“If they cannot control the light… they will try to extinguish it.”

  Queen Seraphina’s words echoed inside Serenya’s heart long after the throne room had emptied.

  Even now, back at the inn, seated by the window in her room with a towel still damp around her neck, the sentence refused to leave her. The candle on the desk burned low, flickering shadows dancing along the walls—but her thoughts were louder than the night.

  She’d washed the dust of the day from her skin, but not from her soul. She let her mind drift—to a time far from courts and crowns.

  She remembered the small village where she was born, nestled deep in the forest north of WillowShade. Fewer than a thousand souls lived there, and yet there was no priest. No healer. When someone was injured, they turned to herbs, poultices, and prayer. When illness struck, the sick isolated themselves, hoping not to spread it—sometimes surviving, often not. The unlucky left their fate to the gods and simply… faded.

  Those strong enough were sent to WillowShade, a full day’s journey by carriage. But not everyone made it.

  And yet, despite all that, the people cared for one another. Quietly. Constantly. That village had felt like a world of its own—small, simple… but kind.

  And then came the plague.

  A sickness so cruel, it claimed half the village before anyone even understood what it was. Families shattered overnight. Children woke to silence—orphans by morning—crying behind closed doors with no one left to comfort them. Those who aren’t infected pack up and leave quietly.

  Serenya had been one of those lucky ones. Her mother’s friend had led their family to WillowShade just in time, escaping the worst before the village fell completely to silence.

  She still remembered standing outside the city gates—weak, frightened, and clinging to her mother’s hand—as the priests examined each arrival for symptoms. And then, by what felt like fate, came the moment she would never forget: when one of the priests—a woman who was then just another humble servant of the temple—placed a gentle hand on her forehead and whispered,

  

  
• “This one… she has the gift.”


  

  That priest was Thalira Merrowyn. Now the Head Priestess of WillowShade. But to Serenya, she had always been the one who saw her worth when she was nothing but a scared child at death’s doorstep.

  They called it talent but she didn’t care. All she knew was that if she could learn to heal—if she could stop even one family from going through what hers had—then it would be worth it.

  That was why she became a priestess. Not for robes or titles. Not for temples or songs.

  For the people.

  The candle gave one final flicker and died.

  Moments later, a knock came at the door. A robed messenger stood at the threshold, bearing the Church’s letter. She took it wordlessly. Her fingers traced the edge of the Church’s letter. The seal was unbroken, but she already knew of its contents. She’d seen enough of these during her years at the temple.

  Praise. Recognition. A title – Just like what the Queen had told her today.

  A leash made of silk.

  She didn’t read it. She didn’t need to.

  The moon was high when Serenya slipped out of the inn, the chill air clinging to her robes. She clutched the small brooch Queen Seraphina had gifted her—her sigil—pressed tightly in her palm as she approached the gates of the palace.

  The guards recognized it instantly. No question nor hesitation. He called out another guard to led her in, then he dashed and disappear inside the darkness.

  She was led through moonlit halls until a maid appeared to guide her to the Queen’s chambers.

  Queen Seraphina stood by the window when she arrived, robed in a soft silver cloak, her hair cascading freely over her shoulders. She turned as Serenya entered, as if expecting her.

  

  
• “You came sooner than I thought.”


  
• “Your Majesty, I had to,” Serenya whispered. “Before I lost the will to.”


  

  The Queen studied her face, then stepped toward the nearby table, while allowing her into the chamber fully.

  Serenya held out the letter, but it trembled slightly in her grasp.

  

  
• “They want me to accept the title of Bishop of Solaria. They praised me, say I’ll be rewarded. But like you said, it’s certainly not a reward, is it?”


  
• “And your answer?” - The Queen’s gaze softened.


  
• “I’ll refuse,” Serenya said. Her voice was firm, but her eyes shimmered. “If they offer it, I will decline. I don’t want a seat or a title. I want to remain a free priestess. I want to stay beside Jin. I want to help people—whoever they are, wherever they are. Not because of who I represent, but because of what I believe.”


  

  She took a breath, hands curling into fists.

  

  
• “I’m not arrogant enough to think I can save everyone. But if I’m nearby, and someone needs help—I’ll come running. That’s all I want.”


  

  Queen Seraphina said nothing at first. Then, she walked forward and gently placed a hand on Serenya’s shoulder.

  

  
• “Then your heart is where it should be. My dear, I’ll go with you to the church, tomorrow.”


  

  But her smile held something more.

  

  
• “However, you must understand,” the Queen said quietly, “walking beside you into that hall may be seen as me claiming you for the crown.”


  

  She let the silence weigh, then continued:

  

  
• “And perhaps that’s true. Not to use you… but to shield If they believe you belong to no one, they will fight harder to seize you. But if they believe I already stand beside you… they will at least hesitate.”


  

  Serenya looked up, and for a moment, her strength faltered.

  

  
• “Will that… really be enough?”


  
• “No,” the Queen said with a knowing smile. “But it will be a start, for both you and me”


  

  She turned to the maid and nodded.

  

  
• “Prepare a guest room. Serenya will stay here tonight. At dawn, we go to the Church together.”


  

  As the maid disappeared to make arrangements, Seraphina turned back one last time.

  

  
• “And whatever answer you give them tomorrow… you won’t stand alone.”


  

  Serenya bowed her head, emotion tight in her throat.

  

  
• “Thank you… Your Majesty.”


  
• “I only wish to keep you safe,” the Queen whispered. “Now, it’s late. You should go get some rest; it’s been a long day. Tomorrow, we both will have more things to do”.


  

  Morning mist clung to the capital’s streets like a veil of reverence. The Church’s ceremonial carriage waited outside the palace gates, its white enamel body etched in radiant gold filigree, drawn by silver-maned horses that looked as if they had stepped out of a legend. Holy Knights stood at attention on either side, their armor gleaming like the first light of dawn.

  As Queen Seraphina and Serenya approached the palace steps, two armored figures broke rank and ascended swiftly to meet them. Both bowed with precision before introducing themselves.

  

  
• “Your Majesty, Lady Serenya,” said the first—a woman with steel-gray eyes and a voice crisp as polished iron. “I am Selene Drayven, Vice-Captain of the Second Holy Knight Squad.”


  

  She turned to her right. “And this is—”

  

  
• “Vice-Captain Elira Voss,” the second knight finished with a soft nod. Her tone was calm and measured. “Of the Third Squad. An honor, Your Majesty. Lady Serenya.”


  

  Selene returned her gaze forward. “By the Church’s order, we are here to escort you both safely to the Cathedral. Please, allow us to see you aboard the carriage.”

  

  
• “Thank you,” Queen Seraphina said with a serene smile. “We’ll be in your care today.”


  

  Serenya followed her into the carriage, the velvet cushions barely registering her weight as she sat beside the Queen. Her heart tapped rapidly behind her ribs—less from fear, more from the weight of what waited ahead.

  Not a word passed between them at first.

  Only the soft rumble of wheels on stone and the rhythmic thud of hooves.

  

  
• “They will hesitate... because I stand beside you.”


  

  The Queen’s words from the night before echoed like a shield around her heart. Even now, dressed in her ceremonial robes, Serenya felt more like the frightened girl standing outside WillowShade’s gates than a chosen “Saintess.”

  The cathedral loomed ahead—a monument of white stone and silver spires, its towers piercing the sky like spears of heaven. Symbols of the Radiant God and King Altherion adorned the high walls, each rune softly aglow. The very air around it shimmered, as if divinity hung heavy in the light.

  Commander Aethion Vaelros waited at the main gate, flanked by Captain Mira Velnor and Captain Kaarn Ironmane. All three wore the golden-white colors of the Church’s militant wing, and none smiled.

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  “Your Majesty. Lady Serenya.” Aethion bowed with mechanical grace. “You are expected.”

  The Queen gave a small nod, then stepped down from the carriage—not as a monarch commanding presence, but as a guest entering sacred ground. Here, even crowns bowed to the divine.

  Serenya followed closely behind, her footsteps light yet hesitant. Her legs felt stiff, not from fear, but from the quiet tension. As if the statues lining the walls had come to life behind her back, silently judging every step.

  The great doors of the Cathedral opened into a vast hall, where the air buzzed with quiet reverence. Believers flowed through the interior like a steady current—peasants and nobles alike, whispering prayers, lighting candles, offering coin, or kneeling in silence beneath murals of the Radiant God and the first King Altherion. The scent of incense clung to the air, thick but not overwhelming—blended with faint herbal notes and candle wax.

  Deacons, priests and priest-apprentices moved quickly yet respectfully through the aisles, offering blessings, distributing scripture parchments, or guiding the sick and weary toward the side sanctuaries for healing rites. Their robes, white and gold-trimmed, fluttered softly as they moved from devotee to devotee with practiced grace.

  Here and there, Holy Knights stood posted near key halls and passageways—silent, statuesque, their presence a reminder that even sacred spaces required order. Some flanked the entrances to private chambers, while others oversaw the flow of believers near the altar to ensure no disruptions would mar the peace.

  Despite the undercurrent of busyness, the cathedral did not feel chaotic. It breathed like a living entity—structured, watchful, and filled with purpose.

  They were led through spiraling halls and up a wide stairwell to a second-floor chamber. The door opened to reveal a solemn yet bright room, its air filled with faint traces of lavender and incense. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, bathing the floor in golden hues.

  As Queen Seraphina and Serenya entered, Bishop Haldric Dorne rose from his seat with surprising speed for a man of his age, his cane clacking lightly against the marble as he moved to greet them.

  

  
• “Your Majesty,” he said warmly, bowing his head with both hands pressed to his cane. “It’s been too long. The cathedral feels brighter with your presence.”


  
• “Still flattering your guests, Haldric?” Seraphina smiled faintly.


  
• “Only the ones who deserve it.” He chuckled. His eyes then shifted to Serenya. “And this one—ah, this one brings more than light. She brings history.”


  
• “Bishop Dorne.” Serenya bowed politely.


  
• “No need for formality here, my dear,” he said, his tone still warm but now tinged with ceremony. “Today, you step not as a guest, but as one who walks in the shadow of legacy.”


  

  The Queen and Serenya were led to a table where Head Priestess Velmira Yorael stood, hands folded; with two deacons Lirael and Thessa awaited with differing degrees of composure.

  

  
• “Please,” Bishop Haldric gestured, “sit with us for a moment.”


  

  Once seated, his posture straightened slightly, his tone taking a more formal cadence.

  

  
• “We’ve heard the stories,” he said. “Of your light. Of your voice in the royal’s hall. And… of a connection far older than any of us.” His gaze was steady. “They say you touched the legacy of King Altherion himself.”


  
• “I don’t know if that could be said I touched, Your Grace. Only that something…I was able to experience with companions by chance” - Serenya hesitated, but answered truthfully


  

  Bishop Haldric smiled, but his voice dipped with deeper meaning.

  

  
• “Very well. However, as we had heard, The Pope wishes to see you. As do the Cardinals. It is… not a casual summons.” He clapped his hands. “Now, for the head up. You’ll be rewarded something today. A title. Or perhaps something more for your contribution of spreading the God’s teaching in future.”


  

  He glanced toward Seraphina.

  

  
• “I trust Her Majesty has already prepared you for such possibilities.”


  
• “She walks her own path. I merely walk beside her.” - The Queen gave a slow nod.


  
• “Well said.” The Bishop leaned back, sighing fondly. “You always did have a way with quiet defiance.”


  
• “You’re one to speak, old friend.” Seraphina raised an eyebrow.


  

  Chuckles flickered around the table—even Velmira's lips twitched.

  Then, as if perfectly timed, Commander Aethion’s knocks came at the door.

  A quiet knock on the door turned every head.

  Commander Aethion entered once more.

  

  
• “Your Majesty, Lady Serenya and Bishop Haldric. It is time.”


  

  Everyone rose.

  

  
• “Only Lady Serenya and Her Majesty may proceed further,” Bishop Haldric commanded. “Head Priestess, Deacons—you will remain here until I call for you.”


  

  Lirael and Thessa gave a deep bow while Velmira stood aside and bowed slightly as Serenya passed.

  They all walked in silence, boots echoing along polished stone floors.

  The first floor had been alive with movement—priests and deacons in radiant robes offering blessings, carrying scrolls, exchanging warm greetings. A temple alive with purpose.

  By the time they reached the second floor, the warmth had dimmed. Only a few priest-apprentices moved through the halls, heads bowed, voices hushed. The air held a quiet discipline.

  On the third floor, even that fell away. Serenya caught sight of only a handful of senior priests and two head clergy conferring in silence. There was no idle talk. No greetings. Only nods and measured steps.

  Then they ascended to the fourth floor, the silence there was absolute.

  No priests. No whispers. Just a long, vaulted corridor bathed in white light, where even the sound of their footsteps seemed hesitant. At the far end, framed by an arched mosaic of the first King Altherion and the Radiant God… stood a massive double door of silver and pale stone.

  The Pope’s Chamber.

  Serenya felt her breath tighten. This was no longer the Church of sermons and song. This was the Church of commandment and power.

  Then, double doors opened to reveal a vast, domed chamber.

  At its center hung a colossal white veil, descending from the ceiling and pooling slightly around a raised dais. Behind it, Serenya could see the outline of a great chair—throne-like, but not ostentatious.

  A figure sat within the veil. She could see only the silhouette.

  To the left and right stood the four Cardinals—two men, two women, robes pristine, expressions unreadable.

  Beneath the dais stood two Bishops, faces she didn’t recognize—likely inner-circle clergy of the Pope.

  The light in the room came from no window. It emanated softly from the very stones themselves.

  The silence beyond the veil was so complete, it felt like a breath being held.

  Then a voice spoke—not loud, but clear, resonant, and strangely calm.

  

  
• “You who walk in the light… come forward.”


  

  Serenya stepped forward from the Queen’s side, hands at her sides, heart steady.

  

  
• “I am Serenya of WillowShade,” she said softly, but the words rang across the chamber. “Priestess of Radiant Light.”


  

  The veil did not move, but a ripple passed through the Cardinals, subtle but present. The figure behind the veil remained still—silhouetted on the throne—but his voice returned.

  

  
• “There are rumors... that you have made contact with the soul of Altherion the First. That you received his blessing—his legacy—within the depths of a dungeon. Is this true?”


  
• “It is.” Serenya inhaled deeply.


  

  A moment of stillness. Then—

  

  
• “Can you prove it?”


  

  The voice came not from the Pope, but from one of the Cardinals—Cardinal Sylphera Aen’thil, her sharp elven voice calm, yet piercing.

  

  
• “Speak is easy. But the Church deals in truth. If you have touched the First King’s light... let us, see it.”


  

  Serenya nodded once.

  She closed her eyes, raised her hands slowly, and drew in her breath—not from her lungs, but from her soul. A warmth surged upward. Familiar. Sacred. The spell that had come to her not through study, but through faith.

  

  
• “—Ultra Heal.”


  

  The chamber filled with light.

  Not the soft white glow of ordinary healing spells. Not even the brilliant shimmer of advanced clergy.

  This was golden—deep and radiant, like sunlight at dawn, filling every inch of the Pope’s chamber. The walls glowed. The cardinals flinched slightly, shielding their eyes. Even Queen Seraphina took half a step back, stunned by the divine presence pouring forth.

  When the light faded, silence reclaimed the room.

  The Pope spoke at last.

  

  
• “Golden light... is not conjured by spell structure or mana capacity. It is the mark of sanctity. A divine resonance.”


  

  He paused, and for a moment it felt as though every person in the room bowed inward—not with their bodies, but with their breath.

  Then Cardinal Sylphera stepped forward.

  

  
• “There is no doubt now,” she said, her voice quiet with awe. “This light will rise higher than any we’ve ever seen. I propose, in the name of the Radiant Path, that Serenya be granted the title of Bishop of Solaria.”


  

  A murmur of agreement followed. Cardinal Armand Roswick nodded immediately. Cardinal Elarion bowed his head slightly. Even Cardinal Bhoran Grimhorn, massive and stoic, gave a slow grunt of approval.

  Then, as the weight of their consent settled over the chamber, Serenya stepped forward once more.

  And bowed her head—not in submission, but in reverence.

  

  
• “I am grateful,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “and honored beyond words. But…I must decline.”


  

  A ripple passed through the chamber. One of the Bishops inhaled sharply. Even the Queen glanced toward her.

  

  
• “I did not become a priestess to hold titles,” Serenya continued. “Nor to serve from a tower. I walk to help those in pain. To reach those who are ignored. I do not care for status or rank. I only wish to remain… free. To travel beside my companion. To bring healing where it is needed, regardless of border, race, or creed.”


  

  She looked up at the silhouette behind the veil.

  

  
• “If the Church still wishes to bless me,” Serenya said, her voice calm yet firm, “I would ask for something else. A different reward. One that will not bind my steps… but strengthen them.”


  

  A breathless silence fell over the chamber.

  Then, the murmurs began.

  Low at first—just a whisper among robes—but they grew louder, layered with disapproval, confusion, and disbelief.

  Cardinal Armand Roswick stepped forward, his voice stern.

  

  
• “To refuse a Bishop’s mantle is to reject the will of the Church. This is no small honor, Priestess—it is divine appointment.”


  
• “Not just divine,” Cardinal Sylphera added sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly. “It is alignment. The Radiant Path rewards those who walk where they are called, not where they choose.”


  

  From below the dais, one of the bishops murmured,

  

  
• “It borders on infidelity—to reject what may be a blessing from the God of Light himself.”


  

  Serenya bowed her head in silence, but did not withdraw her words. She had spoken not from arrogance, but conviction—and she would not take them back.

  Tension crackled in the chamber like a storm held just beneath the surface.

  Then, from behind the veil, the Pope’s voice returned—smooth as silver, deep as the sea.

  

  
• “Enough.”


  

  The single word rang with gentle finality. All other voices fell silent.

  

  
• “What you call refusal... I call reverence,” he said, his tone calm, yet layered with subtle power. This priestess does not reject our God’s favor. She seeks to carry it freely. Not in chains, but in stride.”


  

  The veil stirred faintly as he leaned forward.

  

  
• “She has refused the name you all wished to give her—but in doing so, she has proven herself worthy of far more. I shall grant her a reward suited not for a Bishop... but for a ”


  

  A hush swept through the chamber. The Cardinals no longer protested. Even the skeptical Bishop lowered his gaze.

  

  
• “One who carries the light not from a pulpit… but through the world.”


  

  His words settled in the chamber like scripture.

  

  
• “You will receive it in due time. Go now, Serenya of WillowShade. Carry that light and know… that we shall be watching. Not to judge but to witness what you shall bring upon this world.”


  

  And with that, Serenya bowed once more.

  But this time, it was not the Church that defined her.

  It was her own will—and the road ahead.