"I was sitting at the White Chapel in front of the altar of the God-King. By now, winter was at its worst. I shivered under my thick wool prayer dress, praying for justice to be brought to this world. For him to smite the evil masquerading as human, living on this land. Since that fateful night only a few months ago, everything had changed. My body would sometimes spasm with pain seemingly at random. The skin on my left arm was red from stressfully scratching at it incessantly.

  The worst part wasn't even that. It felt like a spell had been cast on me, keeping me from speaking and giving me terrible headaches whenever I tried to remember what happened at the mansion. My voice had simply ceased to work. The marquis had detained me for a few days at the mansion, even though I wanted to leave. He denied any involvement when the Church asked him if he knew anything.

  So now, I spent my days doing the bare minimum to stay alive, praying, and mourning the death of my beautiful child. I was trapped in my own silence, unable to perform even the simplest magic incantation without my voice. Then they came, and with them came a flicker of hope for justice. The Inquisition had finally arrived. Maybe they would fix it all. Maybe everything would work out.

  "Mother Katrina, I am Commissar Dressius," he said, his voice sharp and precise. "I apologize for halting your contemplation, but I must ask you to please accompany me. Your presence is required, and time is of the essence."

  I nodded.

  The snow lay heavy on the roads, but the strong six-legged workhorse trudged through, pulling the cart along sinuous mountain paths and frostbitten fields. Once we reached the great lake, we embarked on a small brig that made its way down a river and into the sea. It took us more than a month, but eventually, we reached the capital of Talaria. As soon as we docked, the Commissar and I disembarked. He flashed his badge, and the dockworker taking names bowed deeply before stepping aside.

  A cart was already waiting. We climbed in, no words exchanged.

  I had expected the Commissar to ask me questions, but there was nothing. He was as silent as I was. Eventually, the carriage stopped in front of a gigantic and intimidating basilica, where we made our way, people stepping out of the Commissar's path without hesitation.""

  I would have expected the Commissar to ask me questions, but nothing. He was as silent as I was. Eventually, the carriage stopped in front of a gigantic and intimidating basilica. We made our way inside, the Commissar leading, and people stepping aside with hurried bows and murmurs. The cathedral's towering spires loomed above, casting long shadows that seemed to ripple with the light of flickering braziers.

  We ascended a winding stairwell that seemed to stretch on endlessly before finally reaching a waiting room, where a secretary informed us to wait until the Pontifex Maximus was available.

  Wait—the Pontifex? The most powerful person on the continent wanted to see me? Was I really here to assist with an investigation, or was there something more? I looked at Dressius, silently pleading for answers, but he ignored my gaze entirely. Real helpful, that one. Not that I could exactly criticize him.

  Eventually, a noble stormed out of the office, his face flushed with rage."This won’t end like this! Without us, your church will crumble to dust within a few years!"

  An oppressive aura suddenly flooded the room, heavy and suffocating. The noble collapsed to his knees, trembling. The energy that filled the space was staggering. I was a Stage 5, yet whatever power had just been unleashed was at least a full stage—or two—beyond mine. The secretary and the commissar stood unflinching, their eyes fixed on the noble with utter disdain.

  When the man finally noticed the commissar’s presence, his face went pale, and he scrambled to his feet, fleeing like a child caught stealing sweets. The crushing pressure eased, and I could breathe again. The secretary gestured for us to enter.

  We stepped inside, and my eyes fell upon the angelic figure radiating power and authority before me. I immediately dropped to my knees, mirroring the commissar’s gesture."Pontifex, I present to you Mother Katrina."

  "Thank you, Dressius. You may leave," she replied, her voice smooth and commanding.

  Without another word, he straightened and exited the room.

  "Please, my child, take a seat. We have much to discuss, you and I," she said, gesturing to a plush sofa. "Allow me to explain: I need you to perform one of the most sacred rituals for me."

  I sat, then pointed at my throat to indicate my inability to speak.

  "Why do you not speak, my child? I was told you were one of the finest sacred chanters of our Order. Was your voice stolen by sickness? A blade? A spell?" She paused, studying my reaction carefully.Her eyes sharpened with interest. "Ah...a spell, then. I may be able to break it."

  "Please, look at this runic formation," she said, unrolling a thick leather sheet etched with ancient symbols and incantations.

  I leaned forward to examine it, but almost instantly, my eyes began to water uncontrollably, blurring my vision. I hurriedly pulled back to avoid sullying the sacred text. My head throbbed with sharp, piercing pain, and before I could steady myself, my knees hit the floor, and the world swam in a haze of light and shadow.

  When the world came back into focus, I found my head resting on the Pontifex's lap. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the sheer impropriety of the situation. I tried to apologize instinctively but quickly remembered that I had no voice.

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  "Yes, a nasty spell indeed, my child," she said gently, her fingers brushing softly through my hair. "It will take time to break, but I am confident I can do it. Would you like me to?"

  I nodded eagerly.

  "Please understand, however," she continued, her tone turning firm, almost motherly, "that everything discussed here today cannot leave these sacred halls."

  I nodded again. I didn’t care about secrecy; I just wanted answers. I needed to tell her what was happening. The spell she showed me—it was nearly identical to the one I had performed. Just a few runes were different. It felt like a distorted reflection of my own chant. My mind wouldn't stop spinning over it, and with each thought, the pain pulsed back and forth, ebbing and flowing as Aurelia worked to contain the curse.

  "Child," she said softly, her voice soothing but resolute, "I must make you sleep. Your mind is racing, and you are accelerating the spell's effects dangerously."

  Her hands cupped my temples, fingers feather-light yet grounding. She whispered a single word, and darkness claimed me.

  I eventually awoke in a dimly lit room, lying on a soft bed and covered by thick sheets. Or so I thought. When I looked closer, I realized it wasn't just any blanket—it was a warm, feathered wing. Pontifex Aurelia was sprawled over me, drooling slightly, her breathing soft and peaceful as she slumbered.

  I guess I could stay like this a bit longer. I had no idea where I was, and considering the weight of responsibility Aurelia carried as both a national and religious leader, I didn’t want to disrupt her rare moment of rest. As I observed her closer, I noticed the faint lines of exhaustion on her face, like someone who hadn't slept properly in days. She hadn’t looked like that before...

  How long was I out? Just a bit longer, I promised myself. After that, I’d wake her—I swore it to the God-King. Despite my wariness, she had this strange aura that made me feel at ease. I knew I should be on my guard—she might just be trying to manipulate me—but something in my heart whispered that my prayers had been answered.

  As I looked at her, a distant memory surfaced: the mother at the orphanage who used to sing softly to wake us up. It was her voice that had inspired me to join the Order, her warmth that had taught me to believe in hope and a better tomorrow.

  I began to hum that familiar song, the one that had always given me courage. Before I knew it, I was singing it softly, the melody like sunlight through clouds. When the song ended, I glanced down at the aviankin resting on me—and found her eyes wide open, staring right at me.

  Her gaze flicked down to the drool on her chin and the damp spot on my sleeve. Her cheeks flushed a bright crimson, like the morning sun.

  She quickly sat up on the bed, whispering in a flustered voice, "You...you have a beautiful voice."

  "Wait, wait, wait... Did I sing out loud?" My eyes went wide with realization. "It's back... My voice," I said, feeling tears welling up in my eyes.

  "It is indeed" The Pontifex answered with a pure smile.

  We got up and went to have a light breakfast in her office.

  "Pontifex Maximus," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "in my last mission, I was asked to perform a ritual that was almost identical to the one you showed me. After completing it, I... I became a mother. Literally. It was a magic pregnancy spell that brought my son into this world. But..." I paused, the memories clawing at my heart. "His body generated both Mana and Runa. After a week of... of melting from the inside, he died. When I woke up, the Marquis of Lavendhale's mage was wiping his dagger, still slick with blood. He looked at me and told me that Samael had... stabbed himself in the heart. That it was probably an attempt to end his suffering."

  I took a shaky breath, fighting the surge of emotion. "I don’t believe that’s the truth. My son’s eyes... they told me he wanted to live. After that, they locked me in a room, and that’s when I believe I was cursed. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They just sent me back to the White Chapel."

  As I spoke, I watched Aurelia’s expression shift, her brows knitting tighter with every word. By the end of my story, the pressure in the room had grown so intense it was almost suffocating. Her power radiated off her like waves of heat, not directed at me, but oppressive all the same. It felt like I was standing before a dragon, its fury simmering just beneath the surface.

  “Please look at the scroll, my child. Show me which runes are wrong and draw me the ones you think were there instead.”

  And so I did.

  When I was done drawing the thirteen differences in the spell and showed them to the Pontifex, her face paled. She collapsed into the sofa, her expression stricken.

  “Well, this is bad. Thank you, child. I will have you shown to a room; I need to go check a few books,” said Aurelia, clearly panicking on the inside. If this was what she thought it was—a modifying spell that forced a last incarnation—it meant the Hero couldn’t be called back anymore. It wiped his memory of his past summons and forced his true soul inside the body. Even worse, the cultists had crippled him by tampering with the invocation even further. The Hero was supposed to have only Runa and no Mana. Having both destroyed his wings before he could fly.

  This was a planned attack on a scale she couldn’t guess. And doing so now was to make sure they didn’t have time to prepare a new plan while the Cult summoned whatever demon spawn they intended. Not only that, but most of the nobility of the Empire seemed to be part of the Cult of the Void.

  Later that day, she came back to see me and asked if I could perform the ritual. I agreed, not knowing if I would give birth to the same son or a new one, but hopeful nonetheless.

  I was given medicine to prevent my throat from sustaining damage from the long chant and then brought to a small chapel where a bed was set. Surrounding the Pope were six women, all Cardinals. The only Cardinal not present was a man who stood guard on the other side of the door.

  We stood in front of the altar to the God-King. I started chanting the spell, my voice echoing against the walls as the Cardinals and the Pope began to chant prayers, following the same rhythm. The power was invigorating. Although similar, this spell felt completely different from the previous one, leaving me with a feeling of protection. The spell was long and took hours to chant.

  And then—nothing. I readied myself for the nausea, but it never came. After two long hours of chanting prayers to the God-King, nothing happened.

  Eventually, one of the Cardinals fell to her knees, crying. The elven lady started to wail in distress. But to my surprise, the others didn’t come to her aid, most of them with eyes filled with panic and despair. Eventually, another Cardinal fell to her knees.

  “He's not coming back,” the Pope mumbled. “They outplayed us. The Emperor is not our ally. He sold us a lie while planning the demise of the Hero for hundreds of years. The treasonous bastard is a fucking Cultist, and he just doomed us.”

  Her tone changed sharply. “I declare a Holy Crusade against Emperor Melenor. Send our best assassins. Tell all the members of the Order within the Empire to be on high alert.”

  “This is total war,” a tall Snow Leopard woman said with the firmness of a general.

  “Let's purge this world of evil! Hero or not, we cannot let chaos fester anymore,” echoed her a Dwarven lady.

  I understood my son was gone forever, and the pain tore my heart apart.