The Cathedral Hallway
The sound of heavy boots echoed through the ancient stone hallway of the Cathedral, each step sharp, deliberate, and full of restrained fury. General Boyce marched ahead, his coat swaying with each stride. Behind him followed three figures, his remaining commanders: Elvric, Izen, and beside him, a striking woman with thick, long blue hair that shimmered under the torchlight. Her sharp eyes scanned every archway, alert and piercing. Her name was Violet, a skilled huntress known for her ruthlessness and uncanny beauty. All three wore the black coats and silver insignias of the elite Church Hunters.
They moved quickly, past towering stained-glass windows and whispering nuns, their presence like a dark cloud pressing into the sanctity of the holy grounds.
At the far end of the hall, a tall double door swung open with a groan. The chamber beyond was familiar to Boyce, too familiar. He had stood in this room once before, on the day Mediva declared war on the Daemirans. Back then, it was only a warning. A protest, they called it. Now, it has become a war and not just any war. One that had taken two of his finest commanders: Omar and Luka.
But that wasn't the only reason he was here.
Sigrid and Ivor. Their sudden appearance on the battlefield. The unnatural power they wielded.
He needed answers.
And if anyone held those answers, it was the man sitting quietly behind the obsidian-inlaid desk before him, Archbishop Salas.
"Declaring war on the Daemirans... Tell us something we need to know," Boyce said firmly, stopping before the desk, arms crossed.
Salas didn't answer right away. He studied the general with tired, sunken eyes, then slowly turned his back to them, walking toward the tall window that overlooked the city below.
"The world is changing, General," Salas said softly. "Soon, the impurities of this earth will be cleansed... and a new world shall be created."
The room fell into a cold silence. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting ghostly shadows across the cathedral walls. Elvric nearly scoffed but managed to suppress it. He was used to the archbishop's cryptic sermons. Boyce, however, was not in the mood for riddles.
"I lost two loyal commanders yesterday," Boyce said, voice tight with restrained anger. "And I'm still not sure who we were really fighting. Those guests who appeared on the battlefield... Where the hell did they come?"
Salas remained silent.
"Ivor was declared missing years ago. Sigrid? She was reported dead. Now they show up wielding Aura like gods?" Boyce leaned in slightly. "This was not part of the briefing."
"What are you implying, General?" Salas finally turned to face them, his voice calm, but his eyes sharp.
Before Boyce could answer, Violet stepped forward. Her voice was cool, deliberate.
"Sigrid died. I saw her body myself. How is she still alive?"
Salas's gaze shifted to her, and unexpectedly, he gave a faint chuckle.
"You look unusually attractive today, Violet," he said with a knowing smirk.
"I told you," Elvric murmured to her without looking up.
Violet rolled her eyes, unfazed. "You didn't answer my question."
"They weren't my guests," Salas replied at last. "Nor were they sanctioned by the Church. It seems they were after something else."
"Well, they clearly didn't get it," Izen said under his breath.
Violet wasn't done. "We could've arrested those responsible instead of launching a full-scale war. Why declare war on the entire Daemirans?"
Salas's expression darkened. He looked at Boyce, then at Violet.
"Because they are all responsible," he said. "The fire incident in District 5 wasn't the first. The Daemiran bloodline has been a festering wound for centuries. This... was inevitable."
The chamber went still. No one had a rebuttal.
Finally, Boyce turned toward the door.
"Then we'll prepare," he said coldly. "They won't run forever."
Without waiting for dismissal, he strode out of the chamber. The others followed, their footsteps fading into the cathedral's cold corridors.
Behind them, Archbishop Salas returned to the window, gazing at the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. He whispered to himself, voice barely audible:
"It has begun."
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The Cathedral Hall
The grand cathedral hall, once a place of peace and sacred silence, now brimmed with uneasy murmurs and heavy hearts. Survivors from District 5 filled every pew and corner, huddled in cloaks and grief, the scent of ash and smoke still clinging faintly to their clothes. Some sat in silence, staring blankly ahead, others whispered among themselves, trying to make sense of the tragedy that had shattered their lives.
Just two days ago, their world had burned.
Families torn apart. Homes reduced to rubble. Memories scorched into the earth.
And now, here they were, homeless, confused, and most of all, betrayed.
The latest declaration by the Church weighed heavily on everyone's mind.
The Daemirans did this. They burned down District 5.
It didn't make sense.
District 5 had always been the calmest among the Medivan territories. It was a haven, a peaceful place where neighbors knew each other, where crime was a rare rumor. And most of all, it had been home to the largest population of Daemirans, kind, quiet, powerful, but never violent.
How could they? some wondered.
Why would they? others whispered.
No one had answers.
Then a commanding voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Listen carefully," a cathedral guard announced from the pulpit, his voice echoing against the high stone walls. "Provision of shelter has been made for each one of you. Each surviving family will be assigned a place to stay, under the Church's protection. Any children who have lost both parents will be cared for in the Church's children's home."
A murmur swept across the hall. Some nodded solemnly. Others looked away, clutching the hands of those they still had left.
The guard continued.
"Additionally, those strong enough and willing may apply to join the Cathedral Guard or the Hunters' Corps. Training begins one week from today."
Another wave of whispers rippled through the gathered crowd.
From near the center of the hall, Edward watched his younger brother, Klah.
Even without saying a word, Edward knew exactly what was going through Klah's mind.
His brother's fists were clenched tightly, his jaw locked. That same fire, one Edward had first seen at the execution square when the Pope made his announcement. Now burned even fiercer in Klah's eyes.
Klah had sworn vengeance. He stood among the crowd, eyes red, voice shaking with rage, and made a vow.
He would kill every last Daemiran.
And now, the opportunity stood before him like an open door. The Church was recruiting. Training hunters. Arming men like him with authority and weapons.
He wouldn't hesitate.
Edward leaned forward slightly, watching him. He wanted to stop him. He wanted to grab Klah and shake the hate out of him. But how could he, when they'd both watched their mother burn?
If the Daemirans were truly behind it…
If they did this…
Then Klah's rage was justified. Maybe even necessary.
Edward didn't want to admit it. Not to himself, not out loud, but he was beginning to feel it too. That same hunger. That same need for answers. And maybe, if the truth aligned with what they'd been told… for revenge.
Klah turned to him slightly, his expression hard as steel.
"I'm going," he said.
Edward nodded after a long pause. "Then I'm going too."
The two brothers sat in silence, side by side, while the cathedral continued to buzz with the murmurs of broken people and the first stirrings of war.