At the summit of the Grand Cathedral in the capital city of Sol'Varen, the most sacred structure of the Church of the Three Fates, the world seemed suspended between reality and the divine.
Built entirely from stellar black marble, the surface of the temple reflected the sky above as if it were made from crystallized eternal nights. Stars shimmered, trapped within the stone's veins, like souls drifting in penitence, hope, or rebirth. Each column glowed with the light of silent constellations, and the vaulted arches, hundreds of meters overhead, echoed with uninterrupted spiritual chants that had never ceased since the foundation of the faith.
On the cathedral's highest terrace, where only the blessed were allowed to train, two young warriors dueled in a display choreographed by divine force and grace.
Priscila Varen, light as wind and explosive as the earth's core, moved with a fluidity that defied comprehension. Her small, elegant frame contrasted with the adamantium gauntlets she wore like a boxer—stretching from shoulder to fingertips. Her fists glowed with deep runes, and every punch left the air trembling, as if the sky itself contracted under her touch. With every spin, one of her braids traced golden arcs through the air, the gold pendants jingling like battle chimes.
Her opponent, Apolo Varen, was her complementary opposite robust build, refined movements, and priestly elegance sculpted into the body of a warrior. His black eyes gleamed like starless voids, and the sword he wielded conjured magic as it danced in his hands. Waves of sound and wind exploded around him, a silent thunder preceding every strike.
"You're slow today, Priscila," he teased, dodging a punch with a swift spin that left behind a gust of wind, launching the girl several meters into the air.
"Shut up, Apolo!" she snapped back with a growl, and her gauntlets erupted in flames. Her fists became wreathed in a fusion of earth and fire, her arms now looking as if they had just emerged from an erupting volcano.
She launched into the air.
A spinning cross struck against a shield conjured by Apolo's slash, shattering the sound barrier.
"BOOM!"
The explosion was contained midair by an enchanted barrier. The impact tore through clouds, shook columns, and rippled the marble surface like water. But the cathedral stood firm.
At the side, a third figure watched.
Sitting cross-legged on the ledge, Athena Varen observed the duel with a bored smile on her lips, her sculpted figure clad in what looked more like a provocation than a religious uniform. Her violet eyes gleamed with mischief.
"You two are so dramatic... you're just trying to get the Holy Mother's attention."
She sighed, stretching her arms and folding them beneath her ample bust.
"Also, what the hell are those hideous outfits you're wearing? You look like two religious fanatics."
"Shut uuup!" Apolo and Priscila scolded Athena in unison, ordering her to be quiet.
Apolo twirled his sword in the air, creating a gust of wind that rose like a wall. Priscila didn't back down flames erupted beneath her feet as she launched forward, breaking through the barrier with a fiery knee strike. Apolo was thrown back but twisted in the air and landed softly.
"Priscila! You're going too far! If you destroy the cathedral again, we'll end up in penance!" he warned.
"Then let them punish me!" she shouted, preparing for the next clash, her eyes burning.
High above, the cathedral bells began to toll. And in that moment, even Athena straightened up. This wasn't a normal ceremony.
The sound of the sacred bells did not mark time it was a summons.
"Hm… looks like Ruby finally decided to call us. I was getting bored," Athena grinned, rising lazily to her feet.
Priscila and Apolo silently agreed. Ever since the divine blacksmith event had unfolded in the territory, the three of them had been forbidden from going on missions or entering dungeons.
Though the rest had been welcome, the fire in their veins left little room for prolonged idleness.
The sacred wind blowing across the heights of the terrace stopped abruptly, as if the cathedral itself was holding its breath.
Footsteps echoed faintly toward the summit. One of the priests emerged from the shadows of the arched doorway tall, slender, dressed in the traditional black robes of the Order of Repentance.
His aged face twisted in disapproval upon seeing Athena Varen dressed so provocatively within a sacred space. But he dared not say a word. His gaze then turned to Priscila and Apolo, still breathless and bruised from sparring. For a brief moment, his eyes glimmered with restrained pride… before he bowed slightly.
"Holy Mother Ruby Vaan Sol'Varen summons you," he said, his voice reverent, as if reciting a prayer.
Without delay, the three aligned. Apolo adjusted his robes, Priscila brushed dust from her blazing gauntlets, and Athena merely shrugged with a sly smile tugging at her lips.
They were led through vaulted corridors lit by ceremonial lanterns blue flames that floated like wandering souls.
The three followed the priest.
Inside, the cathedral was a labyrinth of black marble, red stained glass, and obsidian sculptures portraying scenes of death, rebirth, and penance. Celestial murals of blindfolded angels and three-faced gods adorned the ceiling.
At last, they arrived at the Throne Hall, a sacred chamber whose entrance was guarded by colossal statues with eyes carved from living rubies.
The priest stopped before the double doors and bowed.
"This is as far as I go." He stepped away in silence.
The doors opened on their own, revealing a radiant interior.
There, beneath the incandescent light of a floating red halo, Holy Mother Ruby Vaan Sol'Varen sat upon a throne carved from pure, polished obsidian, its veins lined with gold and inscribed with runes of fire and sorrow.
Her figure radiated a serenity that bordered on the inhuman porcelain skin, eyes like eternal embers, hair black as the deepest night. Her black robes, embroidered in gold and blood, flowed gently with a breeze no one else could feel.
And above all, the sacred crimson halo hovered in glory, spinning slowly like a living symbol of the divinity she represented.
Surrounding her were her three cardinals Adam, Sephira, and Angela, imposing, silent, guardians of fate.
The three young ones knelt at once, pressing their foreheads to the black floor.
"My heralds." Ruby's voice was soft yet impossible to ignore. It felt as if she spoke directly to each of their hearts.
"Angela will explain why you were forbidden from accessing dungeons in recent cycles."
Angela, the cardinal with hair and eyes golden as dawn, stepped forward with grace and reverence. She spoke like a merciful mother burdened by the world:
"The organization that attacked the demonic banquet hasn't ceased its operations. On the contrary… it spreads through the shadows, causing fissures that widen by the day."
Her voice remained calm, yet firm.
"Recently, we've suspected them to be behind several anomalies occurring in dungeons across Atlas."
The three young ones furrowed their brows in surprise at the news.
"In just the last few days, five promising orc battalions were wiped out in corrupted dungeons."
"The son of the Grand Lord of the Mountain, among the dwarves, is on the brink of death. And more seriously..." she gazed at the three with solemn intensity.
"The battalion led by a demon named Glenn survived an even more anomalous dungeon."
Apolo narrowed his eyes, fired up by the stories Athena was always telling him full of jabs and exaggerated tales about the mysterious Glenn, the man with three affinities.
"What was the estimated level?" he asked, his tone challenging.
Angela paused dramatically. Her golden eyes hardened, and even the room seemed to hold its breath.
"High Champion. Five of them. At the very least."
A sharp silence fell over the hall.
Athena clenched her fists involuntarily, the mischievous smile vanishing into real tension. She wasn't ignorant of what that level of difficulty meant. And she also knew exactly what Glenn's current rank was.
Angela continued:
"They cleared the dungeon with the following combatants:
— Dália, a demoness of High Champion rank.
— Aeloria and Dórian, Lower Champions on the verge of breaking through to the next tier.
— Seraphine, recently promoted to Lower Champion.
— And Glenn… an Initial Awakened."
The impact was immediate.
Priscila arched her eyebrows, stunned.
Apolo looked away, disbelief in his eyes.
Athena only whispered:
"...Impossible. Are you sure the dungeon's difficulty was evaluated correctly?" she asked.
One of the cardinals, Adam, raised his voice—deep and stern like a verdict:
"There are no mistakes, and certainly no manipulated data. Our sources are secure and concrete."
An even more unsettling air hung over the chamber. That information was absurd—absurd enough to shake the very foundation of the Holy Mother's heralds' confidence.
"That is precisely why we summoned you," Adam continued. "None of our human squads could have cleared that dungeon with such a configuration. This changes everything. We've been far too lenient with your training—and starting today, that will change."
The Holy Mother's gaze remained unwavering. Silent. Observant. Her aura grew like a fire held barely in check.
Then, at last, the voice of Holy Mother Ruby echoed again through the chamber—gentle as a divine whisper, sharp as a sentence of judgment:
"The strings of fate are vibrating out of tune… moving with chaotic fluidity, like serpents wrestling for space within the infinite. A great storm approaches."
The red halo above her head pulsed faintly, as if answering the vision itself.
"You are our heralds, and you shall be the light that scatters the darkness. Not as symbols… but as living instruments of divine will."
Her words weighed heavy on each of their souls. Priscila lowered her head in silence. Apolo clenched his fists against his knees.
Athena bit her lower lip.
But then, unexpectedly, almost hesitantly… a question cut through the air like a dagger thrown into the void:
"What is Glenn's condition?" asked Athena, her voice softer than usual—almost… gentle.
The entire hall fell still.
No words came from Angela. No comments from the cardinals. Not even Ruby spoke.
The Holy Mother's eyes simply closed for a brief moment.
In the absence of an answer, the silence filled with unspoken concern, latent curiosity, and restrained omens.
The three kneeling figures exchanged glances. And each of them felt, in their own way, that the next pages of history would not be written in ink… but in blood, faith, and fire.