The cathedral dominated the district long before one reached it.
It was not tall in the way towers were tall, but massive—broad foundations, layered buttresses, stone darkened by age and incense. Its presence displaced the surrounding structures, forcing streets to bend around it rather than approach directly. Even the snow seemed reluctant to settle on its roof, sliding off in thin sheets.
The knight advanced with measured steps.
His armor bore no crest, only the standardized markings of the Middle Continent—functional engravings designed to interface with Lunal constructs. The weight rested evenly across his body, reinforced not by muscle and ustained by internal attribution. Strength held quietly, without display.
At the cathedral's entrance stood a statue.
A woman, carved from pale stone, carrying a staff held upright before her. Her expression was neither benevolent nor severe. It was attentive. The staff's head bore neither a gem, nor a symbol—only a smooth circular recess, deliberately empty.
The knight slowed briefly.
He had seen variations of this figure before, scattered across distant regions, never explained in official doctrine. Peripheral iconography. Nonessential.
He dismissed the thought and entered.
The interior was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. Light filtered through narrow apertures high above, catching dust and drifting incense smoke. The air smelled old—stone, oil, and something faintly metallic.
Most of the knights remained near the entrance, maintaining formation. Their presence was restrained, disciplined. No one spoke.
At the far end of the cathedral, near the rear apse, stood an old man.
He was frail, shoulders bent, his frame wrapped in layered robes stitched and restitched countless times. Embroidered symbols ran along the hems—worn, uneven, some half-unraveled.
His robes were Functional.
The knight did not recognize the patterns, but he recognized the intent behind them.
The squad leader stepped forward.
The two men regarded each other for a moment without ceremony.
"You're late," the old man said.
"You chose the location," the leader replied.
A thin smile passed across the old man's face. He reached behind a stone pillar and produced a metal suitcase. It was rectangular, dull gray, reinforced at the edges. Without visible markers or a lock.
He handed it to the leader without hesitation.
The leader accepted it with both hands. The weight caused a subtle shift in his posture—accounted for instantly by Lunal reinforcement.
"It's all there," the old man said. "As agreed."
The leader nodded once. "Then we are finished here!!."
He turned slightly and spoke, voice carrying just far enough.
"We head back. Mission fulfilled!!."
That order was absolute.
The knight felt it register before he processed it.
They had not reached the capital.
No confrontation and certainly not formal exchange or verification ,yet they had to head back to their kingdom , that's way too odd , whatever the suitcase contained , it surely had to be critical to the kingdom, the flawless execution without escalation was... unsettling.
This was not how Middle Continent operations concluded.escalation always were inevitable.
Outwardly, he remained still. Calm. Receptive. His breathing did not change. His stance did not betray deviation.
Internally, assessment began.
The detour. The cathedral. The statue. The old man. The suitcase. The abrupt termination.
Too many elements unresolved.
The leader moved away from the old man, rejoining the formation. The suitcase remained in his possession. No explanation followed.
The knight adjusted position as instructed, falling back into alignment.
Hierarchy did not permit inquiry.
Training ensured compliance.
The knights of the Middle Continent were not conditioned to question orders. They were conditioned to execute them flawlessly while recording discrepancies internally.
That was his role.
As they exited the cathedral, the knight glanced once more at the statue of the woman with the staff. Snow had begun to gather at its base, collecting in shallow drifts.
For a moment, he had the irrational sense that the statue was watching them leave.
He dismissed it.
Speculation without data was noise.
They marched away in silence, retracing their path through the city without incident. Behind them, the cathedral returned to stillness, its shadows deep and undisturbed.
The knight stored the encounter in memory, marked for later correlation.
Orders had been followed.
The mission was complete.
Yet whatever had been retrieved was not meant for him to understand.
And that, more than any enemy presence, unsettled him.