Before they could depart the cathedral grounds, a monastic official approached Raynor and bowed with practiced reverence.
"Your Excellency, Archbishop Goodwin invites you to his private sanctum. He says there are matters of great importance that require your attention."
Raynor's first instinct was to refuse. He felt a deep, gnawing unease whenever he thought of Goodwin's pupilless white eyes; it felt as though the old man could see right through his flesh to the secrets beneath. No one enjoys the sensation of standing naked before a judge, especially one as ancient and inscrutable as the Archbishop.
He pondered the request for a moment, then turned to Carter, who stood like a statue at his side. "Carter, do you believe I should attend?"
Carter was momentarily surprised. He hadn't expected a man who had just received a divine blessing to ask for a subordinate's opinion so soon. However, he maintained the professional composure of a Chief Executive Officer.
"You must go," Carter replied in a low, steady voice. "The State Religion carries far more weight on Brevis than you might realize. Furthermore, Archbishop Goodwin is a truly wise and capable man. His counsel is rarely wasted."
Raynor looked into Carter's eyes. He saw no flattery, no hidden agenda—only a stubborn, almost clinical "loyalty." Raynor nodded, then turned back to the monk.
"Very well. Lead the way."
He followed the official toward the administrative spire deep within the cathedral's Gothic heart. Carter watched Raynor's retreating figure, falling into brief contemplation. This new Governor was different. Most of his predecessors ignored Carter's existence until they were backed into a corner by the Noble Council. This man sought advice while he was still at the height of his triumph.
Will he bring real change to Brevis? Carter didn't know, but for the first time in years, he was willing to hope. Brevis had been stagnant for too long. It needed new blood.
Archbishop Goodwin's office was located in the middle tier of the main tower. The room was small and sparsely decorated—a jarring contrast to the opulence of the sanctuary below. It contained only a desk, a few chairs, a bookshelf laden with ancient tomes, and a portrait of the Emperor.
When Raynor entered, Goodwin was seated behind the desk, tilting a silver goblet of pale red liquid back and draining it in a single gulp.
"Ahhhhh..." The old man let out a long, satisfied sigh.
Raynor stood in stunned silence. He hadn't expected the solemn, divine figure from the Mass to be a closet drunkard. Goodwin smiled when he noticed Raynor—not the practiced, saintly smile of a priest, but one full of slyness and unearned pride.
"Come, sit," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.
Raynor sat, observing the man. Goodwin poured himself another glass, smacking his lips with relish. "There isn't any grand crisis behind my invitation," he began, his white eyes fixing on Raynor. This time, however, the gaze lacked its usual soul-piercing weight; it was almost peaceful.
"You are new here. There is much you don't know about Brevis. What the people outside tell you is mostly true, but it is never the whole truth."
Raynor listened, saying nothing.
"Trust your own judgment," Goodwin continued, pausing for emphasis. "And do not fret over your true identity. It matters little now."
Raynor tensed.
"You are the Chosen One, recognized by the Master of Mankind," Goodwin said meaningfully. "The State Religion is always very... tolerant... of the Emperor's chosen."
Raynor felt a cold sweat break out across his back. Don't fret over your true identity? Tolerance? The words felt like a surgical strike. Did this old man know about the system? About Sarah? The feeling of being exposed returned, and Raynor fought the urge to bolt from the room.
Just as Raynor reached his breaking point, Goodwin burst into laughter—a high, mischievous sound, like a child who had successfully pulled off a prank.
"Hahaha! Scared you, didn't I?" He pointed at Raynor, laughing so hard he nearly tipped his chair. "You little rascal! You were so arrogant on that stage! Bathing in divine light, acting as if you were ordained by the heavens themselves! You enjoyed me bowing to you, didn't you? Why so timid now?"
Raynor's jaw tightened, the veins on his forehead bulging slightly. He maintained a forced smile, determined not to give the old man any more leverage.
Goodwin finally wiped a tear from his eye and calmed himself. "Alright, I'm done teasing. Go, child. Go do what you were meant to do." He performed a crisp Aquila salute. "The Emperor is with us."
Raynor stood quickly, returned the salute, and practically fled the room. It wasn't until he had exited the administrative hall and closed the heavy doors that he allowed himself a long, shaky sigh of relief.
That old fossil is terrifying, he thought, wiping sweat from his brow. Goodwin had clearly seen something, and that conversation was a warning. Yet, Raynor also sensed that the Archbishop wasn't an enemy. Not yet.
The vehicle that carried them back to the Governor's Palace was a massive, heavily armored limousine. Inside, the soundproofing was so absolute that the chaos of the Hive felt like a distant dream. Raynor sat with Gus, Sarah, and his other guards.
Silence hung over the interior until Raynor looked at Gus. "Gus."
"Yes!" Gus snapped to attention.
"The task I gave you—gathering intel on Carter. What have you found?"
Gus organized his thoughts. "Lord Carter is a legend in Brevis. They call him 'Iron Heart' Carter. He's known for being upright, hard-headed, and stubbornly principled."
Gus began to recount Carter's history: A commoner from the Mid-Hive who rose through the ranks of the PDF through sheer bravery and discipline. A former Governor had noticed his talent and brought him into the administration, eventually making him Chief Executive Officer.
"He survived the death of his patron and every political purge since," Gus explained. "He secured his spot by maintaining a stance of 'loyalty only to the Governor.' He doesn't take sides. He doesn't play the Noble Council's games. He is loyal to the chair, not necessarily the man sitting in it."
Gus added that Carter's PDF units were the only ones not infiltrated by the Great Families. His soldiers were forbidden from wearing any insignia other than their official rank.
"They call him 'the Governor's loyal dog,'" Gus finished. "The Noble Council hates him because they can't buy him, and they fear him because they can't replace him."
Raynor leaned back, lost in thought. Loyal to the position, not the person. It was a dangerous philosophy in real politics, yet Carter had made it work for decades. And based on today's events, Carter had publicly tied his reputation to Raynor.
Raynor needed allies he could trust. "Iron Heart" Carter might just be the first real piece on the board he could call his own.