Seraphiel stood outside a structure of pure marble. Heavy columns rose above the stairs before an intricately carved entrance, runes surrounding the opening like an archway. Worshippers crowded the staircase, some entering in search of divine miracles whilst others left teary-eyed.
Joining the crowd, he finally made his way inside the Cathedral, where chandeliers adorned a roof three storeys high, and intricate artwork depicted beings that looked, in every sense of the word, impossible—radiating light onto the men below.
The Cathedral was full of priests draped in white and gold, and priestesses veiled by a single golden georgette cloth atop their white headscarves, as they tended to the confessions, healing, and prayers of hundreds of people.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted someone—a priestess—standing with her hands clasped near a column, hidden from the crowd. Seraphiel slicked his hair back and walked over to her, weaving through the swarms within the Cathedral, nearly causing a priest to fall before he finally stood before her.
Seraphiel opened his mouth to speak, but the priestess, indulged in worship, sparked something within him. Her face radiated beneath her veil, her eyelashes long and dark, her cheeks flushed red. He paused and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the worshipping priestess.
"Yes, my child, how may I be of assistance to you?" she smiled, her hands lowering before her.
"Well—" but before he could utter a single word, a tremendous force struck the back of his head, knocking him to his knees before the priestess.
The priestess gasped, and from behind him a familiar voice called out his name.
"What do you think you're doing, you bastard?" A blonde man in his late twenties, adorned in priestly robes, stood behind him, yelling as Seraphiel clutched his head in agony.
"Brother Rafael, what are you—"
"You haven't even been here a minute and you're already trying to flirt with a priestess!" Rafael screamed as Seraphiel stood, still a little wobbly from the blow.
The priestess stepped forward, her arms flailing. "No, Brother Rafael, he was trying to do no such—"
A punch from Seraphiel sent Rafael flying several feet back until he collided with a marble column, drawing gasps and cries from the surrounding crowd.
"You absolute moron! I would do no such thing!" Seraphiel shouted, frozen in the aftermath of striking a priest in his own Cathedral.
The priestess nearly fell to her knees as Rafael finally rose, brushing dust from his robes.
He walked back towards Seraphiel as the crowd gathered around them, watching in fear, excitement, and despair, whispers swelling as the sound of metal boots clinked across the marble floor.
Rafael suddenly pulled Seraphiel into a hug, and Seraphiel returned it. Gasps of awe rippled through the crowd, even from the priestess, whose face drained of colour.
They eventually parted, and Rafael placed a hand on Seraphiel's shoulders, looking up at him as his sapphire eyes met Seraphiel's.
"It's good to see you."
"Yeah, same here." Seraphiel smiled.
Just then, armed guards forced their way through the crowd, spears pointed at Seraphiel, muffled shouts echoing from beneath their helms.
"In the name of the Hierophanta—"
Before they could finish, a woman clad in long white robes that trailed across the floor approached from behind them, sending the soldiers into a deep kneel.
Rafael dropped to his knees as well, tugging at Seraphiel's robes to follow suit—an instruction he promptly ignored as he remained standing before the woman.
She appeared no older than thirty. Her long black hair reached her knees, straight and glimmering, and her deep, dark eyes regarded them both with a deadpan expression.
With as much flair as he could muster, Seraphiel swept his robes aside, placed a hand upon his chest, and bowed courteously.
"Seraphiel of the House of Saaz, Hierophanta."
The Hierophanta raised a delicate finger to her chin, studying him as she stepped closer. Wherever she passed, those around her fell into solemn kneels, some even bowing fully.
"Seraphiel—the excommunicated bishop of the High Church?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as a faint smile tugged at her lips.
Rafael's jaw dropped as he stared at the man beside him, still kneeling.
"Yes, Hierophanta," Seraphiel nodded slightly before straightening. "Please excuse how I dealt with my cousin."
"Tsk, tsk," she shook her head. "You enter the holiest place in the entire Empire, strike a High Priest, and believe a mere apology will suffice?"
"I understand the gravity of the situation, Madame," Seraphiel replied, "but it was your High Priest who struck me from behind when I merely wished to ask one of the sisters for information." He lowered his head, then raised it again.
"Is this true, High Priest?" she asked, shifting her gaze to Rafael, who almost whimpered, lowering himself further.
She sighed, shook her head, and waved a hand to dismiss the guards, who obeyed without a word.
"Please limit your family reunions until after the service has ceased for the day," she said, turning her back on them as she departed. For a brief moment, Seraphiel thought he caught a glint in her eye. Amusement? Curiosity?
Before he could dwell on it, Rafael groaned, staring up at the ceiling.
"When are you going to stop causing me trouble?"
Seraphiel laughed, patting him on the back. "When I'm dead, probably."
Rafael pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and dragged it down his face before straightening as the crowd dispersed around them.
"So?" he asked, turning to Seraphiel. "What brings you here?"
"Money," Seraphiel replied smugly.
"Great Light above—why do I even bother?" Rafael slumped, then noticed the priestess behind them, utterly dumbfounded.
"Oh, Sister Maria, please forgive my younger brother for any transgression—"
"Brother Rafael," Maria cut in, her voice slicing through the remaining chatter, "I would appreciate it if you did not tarnish the name of the Cathedral with your antics ever again, and if you actually listened before you acted."
Rafael laughed sheepishly, apologising before she walked away.
"She's pretty," Seraphiel nudged Rafael with an elbow, "but definitely not as pretty as that woman."
Rafael stared at him, eyebrows drawn tight.
"You can't tell me you've never thought of her without—"
"Enough," Rafael cleared his throat. "Look, I'm still busy tending to the injured. If you want, you can come back—"
"Injured? Soldiers?" Seraphiel raised an eyebrow.
Rafael nodded.
"So it's true then. Arvum has moved," Seraphiel muttered.
"Yes, they have. So if you could, go and busy yourself with—"
"Take me to the injured."
"What?"
"Take me to the injured."
"And why would I do that?"
"You're busy, right?" Seraphiel shrugged. "I'll fix them up for you just like that."
Rafael frowned, but realising there was no winning against him, he eventually gave in.