The stone arch stood ahead like a gate between two worlds. Behind me, Lowrise District, crowded streets, the scent of rusted metal and sweat in the air.
Ahead, the Upper District. Marble spires, mirrored glass, white stone cleaned daily to reflect the light of the goddess.
At its base was the checkpoint. Two guards stood at attention, polearms crossed.
I slowed. There was something about him.
The build. The way he rested one hand on the table, relaxed but ready. His face was sharp, square jaw, dark eyes that look trough everything.
"Drelon," Echo said. "Gatewarden of the Dawnwall. In one of your cycles, he had you arrested."
That explained the tightness in my chest. I stepped forward and pressed a hand to my chest. "Walk in the light."
Drelon looked up. "And let it reveal all."
I handed over the scroll. The forged seal shone gold under the sun, just enough to catch the eye without drawing suspicion.
"Lucian Klein," I said. "Student of Theology and Light Praxis, Academia Sanctum."
Drelon opened the scroll, eyes reading the lines. I kept my expression calm. Inside, my stomach was a slow twist of nerves.
"You were gone a long while," he said, not looking up.
"Family rites, Gatewarden," I said. "My uncle passed beyond the Light. It was my duty to carry his name through the last prayers."
I paused, then added, "The road was long, but it would've been dishonor not to bring his light home."
He grunted, then looked up sharply. "Where?"
"Virehill." The name came easily, Echo had fed me enough to sell the lie.
"That's in the northern frontier."
"It is," I agreed. "And not a pleasant journey this season."
Drelon's eyes narrowed. He studied my face.
The hood helped. So did the soft blur of light over the illusion. "You've changed," he said.
"Two years away from the Academ and too much sun," I said with a small shrug.
Then I recited, "I request entry, in service of the Sanctum. May my study honor the Light, and the Light remember me."
Drelon grunted, rolling the scroll shut. "Sanctum types always talk like they're reciting scripture."
He handed the scroll back. "Just another student returning to his studies," he muttered.
Then he turned and signaled the guards. The polearms lifted. "Welcome back, Klein. Try not to cause any trouble."
I gave a slight bow. "I'll try. But you know students."
I passed under the arch, boots clicking against clean stone, the noise quickly swallowed by the quite of the Upper District.
The street curved gently upward, framed by marble buildings and gold-inlaid signage. Every wall gleamed.
The air was clean, filled with lavender and faint incense, a sharp contrast to the smoke and metal stench down below.
There was no trash, no grime on the walls, not even a crack in the stone.
Everything was polished to shine, as if the city wanted to hide any sign of wear.
Up here, Solaris didn't just try to look perfect, the goddess demanded it.
Children in pressed uniforms passed by with baskets of bread. A priest leaned against a fountain, smiling as he handed out pamphlets to passing nobles.
Sunlight filtered down through crystal skylights built into the tower walls, painting the street in shifting patterns of gold and white.
It was majestic and beautiful, but somehow it feel hollow.
"Notice anything?" Echo's voice stirred at my mind.
"Feels like a different world."
"It is," he said. "The Upper District is fed by the city below. Every privilege up here is built on someone else's hunger."
I glanced toward a row of carriages lined along the clean stone road. Each one was trimmed in silver.
Drivers stood beside them in pressed uniforms and white sashes, their heads bowed in silence.
"And they justify it," Echo said. "They call it sacrifice. Say the poor endure so the faithful can shine. And because the blessings are real… no one questions it.
They come to pray for their child's illness, and the goddess answers. Gives them their miracle."
I watched two pilgrims kneel beside a shrine. Their robes glowed faintly. Light shimmered in their hands as they whispered their prayers.
"Results speak louder than ethics," I muttered, watching the light shimmer over the pilgrims' hands.
"You sound bitter," Echo said.
"Shouldn't I be?" I kept my voice low. "They build golden shrines off the backs of starving workers. And then tell them it's a blessing to suffer."
"The ones above don't see it that way," Echo replied. "They call it sacrifice. Say the poor endure so the faithful can shine."
"And because it works, because miracles happen, no one asks who paid for them." I clenched my jaw, eyes still on the shrine.
"A dying child gets healed, and they call it divine mercy. Never mind the hundred others who broke their backs building the shrine.
What a very efficient way to gather both wealth and faith. No wonder the old me wanted to kill all the gods."
"You're not wrong," Echo said. "But faith that feeds the powerful is always the easiest kind to spread."
I exhaled slowly. "And the hardest to root out."
A sudden flash cut through my thoughts.
From the far end of the district, just above the towering silhouette of the main cathedral, a golden pillar erupted into the sky.
Then the voice came. It wasn't loud, but everyone can hear it clearly.
"Let all faithful know… that we have a heretic in the city."
I stopped walking.
All around me, people turned to face the cathedral. Conversations fell silent. Some clutched their pendants.
Others stared upward, wide-eyed. And above us, the golden light kept burning.
I lowered my head and whispered under my breath, "What now, Echo?"
Echo's voice came, quiet but clear. "Now? We blend in. And pray they're not talking about you.
If it was… we improvise. Like always."
"You mean there's another heretic?"
"There are always heretics. Though in last cycle, we never encountered one here at this time.
But timelines shift. Things change."