The morning sun cast a soft warmth across her skin, and the breeze tugged gently at her hair. It was a pleasant sort of day—the kind that might've made her pause and lift her face to the sky, if her stomach weren't twisted into a nervous knot.
Aeliana's steps slowed as she approached the imposing building with sharp lines and heavy Victorian architecture. Her simple ivory dress fluttered around her legs, and the low tilt of her wide-brimmed sun hat hid the taut line of her lips.
Two men stood at the front entrance, robed like priests but built like warriors. Their stances were too stiff, their eyes too alert. It was clear they weren't here for scripture readings.
Aeliana swallowed.
As she neared, their gazes shifted toward her, gleaming with a light somewhere between polite interest and suspicion.
"Good morning," one of them said.
"I… I was hoping to use the confession booth," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
The two exchanged a quick glance.
"Do you have a reservation?" the other asked, more curtly than she would've liked.
She blinked. "A reservation?"
His tone hardened. "They're required for all services now."
Aeliana tried not to fidget. "Oh. I didn't know. Um, would it be alright if I just prayed, then?"
"Prayer hours today are between noon and three," the first one said flatly. "Come back then."
There was no room for negotiation in his voice.
Aeliana bowed slightly, offered a polite but mostly shaky smile, and quietly turned away.
She didn't look back.
I can't afford to give up now, she thought with a frown.
Mustering her courage, she circled around the side of the cathedral grounds, careful not to draw attention. The back entrance was quieter, tucked away past a row of hedges. She paused behind one, crouching low when the clatter of wooden wheels reached her ears.
A wagon?
Two men were unloading sacks and shouldering them into a side door. She held her breath and waited.
When the second man disappeared inside, Aeliana broke from cover and made her way to the wagon. The horses reared slightly at her sudden approach, their ears flicking back as they whinnied.
"Shhh… it's okay," she whispered, reaching up with both hands to soothe them. One of them snorted loudly, completely unimpressed.
Aeliana's gaze darted around nervously. Giving up, she slipped past them and ducked into the courtyard beyond. There was a thin hedge line there, perfectly trimmed and just tall enough to crouch behind. She pressed herself low.
The Zepharion Church was more than a house of worship—it was a citadel, a home to the faithful who had given their lives to the goddess of purity.
Peeking through the leaves, she spied acolytes moving in slow, purposeful steps. Some carried scrolls, others trays. Priests whispered to themselves as they walked the cloisters. Nuns dressed in pale white robes drifted like ghosts through the walkways, their heads bowed in quiet prayer.
Aeliana waited. And waited.
When the path finally cleared, she rose and hurried forward. Her sandals barely made a sound as she moved across the marble. She stopped in front of a plain wooden door tucked behind one of the lesser courtyards. From her observations, it was the female dormitory.
Hopefully, she pleaded.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached into her purse to retrieve a pair of lockpicks. She stared at them for a second like they might scold her. Then crouched down, peered into the keyhole, and clumsily began working.
"Come on… left… then right… or is it—?" she muttered to herself, lips pressed into a thin line as the pins refused to budge.
Inside, on the other side of the door, a pair of tiny black paws reached up. Midnight, perched proudly atop Zephyr's back, was fiddling from the other end with the key they had procured.
CLICK.
The lock gave way.
Aeliana gasped softly. "Wait—did I just—?"
She quickly turned the handle and slipped inside while grinning. "Oh wow… that was easier than excepted. Wait… could I actually be a genius?"
At the threshold, a pool of black ink rippled on the floor. Midnight and Zephyr emerged from it, their tiny heads poking out just far enough to watch the oblivious nun skip off into the corridor.
A nun carrying around lockpicks. In addition to trespassing and breaking and entering, wasn't she accumulating karma and sin?
They looked at each other while considering that, then sighed in perfect unison.
***
Stynx strode along a vaulted corridor in the stone keep, his gaze fixed on the Crownspire Tower next door that was currently undergoing renovations.
A gleeful, almost twisted grin spread across his face as he entertained the fact that Lumielle was alive. Perfect, he thought. Everyone believes she's either dead or fled the kingdom long ago. Let them keep thinking that.
His fingers twitched with anticipation, a dark gleam lighting his rusty eyes. I'll find her first. I'll capture her in secret—no one else needs to know. And when I take the throne… His grin widened. She'll be mine. Hidden away. My beautiful little secret.
He chuckled, utterly intoxicated by the idea of finally claiming the goddess for himself. Just when he thought the moment couldn't grow any sweeter, movement caught his eye—a woman approaching in a servant's garb.
Stynx's eyes narrowed as he caught the glint of silver hair peeking from beneath her hood. She fidgeted, clearly trying to keep her face hidden.
But it was already too late.
He had seen enough.
Stynx let out a half-suppressed laugh, a wicked grin splitting his face as his hand lashed out like a viper, seizing the girl's cheeks and slamming her against the wall. A wave of heady satisfaction surged through him—power, dominance, control. He drank it all in, especially as he watched terror slowly distort what had once been lovely features.
"For the first time in weeks," Stynx leaned in, his voice a chilling whisper against Sophia's ear, "I feel truly alive—like my soul has finally returned to my body."
"Mmhnn!" Sophia mumbled into her assailant's palm.
Stynx giggled like a sadistic child. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun together," he whispered, eyes hooded with depravity. "Lumielle will be my mistress. You… my lovely concubine. And Lyndoria?"
His smile widened, voice dripping with cruelty. "I wouldn't dare separate you three. No, she'll stay too—after a proper lashing. I want to hear her scream, see her break… until she learns the price of defying me. Then I'll make her my slave and work her like a dog."
Suddenly, Sophia's expression shifted like a mirage. The terror that had once gripped her face vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unsettling calm. Her fingers, once clawing at his arm in desperation, now locked around him with the crushing strength of an ogre.
The blood drained from Stynx's face. Now it was his demeanor that did a complete 180—cocky arrogance giving way to wide-eyed disbelief.
Sophia's butterscotch eyes began to glow, and strands of silver hair slipped free from beneath the hood, cascading down her shoulders. In that moment, memories of the Dungeon Break surged to the forefront of Stynx's mind—rumors of a silver-haired goddess who had singlehandedly felled the beast geared to reduce the city to rubble.
I-It can't be…
And yet it was the truth.
The world suddenly shifted. In the blink of an eye, Sophia squeezed Stynx's arm and yanked him in. Her hair rippled as she dipped low. In the next beat, a solid punch to the gut had the fake bastard prince folding like a screen, his eyes rolling back as pain shot through his body like lightning.
Cough!
Spittle and blood burst from his mouth. Before his feet could even touch the ground, Sophia seized his face and drove his skull into the wall—cracks webbing outward like veins from the point of impact.
"…The next time you see me," Sophia whispered icily into his ear as he had done to her just moments before. "I'll be sending both you and your accomplices to hell. Every last one. You can count on it."
The moment she let go, his body slumped to the floor like a marionette with its strings severed. Warm blood dripped down the side of his head, tinting his vision in shades of red.
By the time he managed to lift his gaze, both him and the excruciating pain were alone.