The prayer in the cathedral was not a conversation with a god; it was a rhythmic chanting of laws.
As the High Priest's voice echoed through the ivory halls, Caspian sat beside Aria, his fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers. The air inside was thick with the scent of burning frankincense and the intense heat of a thousand candles. Every inch of the cathedral was designed to reflect light—mirrors were placed at precise angles to ensure that even the space under the pews remained illuminated.
"In the Light, we are seen. In the Light, we are whole," the congregation chanted.
Caspian tried to follow the words, but his mind was elsewhere. His right arm was no longer just stinging; it was vibrating. It felt like a trapped bird beating its wings against his bones, trying to break free.
He looked at Aria. She was lost in the chant, her eyes closed, a look of serene peace on her face. For her, this light was a blanket of safety. For him, it felt like a spotlight on a criminal.
After the ceremony, as the crowd began to filter out onto the sun-drenched plaza, a heavy hand landed on Caspian's shoulder. He jumped, nearly yelping in pain as the contact jolted his bandaged arm.
"Steady there, lad," a deep, booming voice said.
Caspian turned to see a man in silver-and-gold plate armor. It was Commander Kaelen, one of the high-ranking Luminarch Knights. His eyes were sharp, scanning Caspian with a professional curiosity that made Caspian's blood run cold.
"Commander," Caspian managed to say, bowing his head slightly.
"I noticed you during the prayer, Caspian," Kaelen said, his hand still resting on the boy's shoulder. "You seemed... restless. And you're still wearing those bandages. It's been weeks since that wood-cutting accident, hasn't it?"
"It's a slow healing wound, sir," Caspian replied, his voice trembling slightly. "The doctors say the skin is sensitive to the direct sun."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. He looked at the heavy linen wraps, then back at Caspian's face. "The sun is the ultimate healer, boy. If a wound refuses the light, it is because there is something 'unclean' inside it. Perhaps you should visit the High Sanctum. They have ways of... purging such stubborn injuries."
"I... I will consider it, sir," Caspian said, stepping back to break the contact.
As Kaelen walked away, his cape snapping in the wind, Caspian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. He realized then that the Knights weren't just guarding the walls; they were guarding the people against themselves.
"Brother? What did the Commander want?" Aria asked, coming up beside him.
"Nothing, Aria. Just checking on my arm," Caspian forced a smile. "Let's go. I need to deliver the firewood to the Northern Gate."
They spent the afternoon in their usual routine, but the 'Unease' was growing. As they walked toward the outskirts of the city, Caspian noticed a small group of people gathered near a drainage canal. They were whispering, their faces pale.
Caspian peered over their shoulders. On the white marble wall of the canal, there was a mark. It wasn't a drawing or a stain. It looked like a shadow had been 'burnt' into the stone—a silhouette of a hand, but with fingers that were far too long and jagged.
The Solar Lamp nearby was still lit, but the stone where the mark sat seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
"It's the third one this week," an old woman whispered, clutching her prayer beads. "The light didn't reach it. The light couldn't reach it."
"Hush, woman!" a man hissed. "If the Knights hear you talking about 'dark spots', they'll take you for questioning."
Caspian stared at the mark. He felt a sudden, violent throb in his arm. Without thinking, he reached out, his bandaged hand hovering just inches away from the blackened stone.
The air around the mark was freezing. It felt... familiar. It felt like home.
"Caspian, don't touch it!" Aria pulled his hand back, her face twisted in fear. "It's bad luck. Come away, please."
As they hurried back toward the safety of the main streets, Caspian looked over his shoulder. For a split second, he saw it again—the woman with starlight hair. She was standing by the canal, her hand resting exactly where his had been.
She looked at him and did something that no one in Oakhaven ever did.
She didn't smile. She didn't pray. She simply pressed a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence, then vanished into the glare of the sun.
That night, as the sun began to set and the ritual of the Evening Lamps began, Caspian didn't feel safe. He sat in his room, slowly unwinding the bandages on his arm. His heart hammered in his throat.
As the last layer of cloth fell away, Caspian gasped.
His arm wasn't wounded. There were no scars from an axe. Instead, from his wrist to his elbow, his skin had turned a deep, translucent obsidian. It looked like a night sky captured under his skin, with tiny, silver sparks swirling deep within the blackness.
He reached for his bedside candle to get a better look, but as his 'black' hand got close to the flame, the fire didn't grow brighter.
The flame leaned toward his hand, its orange light turning a pale, ghostly blue before being sucked into his skin.
Caspian sat in the total darkness of his room, his obsidian arm glowing with a faint, terrifying hunger.
"What am I?" he whispered to the silence.
And for the first time, the silence whispered back.
Cliffhanger: Just as Caspian hears the whisper, a heavy knock sounds at his front door. It's not a friendly neighbor—it's the synchronized, metallic thud of Luminarch armor. The "Sanctification" has begun earlier than he thought.