word?' Before he could dwell on the thought, an excited cry rang out from the crowd—his older sister's voice:
"COME ON, LITTLE BROTHER! YOU CAN DO IT!"
Her shout drew a smile to the boy's serious face. His thoughts shifted to a new track.
'I can't lose to my little older sister! I wonder what kind of core I'll have? Though, what does it matter. Even if it's E-class—Mom will take care of it and cover for me. Big deal, I'll have to grant Grace's wishes? I'd do that anyway.'
'Of course, I don't want to disappoint Mom and Dad. Stop. Why should I care about that old man? He shows up once a month, looks at me like I'm a leper. What did I ever do to him? Aren't you my father? Ah, whatever. The important thing is—I'm always with Mom and Grace.'
At last, the boy reached the top of the Altar, where his sister had awakened just moments ago. His detached expression gave way to anticipation and excitement.
The "Sphere of Origin" stood directly before him. So beautiful and mysterious, as if a galaxy were being born inside it. All of the boy's attention was drawn to it.
Watching its smooth surface, Gray let the cardinal's monotonous lecture pass him by. He already knew everything he needed from his mother's explanations. He had watched his sister awaken. Now he was eager to demonstrate his own talent.
Gray acted quickly. He placed his small palm on the smooth sphere and tried to feel the energy sealed within.
The Altar flared with light once more.
The boy closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. The tingling around his navel was clear. As naturally as breathing, he guided it upward through his body—from the solar plexus straight to the shoulder, elbow, wrists, and finally the fingertips.
The moment the energy separated from his body, the sphere turned black—so deep that it began to swallow the surrounding light.
Crack — the sphere fractured.
'No, no, no! Wait, this isn't how it's supposed to be,' panic flared inside the boy. 'I did everything right. I… I can still feel a slight tingling.'
He frantically ran through the steps of the ceremony in his mind, searching for a mistake. What went wrong? Why did the sphere—
And suddenly, a sharp stab pierced his back. A strange sensation, to say the least.
He froze. Slowly lowered his gaze—and saw a sharpened blade protruding from his chest.
The world went quiet. Soundless.
"Was I… stabbed? Just now? Seriously?.."
Gray's thoughts froze. He slowly lifted his gaze, searching for any explanation at all.
Allaric towered over him. His face was twisted by a soft, almost tender smile… yet behind that gentleness Gray saw only fanaticism and madness. In his hand, a snow-white dagger still gleamed—the very one whose tip had pierced the boy's chest.
At last, his brain registered the pain. A wave of agony rolled through his body.
Another moment. His breath faltered. His vision blurred, and the world began to spin. The screams of the crowd reached him dully, as if through a thick layer of water—foreign and very distant.
Consciousness slowly slipped away.
Before finally falling into darkness, he looked at Allaric one last time.
The priest's face glowed from within. Literally. His eyes burned with unnatural, divine light. The smile never left his face, as if he had accomplished something great.
But Gray had no time to think about it. Weakness engulfed him. Only cold and pain slowly spread through his body—but even they began to fade…
The light trembled.
Catherine, standing on the platform, suddenly saw something horrible.
Her mind went blank in an instant. She nearly lost her sanity.
And in the next second… the world shook.
Her magical core pulsed with energy, her aura exploded with bloodlust. Pure, mad fury seized her entire being.
Without hesitating for a second, Catherine lunged toward the Altar. Her instincts screamed at her to move. She was ready to tear everything apart, burn the temple to the ground, and flay alive the cardinal who had dared to hurt her son.
However, the moment she took a step, Adam and Fulvius appeared before her. Behind them stood ten acolytes of the Religion of Light. All of them in white tunics, armed, with resolute gazes.
What? They actually dared to stand in her way?
There was no time to think. An enraged Sky-Dweller was not the best conversationalist. She decided to attack first and ask questions later. Maybe…
A thin sword materialized in her hand and immediately came down on Fulvius. No hesitation, no warning—one swift swing.
Fulvius did not even understand what had happened. He only managed to see a flash—and then he was flying backward, wheezing and choking on his own blood. His body crashed into the crowd, leaving a bloody trail across the marble floor.
She did not even slow down. She was already aiming at Adam.
Her fingers flared, forming a spell—a fireball growing with every fraction of a second, as her scream tore through the air:
"ADAM! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"
Without waiting for an answer, she hurled the sphere at the governor. In truth, she did not want to hear his excuses. The question had been uttered more as an exhalation, to vent the mana accumulated from her rage. Nothing more, nothing less.
Adam barely managed to raise a shield of Light before the spell exploded, scattering sparks and a wave of heat. He staggered back, covered in soot, but still shouted:
"Forgive me, my dear… It is all the will of the god… Phoebo…"
His words drowned in the roar. Catherine was already rushing toward the Altar. She resembled a swift ray of destruction. The guardians of faith could not last even a fraction of a second. One after another, they fell beneath her onslaught—some burned by fire, others flung aside by the force of her aura.
'She's a Heaven-Dweller (7)? How?! She couldn't have broken through so fast!' the thought flashed through Adam's mind as the heads of three of his subordinates rolled across the floor.
But the woman had no care for his astonishment. She had no time—for words or doubt. Every second counted, and she knew it.
Ten meters. Just ten.
Never before had they seemed so far. Normally she would have crossed them in the blink of an eye. Now, every step felt like a struggle against reality itself.
The final meters. Catherine saw Gray's frozen face, pale and motionless. The sight granted her inhuman strength.
The final dash. Her sword cut through the air, tearing the barrier of light apart.
With a fanatical smile on his face, Allaric still clutched the dagger's hilt, immersed in prayer. Blood streamed down his wrists, soaking the white sleeves, but he noticed neither it, nor the hysterical screams of the crowd, nor the approaching battle.
"God, may your name be glorified…" he whispered in a rushed patter, breathless with haste. "…Deliver us from sin. Grant the innocent redemption, and the future sinner punishment. In the name of Light, I proclaim: 'Disperse!'"
The dagger of light flared and dimmed.
Allaric resolutely yanked it from the boy's back. He was at the goal. One more moment and he would complete the rite. The final touch, the final act, but—
At the last instant, he looked at the child. Saw his blue eyes.
The child was neither angry nor afraid. His gaze seemed confused, as if he still did not understand that his life was in danger.
And yet Allaric was covered in goosebumps…
In eyes the color of a summer sky, he saw only a dark pupil, pulsing, trying to swallow the iris. Like a prehistoric beast locked in a cage.
The priest's entire world narrowed to those eyes. Nothing else existed—no temple, no blood, no crowd. Only him, and that endless pupil.
Allaric heard the call of death. Felt the cold scythe of the reaper pressed to his throat. His tongue filled with a metallic taste—as if Charon's coin already lay in his mouth. He felt all of it with terrifying clarity.
His instincts screamed not to move, or else the beast would break free of its cage and devour him, become the reaper and take his soul.
Those moments of hesitation were fatal.
Allaric heard a crack, as if glass had shattered. The shield of light could not withstand Catherine's furious assault.
Burning pain pierced his left side. He barely managed to summon a defense before he was violently thrown off the Altar.
The priest's body slammed with a crunch into an "indestructible" marble column.
Crack.
Cracks spread across the stone. Or were those his bones? Allaric lost consciousness.
At last, Catherine was beside her son. Her hands—trembling with rage, fear, and panic—reached for his motionless body.
"GRAY!!!!! GRAY!!! DON'T DIE, MY SON, MOM IS HERE. MOM IS RIGHT HERE. FORGIVE ME. FORGIVE ME!" Her desperate scream tore through the air, drowning out the roar of the crowd and the crackle of spells.
Her shaking fingers moved clumsily, trying to stop the flow of blood. Dropping to her knees, she pressed Gray to her chest, forgetting about the battle raging around her.
Everything vanished. Only he remained—her son, frozen in blood and silence.
Cassia materialized from her mistress's shadow, ready for battle. Her appearance was accompanied by the fall of three more acolytes. Precise. Fast. Silent.
"WHY, ADAM, WHY?! TELL ME THE REASON!!!!!" Catherine screamed.
With one hand she pressed the wound, with the other she frantically poured potions that appeared directly out of the air. Her lips hurriedly whispered healing spells, straining her legendary-class magical core.
Adam exhaled heavily, dispersing the remnants of the attack.
"Forgive me, Catherine. I have an order," he began quietly, but every word struck like a hammer.
"Before Seville disappeared, it was said: 'When day and night fall out of rhythm, a child will be born whose shadow will eclipse the sun. Old histories will burn, legends will be rewritten. Invaders will descend, and the world will gain new chains.'"
Catherine ignored him. She did not care in the slightest. This was no time to listen to the nonsense of an ex-husband. She had to focus on healing Gray.
But Adam continued:
"Listen to me, Gray is not our son! Do you think a god would order the killing of an innocent? What about the senate and the pontiffs? It's all true! He is not a child—he is a devil! The harbinger of night. By killing him, we will save not only the Province of Light, but all of humanity."
The air thickened with tension.
Everyone held their breath at this revelation. More and more guards converged on the acropolis. Their footsteps echoed dully against the stone. The ring closed, cutting the scene of tragedy off from the world.
Gray lay on the cold marble slabs, lifeless and pale. His chest did not move.
Adam spoke with growing confidence, closely watching the actions of his third wife.
Catherine was beside herself. Like an animal cornered, she wavered between rage, panic, and agony.
"There is always a choice," she whispered.
"And you chose wrong."