First Step Towards Light
The fire of siege had died. The sound of war had fallen silent.
In its place, the mundane and grueling work of victory's aftermath began.
Across the dust-choked valleys and broken districts of Roake, the survivors—soldiers, refugees, miners, and broken families—picked through the rubble with the exhausted, mechanical movements of those who had lived too long in fear. The Coalition forces maintained a tense perimeter around the reclaimed western quarter, their banners flying defiantly over makeshift watchtowers. The East Gate, meanwhile, sat abandoned and scorched, its defenders pulled back by Zachary's calculated order.
There would be no glorious march into the heart of the city. Not yet. The cultists still held the mines. Estella was still alive, still dangerous, still breeding her abominations in the deep. This was not a victory. At least not yet. It was a reprieve.
But a reprieve was enough.
-----
-Loriana - Command Tower, The NextDawn-
Zachary sat motionless behind his desk, the dawn light filtering through the narrow window and painting his exhausted face in shades of bruised orange. He had not slept in two days. Coffee, expensive and now doubly precious, sat cold in a porcelain cup by his elbow. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, were fixed on a single piece of parchment.
The letter bore no official seal. No stamp. No sender's mark. Just a single, crudely drawn symbol in the corner—a bow and arrow, crossed over an eye.
Hank's sign.
The letter itself was short, written in the ranger's symbols only he knew the meaning of. Zachary had read it a dozen times already, parsing each word, trying to divine meaning from the vague, cryptic warning.
The Sleeping Giant rustled, The White Halls whisper of the Southern Thorn. The All-Seeing Eye gazes now at Ardenia.
Keep your eyes up, Don't blink in the face of the Abyss.
Zachary carefully folded the letter, slipping it into a drawer and locking it. His face betrayed no emotion, but his jaw was tight.
They're moving. The thought rolled through his mind. The Holy Empire knows the situation in Ardenia... But the question is how big and how far their reach is? Will they play politics? Or go straight to invasion?
The Eclipse Cult's rapid expansion wasn't a grassroots revolution. It was funded, organized, and insidious—too sophisticated to be the work of isolated fanatics. Someone with power, with influence, with resources, was cultivating despair like a farmer tilling fields for harvest.
And now, that someone was watching him.
Zachary rubbed his temples, forcing his mind to refocus. One problem at a time. Secure Loriana. Stabilize the refugees. Defeat the cult...
I should check on the refugees. They might need something.
----
-Radiant Temple - The Healing Ward-
The Sanctuary of Light, usually a place of quiet contemplation and soft hymnals, had been transformed. The pews had been pushed to the walls, stacked high like wooden barricades. In their place, rows of cots filled the nave, each one occupied by a broken body wrapped in linen bandages. The the low moans of the suffering mixed with the cloying smell of herbs around the area.
Zachary walked slowly down the central aisle, beside him, Princess Adreana moved with a grace that belied her exhaustion, stopping frequently to offer a word of comfort or a gentle touch to a fevered brow. Orwella followed a step behind, her face etched with a grim helplessness.
They were here as witnesses to the cost of their victory.
A small tug on Zachary's sleeve stopped him.
He looked down. A little girl, no older than eight, stood there clutching a ragged doll. Her face was smudged with dirt, her large eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. Lysa. He remembered her from the first wave of refugees from Merlesia, she had clung to Adeline's skirt like a frightened shadow.
"Mister... Princess lady..." Lysa's voice trembled. She pointed a small, shaking finger toward two cots near the altar. "My mama and papa... they won't wake up. I tried shaking them. I tried singing to them. They're sleeping too hard."
Adreana knelt immediately, bringing herself to the girl's eye level. "Lysa, isn't it? Let me take a look."
They approached the cots. Lysa's parents lay still, their skin pale and waxy, their breathing shallow and labored. Dark, vein-like discolorations spread from their necks, a tell-tale sign of Lumite Corruption, low-level exposure, likely from forced labor in the toxic lower mines, compounded by malnutrition and despair.
Orwella leaned over, her hands glowing with a soft, golden light as she cast a diagnostic spell. After a moment, the light faded, and she shook her head slowly with a pained expression.
"The corruption has settled too deep inside," Orwella whispered to Zachary, keeping her voice low so the child wouldn't hear. "Their bodies are shutting down. Standard healing arts... even my potions... it's like trying to fill a bucket with no bottom. The corruption eats the mana before it can heal the tissue."
Adreana's face fell. She looked at the parents, then at the hopeful, terrified face of the little girl.
"Is there nothing?" Adreana asked with a desperate edge in voice. "Albion has advanced alchemy. Surely there is a treatment?"
"Not for this," Orwella admitted bitterly. "We have suppressants. But they are ill suited to this level of contamination. To reverse this level of assimilation... it would require a miracle."
Lysa heard the tone, if not the words. Her lip quivered. "Are... are they going to go away? Like grandma?"
Zachary felt a weight settle in his chest, heavier than any armor. He opened his mouth, searching for a gentle lie, anything to shield her for just a moment longer.
"I..."
"The Light brings hope and protects all."
The voice was soft, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze, yet it carried across the crowded hall with effortless clarity.
From the door leading to the temple's rectory, a figure emerged.
She was dressed in the flowing white robes of the Radiant Faith, the gold embroidery catching the dim light. Bandages wrapped around her face, covering her left eye. A white halo, pure and shimmering like solid starlight floated gently above her head, defying gravity.
A Radiant Maidservant. A high-ranking priestess of the Papacy.
Adreana stiffened. "Who are you?"
"Apologies for the intrusion, Your Highness. Commander." The woman bowed deeply, her movements fluid and serene. "I am but a humble servant of The Radiance. I arrived with the last caravan of supplies, intending only to offer prayers. But the suffering here... it called to me."
She raised her head. Her visible right eye was a startling shade of deep azure, clear and filled with boundless compassion. There was no deception there, no political calculation. Just sorrow and a fierce desire to heal.
"I could not stand idly by," she continued softly, her gaze drifting to Lysa. "Not when a child cries."
Zachary narrowed his eyes slightly, his instincts screaming caution. A high-ranking Papal agent, here, now? It was too convenient. He remembered Hank's letter from earlier today, which made her appearance even more suspicious.
But as he looked at her, he felt... nothing. No malice. No hidden agenda vibrating in the air. Just a profound, almost overwhelming sense of peace radiating from her.
"My name is Seraphine," she said, stepping closer to the cots. "I believe I can help them."
"You can?" Lysa gasped, clutching her doll tighter.
"The corruption is deep," Seraphine explained gently, kneeling beside the girl. "But the Light can scour even the deepest shadows, if one knows the True Prayer." She looked up at Zachary and Adreana. "However, the ritual requires absolute purity of focus. The presence of... worldly anxieties... can disrupt the flow of grace."
She offered a small, apologetic smile.
"I must ask that you wait outside. Just for a short while. Let me pray over them in peace."
Orwella frowned. "Maidservant Seraphine, surely you don't imply our presence is impure?"
"Not impure, Paladin," Seraphine corrected gently. "But heavy. You carry the weight of war. Of command. Of doubt. These souls need lightness to rise."
Zachary studied her for a long moment. Then, he looked at Lysa. At the desperate hope rekindling in her eyes.
"Very well," Zachary said quietly. He placed a hand on Lysa's shoulder. "We will wait outside. Lysa, come with us. Let the lady do her work."
Lysa hesitated, looking from her parents to Seraphine. The priestess nodded encouragingly.
"Go, child. When you return, they will embrace you."
Reluctantly, Lysa took Zachary's hand. The group slowly walked toward the heavy oak doors, leaving the serene priestess alone with the sleeping couple.
-----
After a few tense moment, the heavy oak doors of the Radiant Temple finally creaked open, the sound dragging through the silence of the waiting group like a physical weight. Zachary, leaning against a stone pillar with his arms crossed, straightened immediately. Beside him, little Lysa let go of Adreana's hand and took a hesitant step forward, her knuckles white around the leg of her ragged doll.
Seraphine emerged into the morning light.
She moved with the same fluid grace as before, her white robes billowing softly in the breeze, but there was a subtle change in her posture. To the untrained eye, she looked the picture of serene divinity; her halo shimmering, her visible azure eye clear and calm. But Zachary saw it. The slight tremor in her hands as she clasped them together. The faint paleness beneath her immaculate complexion. The way her breath hitched, just for a second, as the fresh air hit her lungs.
She was exhausted. Whatever she had done inside that temple, it had cost her dearly.
Seraphine smiled at Lysa, kneeling down so her single eye was level with the child's.
"It is done, little one," she said, her voice soft as velvet. "The darkness has receded. They are awake."
Lysa's eyes went wide as saucers. She dropped her doll. "Really? Mama? Papa?"
"Yes," Seraphine nodded gently. "But listen closely. The healing was... difficult. Their bodies are like a garden after a long winter... the sun has returned, but the flowers need time to bloom again. They are very weak. You can go to them, hold their hands, speak to them... but let them rest. Do not ask them to run just yet."
"I... I promise! I'll be quiet as a mouse!" Lysa squealed, tears of joy now streaming down her face. She practically vibrated with relief.
"Go on then," Seraphine gestured to the open door.
Lysa immediately bolted past the priestess, her small feet slapping against the stone floor as she disappeared into the dim interior of the temple.
"Thank you! Thank you, lady!" Her voice echoed back before she vanished.
Adreana let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for an hour. She placed a hand over her heart, her own eyes misting. "A miracle... Truly, a miracle."
Orwella stepped forward, bowing her head slightly to Seraphine. The suspicion in the Paladin's gaze had softened into begrudging respect. "To reverse that level of corruption... I have seen Archbishops fail where you succeeded, Maidservant. The Light is truly strong with you."
"The Light is strong with all who seek it," Seraphine replied humbly, rising slowly to her feet. She swayed, just a fraction, and Zachary saw her hand shoot out to steady herself against the doorframe. She masked the movement as a casual lean, but he caught the tightness in her knuckles.
"Are you well, Seraphine?" Zachary asked.
"Quite well, Commander," she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eye this time. "Merely... the channeling requires a great deal of focus. It can be somewhat draining."
Zachary studied her. This woman was a puzzle. A high-ranking priestess with the power to perform what amounted to medical miracles, showing up unannounced in a war zone, healing refugees for free... it screamed 'trap'. Yet, the results were undeniable. Those parents were alive. Lysa was happy.
She is an asset... A dangerous, unknown asset, but an asset nonetheless.
The humanitarian crisis in Roake and Loriana was spiraling. Food was scarce, disease was rampant, and the magical corruption from the mines was like a ticking time bomb. If Seraphine could do this consistently, she could save thousands. She could stabilize the populace in a way his soldiers never could.
But at what cost? What was her price?
"Your skills are impressive," Zachary said, stepping closer. "Ardenia... Loriana is currently overwhelmed. We have thousands more like Lysa's parents. Refugees from the mines. Victims of the Cult. Our own healers are burnt out, their mana reserves dry."
He paused, letting the weight of the situation hang in the air.
"We need help, Maidservant. If your... compassion extends beyond one family, I would ask you to stay. To lend us your aid in this crisis."
Seraphine's azure eye watches him, unblinking. For a moment, Zachary felt as though she was looking through him, dissecting his intentions, weighing his skepticism against his desperation.
"You ask for my help, yet your eyes are filled with shadows, Commander. You wonder if I am a spy. If I carry a hidden dagger beneath my robes."
Zachary's eyes twitched slightly. "I am a man charged with the defense of a city under siege from all sides. Caution is the only luxury I cannot afford to lose."
Seraphine's smile returned, smaller this time, but seemingly genuine.
"An honest answer. Rare among men of power." She straightened, pulling her hand away from the doorframe and standing tall despite her invisible fatigue. "I will stay. Where there is suffering, the Light must follow. I will tend to your sick, Commander. I will heal your wounded."
She bowed her head slightly.
"But in return... I ask only that you do not hinder my prayers. Let me bring solace to these people in the only way I know how."
"As long as your prayers remain spiritual and not political, we will have no quarrel."
"Then we have an accord."
"Orwella," Zachary turned to the Paladin. "Escort Maidservant Seraphine to the main infirmary tent. Ensure she has whatever supplies she needs. And... allocate a detail of your knights for her protection."
And surveillance, the unspoken command hung clearly in the air between them.
"At once, Commander," Orwella nodded, catching the subtext perfectly. She gestured for Seraphine to follow. "This way, Maidservant."
As the priestess walked away, disappearing into the bustling camp with her Paladin escort, Zachary watched her go. Adreana moved to stand beside him.
"You don't trust her," she said.
"I trust her ability," Zachary corrected, turning back to look at the temple door where Lysa's laughter could now be heard faintly. "And right now, stability is what we need. But trust? Trust is earned, Your Highness. And she has a long way to go."
He rubbed his eyes again, the headache behind them throbbing.
"Come. We have supply lines to secure. And I need to find out exactly who sent that priestess to my doorstep."
----
-Loriana - The 'Laboratory' (Abandoned Bakery)-
"So... Where is it? My precious Prototype?"
Treste tapped her foot impatiently on the dusty floorboards, her arms crossed, the tip of her oversized witch hat twitching with irritation. She was glaring at Asep, who was currently sprawled on a workbench, looking like he'd gone twelve rounds with a trash compactor.
Asep replied her with a groan. Shifting slightly and wincing as his ribs protested. He was back in his casual clothes, having finally scrubbed the grime of Roake from his skin, but the deep bruises and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
"Hah... About that..." Asep scratched his head sheepishly, avoiding her intense amethyst gaze. "Funny story, actually. You see, there was this crazy cult lady. Floaty. Obsessive. Wanted to breed a super-race with me. Lots of violet energy. Real bad vibes."
Treste narrowed her eyes. "Get to the point, smoke-stack."
"I... uh... I kinda blew it up," Asep mumbled.
"You WHAT?!" Treste shrieked, her voice hitting a pitch that threatened to shatter the dusty jars on the shelves. "You blew up the Portable Heater?! My regulator valve! My containment runes! That was a breakthrough in condensed Fire Lumite stability! Do you know how many weeks I spent calibrating the flow rate?!"
"Hey! It was tactical!" Asep defended himself, sitting up painfully. "It saved my chastity! And probably my life! She was gonna kidnap me to her sex dungeon, Treste! Do you want that on your conscience? Me, a dried husk in a basement?"
"Whaaat?! Don't you dare explain such obscene things in front of a lady!"
Treste's face went red, half from anger, half from embarrassment. She sputtered for a moment before deciding to just hit him. She grabbed a rolled-up blueprint and whacked him on the arm.
"Ow! Abuse! Workplace violence!" Asep yelped.
"You barbarian! You brute! You... you walking disaster zone!" She whacked him again. "Next time, just stab her! Or run faster! Don't detonate my inventions!"
She huffed, turning away and marching over to her main desk, which was cluttered with gears, crystals, and half-finished diagrams. She aggressively reorganized a stack of papers.
"Hmph. Fine. At least you survived. If you'd died, finding another test subject... er, assistant... with your weird ideas would have been a pain."
Asep chuckled, the sound turning into a wheeze. "Thanks for the concern, Witch-let. Love you too."
He hopped off the table, walking over to stand beside her. He looked down at the diagram she was working on. It was complex, chaotic, and brilliant. A mess of lines and runes detailing something that looked suspiciously like a primitive engine block.
"So," Asep began, his tone shifting into more serious. "I heard that every living being in Rodinia has traces of Lumite in their blood. Is that true?"
"Of course it is, you dunce," Treste replied without looking up, sketching a new rune sequence. "Lumite is the lifeblood of the planet. It's in the water, the soil, the air. Every creature born here absorbs it naturally. It's why some have magic affinity and some don't, but everyone has a baseline mana signature. That's why Mages could resonate with Lumite itself to cast magic. But prolonged exposure to raw Lumite could jumpstart the growth of the crystalline itself inside the body, assimilating their tissues to become another vector of the crystal... That is Lumite Assimilation Sickness."
She paused, sensing the shift in his mood. She put down her quill and looked at him.
"Why do you ask?"
Asep hesitated for a moment. Back then, what Estella had said to him was really concerning.
"I can't detect any traces of Lumite from your blood..."
"What if... someone didn't have it?" Asep asked quietly. "Like, zero trace. No Lumite in their blood at all."
Treste blinked. She stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, she let out a dismissive laugh.
"Certainly impossible. Even the dead have traces of Lumite and would turn into it once their bones fully decayed." She declared. "To have no Lumite... you'd have to be... completely alien to this world. Like a meteor that formed completely from nickel and iron without Lumite in it. Why?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to know." Asep simply shrugged, putting back his mask of nonchalance to hide the fact that he was indeed, an alien.
But he had no intention of telling anyone about that yet. No, if people knew that he was an alien and had no Lumite, he would definitely end up as a specimen in a jar.
I gotta keep this secret safe. The least I can do is keep the secret and let it die with me alone.
"How about the two-cylinder engine that I sketched? Have you begun to work on it?"
"Oh! That's right!" Treste's eyes sparkled immediately, completely distracted as she dug out a note from under the pile of papers. "This one! I'm still working on the runes to stabilize the output of the flame spell and steam expansion! But according to your theory..."
She began to blabber about mechanical and magical theory. Asep just smiled.
Well, at least I know how to distract her.
-------
Leaving his office, Zachary decided to check on the logistical backbone of his increasingly chaotic operation. The path took him down to the lower courtyard, where the ringing clang-clang-clang of hammers on anvils beat out a steady, industrial rhythm that had become the town's heartbeat.
The smithing area was usually a place of disciplined labor, but today it looked more like a hostage situation.
"No, no, no! The tolerance is too loose!" Treste was practically vibrating, pointing an accusing finger at an intricate brass cylinder clamped in a vice. "If the mana compression chamber isn't airtight within a micron, the whole thing becomes a grenade! Do you want Asep to explode again? Actually, don't answer that."
"I-I don't know what you are saying, Lady Witch... This is not making any sense! Your requests grow weirder and weirder each day!" Luke, one of Master Darian's most promising senior apprentices, looked on the verge of tears. He held a measuring caliper in one hand and a file in the other, his face smeared with soot and panic. "Soot and hammers, lady! I'm a blacksmith, not a... a micromancer!"
"Just file it down, Luke," Asep leaned casually against a workbench, tossing an apple in the air and catching it. He looked amused. "Like shaving a cat. Careful, precise, and try not to get scratched."
"That metaphor helps no one!" Luke wailed.
Zachary watched the scene for a moment, shaking his head slightly. Those three were creating something that would either save the world or blow it up. He sincerely hoped for the former.
He moved past the comedic struggle towards the main forge, where the heat was intense enough to singe eyebrows. Master Darian was overseeing the repair of armor battered during the Roake campaign.
But Darian wasn't the only one there.
Standing by the anvil, examining a massive tower shield with critical appraisal, was a knight who looked like he had stepped out of a storybook about chivalry.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated an aura of calm and seasoned strength. His hair was a dignified silver-grey, neatly trimmed, matching the short beard that framed a jawline that could cut glass. He wore the armor of an Avalon Knight; polished plate with blue tabard—but it was worn with the ease of a second skin.
Sir Alistair Howard Merigold. Orwella's uncle and a legendary figure within the Order.
"That's some nasty dent. I can only fix the surface, but the core enchantment needs to be reapplied by an enchanter." Darian grunted, wiping his brow with a rag. "You took a hit from a siege engine with this thing?"
"Something like that," Alistair chuckled with a deep, warm sound. He ran his gauntleted hand over a massive indentation in the center of the shield. "A Thrall in the mines. Nasty piece of work. Had fists like anvils. Decided to test the structural integrity of my defense personally."
"And you held?" Zachary asked, stepping into the forge's light.
Alistair turned, his expression brightening. "Commander Valente. Or should I say, the man currently herding cats and saving kingdoms?"
"Just Zachary is fine, Sir Alistair." He extended a hand.
Alistair shook it firmly. "And I did hold. Though my shoulder disagrees with my assessment. The bone is fine, but the pride... well, getting knocked back ten feet by a mindless brute is humbling."
"You soloed a Thrall?" Zachary raised an eyebrow. "Those things require concentrated volley fire... Or the Nords transformation technique to be on equal ground."
"Well, when one finds oneself separated from the Phalanx in a dark tunnel, one improvises," Alistair smiled, patting his damaged shield. "Besides, I couldn't let young Orwella have all the glory, could I? She's already showing me up with that 'Sacred Bastion' of hers."
He looked around the forge, his gaze lingering on the apprentices running back and forth, on the refugees working the bellows, on Asep and Treste arguing over tolerances in the corner.
"It has been a long time, Zachary," Alistair said softly, his tone shifting. "We haven't felt such warmth and friendship for a long time, not since the Merlesia Incident. Orwella has arranged all the medicine and supplies we have to share with your people. But it's good to see hope still in the eyes of the people."
"Ardenia's situation has become grave, and we bear some responsibility..." He sighed, looking genuinely remorseful. "We should've stopped Lord William sooner. We Avalon Knights pledge to protect the people, yet we let a monster wearing our crest commit atrocities."
"William is dead. The past cannot be rewritten," Zachary said. "But the future can be forged. We appreciate the aid, Sir Alistair. Truly."
"We will do what we can," Alistair nodded. "And speaking of the future... The Council of Knights will send an envoy soon to resolve these issues. They hope justice and righteousness will return to this land, and every corner of Ardenia can enjoy the peace of this town."
"Thank you, Sir Alistair. Your words comfort me." Zachary said.
He knew there was a long way to go. With the Holy Empire breathing down his neck, Cultist activities on the rise, and now the Knight Council's eyes turned toward them... Peace was a distant dream.
Zachary's gaze drifted past the forge, out toward the bustling streets of Loriana.
But we have light, however dim.
He looked at Asep, currently laughing at something Luke said while Treste fumed. Then at the refugees, working side by side with his mercenaries.
As long as that light remained, they had a chance.
-----
-Water Lilies' Embrace-
After bullying Luke into creating the stuff and leaving Treste to continue their research, Asep went to the Water Lilies' Embrace tavern to relax.
Why Water Lilies'? Because The Gilded Tankard was packed to the brim after the victory at Roake. It was too noisy for Asep, who wanted to have a quiet evening. Water Lilies' Embrace was a more refined establishment.
Not really because of that, though.
The truth was, he had a duet with Naraya from the Renjiran Dancing Troupe. Although she wasn't really good at singing, her voice was heavenly when she did it. Combined with her [Celestial Song], she could heal and soothe the hearts of weary souls.
And Asep, who had some talent in music since his school days—occasionally as a street performer (pengamen jalanan) for pocket money, was the perfect partner for her.
He stepped inside the tavern and the atmosphere was calm. Soft chatter filled the room. The scent of roasted meat and Lotus wine was pleasant. He walked to the corner, where Naraya and her troupe members were tuning their instruments.
"Hey, star of the show." Asep greeted with a lazy grin.
"Oh! Asep!" Naraya's fox ears perked up instantly. She was wearing a traditional Renjiran dancer's garb; layers of flowing silk in forest green, detached flowing sleeves with light green gradients, and a soft white sash. "You finally came! The show is about to start."
"Good. Have you memorized the song I gave you?" Asep said as he picked up a vihuela guitar.
"The 'Seandainya' song? Yes. It's... I don't really understand the lyrics but... Isn't this a sad song?"
"It is. But sometimes, a sad song is what people need." Asep sat on the stool and began to strum the vihuela. "Sometimes, people just want to cry. Let's give them what they need."
"You're weird... But fine." Naraya said. "Let's do this."
With a nod, Naraya took a deep breath. Asep plucked the first chord. A slow, melancholic melody drifted through the tavern. The clinking of glasses stopped. The conversations hushed. All eyes turned to the small stage.
Naraya began to sing. Her voice was pure and haunting, carrying the weight of the song's emotion even if the words were foreign to the listeners.
"Kelak kau kan menjalani hidupmu sendiri~"
"Melukai kenangan yang telah kita lalui..."
"Yang tersisa hanya aku sendiri di sini~"
Her voice resonated with the mana in the air, creating a subtle [Soothing Aura] that washed over the tired mercenaries and traumatized refugees. Shoulders relaxed. Eyes closed. Some even shed silent tears, the bottled-up grief finally finding an outlet.
"Kau akan terbang jauh menembus awan~"
"Memulai kisah baru tanpa diriku~"
Asep strummed his vihuela as the refrain started.
"Seandainya... kau tahu... ku tak ingin kau pergi..."
"Meninggalkanku sendiri bersama bayangmu..."
"Seandainya... kau tahu... aku kan selalu cinta~"
"Jangan kau lupakan kenangan kita selama ini~"
As the last note faded, a heavy silence hung in the room for a heartbeat, before erupting into applause. It wasn't raucous cheers, but genuine, heartfelt clapping.
"Wow... My heart feels lighter..." someone murmured.
"Beautiful..." another whispered.
Asep put down the guitar and smiled. "Not bad, foxy. Not bad at all."
"You're not bad yourself, Asep." Naraya giggled, her tail swaying happily.
Damn... I just contaminated a foreign culture with Vierratale...* Asep thought. Whatever. I hope Kevin Aprilio would be proud.
"Alright, I'm gonna rest. See ya around, Naraya."
He stood up, giving a small wave to the crowd, and walked toward the exit.
*Well, it's not really that bad... Hope Adeline could see it though. But I doubt it, she's currently working tirelessly. I just hope she gets enough rest.*
He thought as he walked into the night.
_____
-Somewhere in the Deep Sanctum of Roake-
"We're losing! We're losing! They're occupying the western district and the east district is unrecognizable! What do we do?! Lord Hierarch, we need to do something!"
A panicked cultist messenger walked back and forth, his face full of fear and anxiety as he told the bad news to the person who sat on the throne of black obsidian.
The room was vast, carved from the living rock deep beneath Roake. Rivers of corrupted violet Lumite flowed in channels on either side of the walkway, casting jagged, dancing shadows.
"Silence."
The word was spoken softly, yet it echoed with terrifying weight.
"Hnk... AH!"
Almost immediately, the messenger exploded. Literally. His body convulsed and ruptured from inside out, painting the obsidian floor with viscera and bone fragments.
On the throne sat a figure. A man of indeterminate age, wearing the deep purple robe of the Eclipse cult. His face was framed with a neat beard, and his crimson eyes glowed in the dark.
Above his head, a dark-purple halo with cracks in it floated ominously. And a row of crystalline growths lined his neck.
This man was the Hierarch of the Eclipse Cult, Solus.
"Estella, Idomay... I'm disappointed in you." He said. His crimson eyes stared at the two women kneeling before the throne. One was Estella, the Overseer of the West District, and the other was Idomay, Overseer of the East District. Both of them were trembling.
"F-forgive me, Lord Hierarch... The arrival of the Knights and the... strange man... it's complicated things." Estella said, her usual confidence replaced by fear.
"And you, Idomay?" His gaze turned to the other woman. Idomay, a former champion of underground pit fighting and leader of the Iron Hounds gang. She was a rival of Idia, and she had joined the cult to gain more power for herself.
"My apologies, Your Grace! Those Coalition forces... I can't believe I was defeated by that woman with the large cleaver... Please let me take my revenge! I will rip off her head and present it to you!"
"Excuses and excuses... You know I loathe incompetence!"
An oppressive pressure descended on the room. Both women were pinned to the floor, gasping for air.
"H-have mercy, Lord Hierarch!" Idomay squeaked.
"Please... give me one more chance... I will bring the strange man... alive!" Estella pleaded.
Solus looked at them with cold detachment. He raised his finger.
"Very well. I will give you... one chance."
The pressure lifted slightly, allowing them to breathe.
"Go to the surface. Bring me the head of The Princess, The Commander, and The Avalon Knights. As for the man... I have special interest in him." Solus leaned forward, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "If he is truly an anomaly... perhaps he is the key to accelerating the Convergence."
"As you command, Your Grace." Both women bowed deeply.
Solus waved his hand, dismissing them.
"Begone. Don't disappoint me again."
As they scrambled out of the throne room, Solus leaned back, tapping his fingers on the armrest.
"Ardenia... Albion... The Holy Empire... They are all blind. The Eclipse is inevitable." He chuckled. "Soon... The world will be reborn in perfect darkness."
With a flick of his wrist, a hidden door behind the throne opened. A robed figure entered, bowing low.
"Lord Hierarch. The Envoy has arrived at the secret entrance. They wish to speak regarding... the funding."
Solus's smile widened.
"Ah. Excellent. Send them in. Let us negotiate the price of a kingdom's soul."