The approaching footsteps belonged to Aetherion Selenica, who emerged onto the observation platform with the practiced grace of a master swordswoman. Her white hair caught the morning light as she strode forward, her blue ceremonial armor and Church cape marking her status as Sword Saint.
"Your Highness," she said formally, dipping into a respectful bow before the Crown Prince. Her light blue eyes, carrying their characteristic melancholic look, fixed on Lenundis. "Captain Ardorius," she acknowledged Cenoris with a similar bow, though perhaps slightly less deep.
Cenoris straightened almost imperceptibly at her arrival, his shoulders squaring as he returned her greeting. A fleeting softness passed through his otherwise stern expression, quickly masked by military discipline.
"Sword Saint Aetherion," Lenundis replied with equal formality, inclining his head in the precise angle protocol dictated for a Crown Prince addressing a Church-appointed Sword Saint. "The Prime Church honors us with your presence this morning."
Cenoris matched the formal tone, bringing his fist to his chest in the standard salute of the Royal Guard. "Sword Saint," he said, his voice notably stiffer than it had been moments before, though there was an underlying warmth that hadn't been present during his earlier conversation with Lord Foghorn.
The three maintained their formal postures for precisely three seconds before Selenica's composed expression cracked into a smile. She punched Cenoris lightly on his armored shoulder, the gesture familiar and casual, though she let her hand linger a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing it with the slightest hesitation.
"Father's beard, do we really need to do this every time?" she said with a small laugh that brightened her usually solemn features. "We were just sharing wine at the royal dinner last night."
Lenundis's formal posture relaxed instantly, the transition from Crown Prince to childhood friend visible in the slight slouch of his shoulders and the easier set of his mouth. "Protocol demands it, unfortunately. Pontiff Elias would have a fit if he heard you addressing me without proper formalities in a public setting."
"Public? There's nobody here but us," Cenoris said, glancing around the observation platform before his stern demeanor melted completely. He gestured to the twisted remains of the exploded cannon below. "Though I see you missed quite the spectacle. Another calibration failure."
Selenica moved to stand between them, though she positioned herself a careful half-step closer to Lenundis than to Cenoris—a subtle detail that would have been imperceptible to anyone who hadn't spent years studying battlefield positioning as she had. Her gaze lingered on the Crown Prince for a heartbeat longer than propriety strictly allowed before she turned her attention to the training field below.
"How are things at the palace?" she asked, deliberately steering the conversation toward lighter matters. "Has your father recovered from Lord Ventus's endless poetry recitation at last night's dinner? I thought the king might fall asleep right at the table."
Lenundis chuckled. "Father has developed an impressive ability to appear attentive while his mind wanders elsewhere. A necessary skill for royalty, I'm told." He ran a hand through his hair, carefully adjusting it back over his right eye. "What about your mother? Has she returned from her trip to the Federation?"
"She has," Selenica answered, "though she brought back an irritating cold from overseas. Nothing serious, but she's been confined to her chambers, much to her frustration. The House Aetherion trading fleet waits for no one's illness—she's been sending orders from her sickbed."
"Lady Aetherion ill?" Cenoris raised an eyebrow. "That explains her absence from yesterday's Table meeting. My father mentioned that several key votes had to be postponed."
"Mother was furious about missing it," Selenica said with a small smile. "You know how seriously she takes her duties as a council member. Three generations of Aetherions have held that seat, and she's determined not to be the first to miss a critical vote." She shook her head slightly. "The airship captains have been arriving daily for instructions—our house manages the largest merchant fleet in Somnium, and every captain insists only the head of house can approve their routes."
"And your father?" Lenundis asked. "Still buried in his research at the Academy?"
"Completely absorbed," Selenica confirmed. "He and Ignis have barely emerged from the archives in weeks. Something about translating texts from the War in Heaven." She turned to Cenoris. "Your brother seems equally obsessed. When was the last time you saw him?"
Cenoris's expression softened at the mention of his brother. "Ignis? Not for almost a fortnight. Father keeps asking when he'll attend a family dinner again. I think he sleeps in the library most nights."
"At least he's found his calling," Lenundis observed. "Not everyone born to a Major House is fortunate enough to pursue their passion."
A brief, loaded silence fell over the trio at this comment. Each of them—the reluctant Crown Prince, the duty-bound Sword Saint, and the loyal Captain—understood the weight of expectations their births had placed upon them.
Selenica broke the silence first. "I was hoping to find you both after morning prayers," she said, her tone shifting toward something more serious. "Pontiff Elias seemed unusually distracted today. He mixed up two verses of the Embrace and barely noticed when I corrected him. I don't know what troubles him, but for Elias to falter in ceremony... it must be something dire."
Cenoris frowned, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on the hilt of his great sword. "The Church has probably received the full report about the daemon breach at Outpost Vigil. A red daemon, the first in a century—it's exactly the kind of development that would concern Elias deeply. The Church maintains their own information network, sometimes faster than even our military channels."
"By the way," Selenica said, following his gaze to the twisted remains on the training field, "I saw Lord Foghorn leaving as I arrived. He looked more displeased than usual—and that's quite an achievement. What did you do to upset the Master of Coins this time?"
Lenundis nodded, his expression growing more serious as he directed his gaze back to the Magik Cannons on the training field below. "Speaking of the Empire situation, we need to finalize the shipment details today. The Council expects a decision on whether we're sending twenty cannons with trained operators or thirty without."
He stepped closer to the platform's edge, his voice dropping to ensure only his two closest friends could hear. "I've increased the shipment from twenty to thirty cannons after receiving reports that the breach was larger than initially thought. But you saw what just happened—" he gestured to the smoking remains below, "—these weapons are beyond dangerous without proper training. The Empire's operators won't understand the calibration requirements. They could kill themselves and everyone around them."
Lenundis ran a hand through his hair, momentarily revealing both his eyes—the glowing left and the plain hazel right—before quickly covering the latter again. "The ideal solution would be sending our Magiteks along with the cannons, but that creates two problems. First, the Empire would view it as an infringement on their sovereignty. They're proud people who've been fighting daemons for generations without interference. Second, the Table would never approve deploying Somnium soldiers, especially not with Lord Foghorn counting every Mana Ore as if it were his personal treasure."
He turned to face his friends directly, the weight of the decision evident in his expression. "And honestly, how could I order our people to stand at the edge of that crimson hell? Would I be sending them to die for a Rift that's been contained for centuries?" His voice lowered further. "And yet, if the reports are true, if the daemons are growing stronger... we can't just send weapons we know will fail."
His fingers absently traced the outline of the Illusory Orb in his pocket. "I wonder what Aestalon would do."
"What if we brought their operators here instead?" Cenoris suggested, gesturing to the training field. "A small delegation from the Empire, trained intensively for two weeks, then sent back with the cannons."
"The Table would see it as a security risk," Lenundis replied. "Allowing foreigners direct access to our military facilities."
"The Simplified Inscriptions, then?" Cenoris pressed on. "The ones developed for emergency field repairs? They're less efficient but nearly fool-proof."
"They reduce the cannons' power by almost forty percent," Lenundis said with a sigh. "Barely effective against even basic daemon incursions."
"What about the Trade Alliance clause?" Cenoris offered desperately. "If we classify the cannons as trade goods rather than military aid, we could bypass the Table's restrictions on—"
"Foghorn would never allow that loophole," Lenundis cut him off. "He'd claim it undermines the entire treasury system."
Throughout this exchange, Selenica had remained silent, leaning against the platform railing with an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of her lips. She watched the two men debate with the patient air of someone who already knew the answer but was allowing others to work through the problem themselves. As they continued their back-and-forth, she thought to herself how different Aestalon would have approached this situation—likely ignoring all the diplomatic complexities and political maneuvering, simply taking direct action himself. For all his faults, the missing prince had never lacked decisiveness.
When the conversation reached a momentary lull, she straightened, drawing both their attention.
"You're both overlooking the obvious solution," she said, her smile widening slightly. "And frankly, I think Aestalon would have just thrown diplomacy out the window and gone there himself by now."
Both men fell silent, turning to face her. Cenoris stopped drumming his fingers on his sword hilt, and Lenundis let his hand fall away from the Illusory Orb in his pocket. The sudden quiet on the observation platform was broken only by the distant shouts of Magitek operators below as they prepared another cannon for testing.
"You two are thinking in circles," Selenica said, her voice carrying that unique blend of exasperation and affection reserved only for those closest to her. "You're trapped within the same constraints—treasury restrictions, Table approval, military protocol. You need to think outside these boundaries."
She stepped forward, her white hair catching the morning light. "Tell me, who in all of Somnium has the resources to send people with Magik knowledge to the Empire, while not spending a single coin from the treasury, nor breaching any sovereignty of any nation?"
Lenundis furrowed his brow, clearly cycling through possibilities in his mind. "The Merchant Guild? No, they wouldn't have the right expertise..."
"The Royal Academy?" Cenoris ventured. "They have the knowledge, but they're still funded by the treasury, and the Table would need to approve their deployment."
"The Seekers' Guild?" Lenundis tried again. "They're independent, but they typically work for hire. The treasury would still need to pay them."
Selenica watched them, her smile growing incrementally with each incorrect guess. She glanced meaningfully at the sigil on her own cape—the incomplete circle formed by two embracing hands—but neither man caught the reference.
"Perhaps one of the Major Houses?" Cenoris suggested, growing more frustrated. "House Aetherion has the ships, but sending private forces might be seen as even more of a sovereignty breach than official military aid."
Selenica shook her head slowly, waiting patiently. When they both fell silent again, unable to grasp what seemed so obvious to her, she finally took pity on them.
"The Church of Embrace," she said, unable to completely hide her disbelief at their oversight. Her eyebrows arched in mild exasperation as she gestured to her own Church-emblazoned cape. "By O Mother's heart, I've been standing here the entire time wearing the very sigil! The Prime Church has been sending Battle Maidens and Batteries to remote locations throughout Erath for centuries. They operate independently from the throne in these matters, funded by the tithes of the faithful rather than the royal treasury. Their presence has never been questioned as a breach of sovereignty because they serve the spiritual needs of all people, regardless of nation or faction."
Lenundis and Cenoris exchanged stunned glances, the solution suddenly crystal clear.
"The Church..." Lenundis whispered, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Of course. The Battle Maidens are trained in combat and Magik application. Their Batteries are essentially walking Magik instructors. And they're already welcomed in Empire territory."
"And the Empire wouldn't see them as Somnium military interference," Cenoris added, excitement growing in his voice. "They're religious representatives, not soldiers. The Empire's people respect the Church. They pray to the same Father and Mother."
"Exactly," Selenica confirmed, clearly pleased they'd finally caught up. "And the most elegant part? The Pontiff doesn't need the Table's approval to send Church representatives wherever they're needed. It's his prerogative alone."
Lenundis's expression shifted from amazement to concern. "But would Elias agree? This would be using Church resources for what's essentially a military purpose."
"The Church's primary mission is to protect all of Erath's people from daemon incursions," Selenica reminded him. "Pontiff Elias takes this duty seriously. And I suspect his distraction this morning was related to the Empire situation. He's probably already considering similar measures."
"So I should request an audience with the Pontiff," Lenundis said, his voice gaining confidence.
"You should," Selenica agreed. "Ask Pontiff Elias to send Battle Maidens and Batteries to the Empire, specifically to assist with the Magik Cannons. Frame it as protecting the people from both daemons and from the dangers of improperly calibrated weapons. The Church has always stood against unnecessary suffering."
A weight seemed to lift from Lenundis's shoulders. "This could actually work." He turned to Cenoris. "We wouldn't need to send thirty cannons. Twenty with proper Church oversight would be far more effective."
"And Lord Foghorn could hardly object," Cenoris added with a smile. "The treasury expends exactly the resources the Table already approved—no more."
Lenundis turned back to Selenica, his expression filled with gratitude. "How did you see this solution when we couldn't?"
Selenica's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Perhaps because I spend every morning in the Church while you two are busy swinging swords and signing documents." She shrugged slightly. "Sometimes the answer is right in front of you, wearing a cape with the emblem of the Embrace."
Cenoris stepped forward and bowed to her with uncharacteristic formality. "The Sword Saint's wisdom proves once again why you earned your title at such a young age."
"Sel," Lenundis said, using her childhood nickname as he clasped her hand briefly between both of his, "I honestly don't know how I'd get through half these royal crises without you. Your clarity of thought is worth more than all the Illusory Orbs in the kingdom."
Selenica offered a composed smile in return. Years of Sword Saint training had given her the discipline needed in moments like these. She withdrew her hand with practiced casualness.
"I should return to the Prime Church," she said, her voice even. "I'll speak with Pontiff Elias about your upcoming visit."
---
"I must regretfully decline, Your Highness."
Pontiff Elias's voice was soft but resolute as it echoed through the private chamber of the Prime Church. The elderly man's weathered face carried a pained expression, his hands folded apologetically within the voluminous sleeves of his ceremonial robes.
"I understand the wisdom of your proposal, truly I do," he continued, meeting Lenundis's gaze with genuine regret. "Under normal circumstances, I would gladly offer the Church's assistance. However..." he hesitated, glancing briefly at Selenica, "there are pressing matters that currently constrain our resources. I cannot, at this moment, spare any Battle Maidens or Batteries for the Empire."
Lenundis stood frozen, his carefully prepared arguments dying on his lips, one hand still raised mid-gesture.
Cenoris's jaw clenched, his fingers instinctively curling toward his sword hilt before he caught himself.
Selenica, perhaps most shocked of all, stared at her mentor with widened eyes. The certainty with which she had presented this solution to her friends just hours ago now crumbled in the face of the Pontiff's unexpected refusal.
The Pontiff held Lenundis's gaze for a long moment before glancing toward the ornately carved door of his chamber. The subtle shift in his expression was nearly imperceptible, but after years under his tutelage, Selenica caught the meaning immediately.
"Pontiff," she said, smoothly stepping into the awkward silence, "perhaps you should show His Highness the newly restored mosaics in the East Sanctuary? The craftsmen completed their work just yesterday."
Elias nodded almost imperceptibly, relief briefly crossing his face. "An excellent suggestion, Sword Saint. I have not yet had the opportunity to view the restoration myself."
The group moved silently through the winding corridors of the Prime Church, their footsteps echoing against stone worn smooth by centuries of faithful feet. Church acolytes and lesser priests bowed respectfully as they passed, but none approached—Pontiff Elias's purposeful stride signaled he was not to be disturbed.
Only when they reached the small, secluded East Sanctuary did the Pontiff's tense posture relax slightly. The circular chamber was empty save for the newly restored mosaics depicting scenes from The War in Heaven, glittering in the afternoon light filtering through high, narrow windows. Cenoris positioned himself near the only entrance, arms crossed, effectively ensuring their privacy.
Lenundis's attention was immediately captured by the sweeping panorama that encircled the chamber. The mosaics depicted a battle of unfathomable scale—massive vessels, dwarfing even the largest airships of Somnium's current fleet, clashing among countless stars in a midnight-black sky. Beams of light erupted between the colossal craft, each depicted in exquisite detail despite their miniature size within the vast tableau. The Crown Prince's lips parted in silent wonder as he absorbed the forgotten grandeur of his ancestors' war.
"They called them 'spaceships,' not airships," Elias said quietly, noting Lenundis's awe. "The records claim they traveled beyond Luna Majora and Minora, to stars so distant they appear as mere pinpricks in our night sky." He gestured to one particularly massive vessel at the center of the mosaic, its sleek design unmistakably similar to the foundations of High Veil. "That is the vessel upon which High Veil and the Royal Palace were built. The texts name it 'Astral Sovereign'—one of the few that survived the War intact."
Elias sighed heavily, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-odd years. "Forgive the formality earlier, Your Highness. The walls of my chambers have grown increasingly... attentive... of late."
Lenundis frowned. "You believe you're being monitored? Within the Prime Church itself?"
"I am certain of it," Elias replied, running a weathered hand along the freshly restored mosaic depicting The Father wielding a spear-like weapon with a glowing axe blade that crackled with blue energy against a formless darkness. "Which is why I could not speak freely about why our Battle Maidens and Batteries cannot be spared." He lowered his eyes briefly. "I am but a servant of the Church and the people, Your Highness—not a ruler. Yet even servants must sometimes act with authority when those they serve are threatened."
He turned to face them directly, his voice dropping even lower. "The truth, which I share with you in strictest confidence, is that I am deploying every available Battle Maiden and Battery to the thirteen churches throughout Somnium that house the sealed relics."
Selenica's composure faltered visibly. "All thirteen? Simultaneously? That hasn't happened in—"
"In over a hundred years," Elias finished grimly. "Not since the last time a red daemon was sighted." He waved a dismissive hand. "I've announced it publicly as the standard annual rotation of forces, of course. We regularly cycle our personnel to allow them to visit their families and rest before returning to their duties. A routine matter of Church business that should raise no eyebrows."
"But this isn't just a routine rotation," Cenoris observed, his eyes narrowing. "You're reinforcing all the relic sites at once."
"Precisely," the Pontiff confirmed. His weathered fingers worked together nervously beneath the wide sleeves of his robe. "The Church finds itself in an extraordinarily delicate position. We have uncovered... irregularities... concerning one of Somnium's Major Houses and their interest in our sealed relics."
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Elias turned to gaze up at the mosaic, his profile illuminated by the afternoon light streaming through the narrow windows. "For generations, the Church has maintained these thirteen churches throughout Somnium. Each houses a relic of power too dangerous to be destroyed, yet too volatile to be left unguarded. Relics from The War in Heaven itself."
The Pontiff's voice dropped even further, barely audible even in the silent chamber. "Someone within one of the Major Houses might have been... interfering... with our custody of these relics. I cannot yet say which house, nor the exact nature of this interference. Not because I don't trust you three—" his gaze swept over them with paternal affection, "—but because the political balance of Somnium hangs by a thread. One wrong accusation, one premature revelation, could tip us into civil conflict at the very moment we can least afford it."
He turned back to them, his expression grave. "If I named the house now, without irrefutable evidence, half the Table would call it a Church plot to undermine their authority. If I revealed the nature of the transgression, it would incite panic throughout the kingdom." Elias sighed deeply. "So I must strengthen our defenses in silence, investigate in shadows, and pray to The Father and The Mother that we are not already too late."
A heavy silence descended upon the sanctuary. Through the high, narrow windows, dust motes danced in the slanting beams of afternoon light. The vibrant colors of the mosaic seemed to dim as clouds passed outside, casting the chamber in momentary shadow.
No one spoke for several long moments. Lenundis stood still, his eyes fixed on the section of mosaic depicting a burning world—perhaps Erath itself during some ancient catastrophe. The weight of dual responsibilities seemed to settle visibly across his shoulders: the Empire beyond their borders and the kingdom within them, both facing threats that could not be ignored.
When he finally turned back to the Pontiff, his expression was one of profound understanding rather than frustration. Years of royal training had taught him that sometimes the most effective persuasion began with genuine empathy.
"The burden you carry is immense, Pontiff," Lenundis said softly, inclining his head in respect. "To guard against threats both known and unknown, to protect the faithful without causing panic... I cannot imagine the weight of such responsibility." He gestured to the mosaic. "Our ancestors fought their war among the stars. We fight ours in council chambers and sacred spaces, with weapons of words and careful planning."
Elias's weathered face softened slightly at the acknowledgment.
"In times like these," Lenundis continued, "when multiple threats emerge simultaneously, I believe we must find ways to address them in parallel rather than choosing between them." He took a careful step forward, his voice warm yet respectful. "Pontiff, I don't question the gravity of what you face here in Somnium. But the Empire's situation grows dire with each passing day." He maintained a respectful distance appropriate for addressing the head of the Church. "The red daemon sighted at Outpost Vigil—the first in a century—suggests the Rift is growing unstable. Without proper instruction, the Empire's operators will be unable to utilize our Magik Cannons effectively."
"And ineffective cannons may be worse than no cannons at all," Cenoris added, moving away from his post by the door. "Misaligned Magik Circles could result in catastrophic failures. We've already witnessed three malfunctions during testing this month alone—and that's with trained Magiteks at the controls."
Selenica remained silent, her eyes fixed on her mentor. Her hands, usually so steady, twisted the fabric of her ceremonial cape—a gesture Elias had seen countless times when she was still his pupil, wrestling with some difficult question of faith or duty.
"Perhaps not all Battle Maidens are needed for the relics," Lenundis ventured carefully. "Even a small contingent—two or three with their Batteries—could make the difference between success and failure at Fort Dauntless."
Elias clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly along the perimeter of the chamber, studying each panel of the mosaic in turn. The silence stretched uncomfortably long before he spoke again.
"Your Highness," he said finally, "if the Rift fails completely, no number of Magik Cannons will save us. And if our sealed relics are compromised here in Somnium, we may face a threat as great as any that could emerge from the Empire's borders." He paused before a mosaic depicting what appeared to be a massive explosion tearing through the ranks of the cosmic fleet. "I grieve that I cannot aid you in this. Truly, I do."
Another silence fell, broken only by the distant sound of choral practice echoing from somewhere deep within the Church.
"Pontiff," Selenica said suddenly, her voice thoughtful, "what of the apprentice Brothers of Battle? They're not yet assigned to Battle Maidens, and they're well-versed in supportive magiks."
Elias's head came up sharply. "The initiates? But they're still in training—"
"Yes, but their instruction focuses primarily on calibration and maintenance of Magik devices," Selenica pointed out. "They may lack combat experience, but they understand the principles of mana flow and Magik Circle alignment better than many full Batteries. Their theoretical knowledge is exactly what the Empire's operators need."
Lenundis and Cenoris exchanged a brief glance of renewed hope.
Elias stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The apprentices aren't yet needed for the relics—they're not qualified for such dangerous duty without their Battle Maidens." He considered the suggestion. "And their training emphasizes supportive roles rather than direct confrontation..."
"They would need no combat capability at Fort Dauntless," Lenundis pressed, seeing the small opening. "Only the knowledge to teach the Empire's operators how to safely calibrate and maintain the cannons."
The Pontiff's expression remained troubled. "They're young, Your Highness. Most have never left Noctisveil."
"Which is precisely why sending them would raise no suspicions," Cenoris countered. "A group of Church initiates traveling to the Empire to spread the teachings of The Father and The Mother—a common practice for completing their education. Even the most paranoid observer would see it as nothing more than standard Church business."
Elias's gaze shifted between the three younger faces before him, each alight with renewed determination. He sighed heavily.
"There is still the matter of their safety," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "The Empire is a dangerous place in the best of times. With the Rift growing unstable..."
"I will accompany them."
Selenica's voice cut through the chamber with such clarity and determination that all three men turned to her in surprise. Her stance had shifted subtly—shoulders back, chin raised, the stance of a warrior making a declaration rather than a suggestion.
"As Sword Saint, I can ensure their protection," she continued, her tone leaving no room for debate. "The journey to Fort Dauntless would be an appropriate extension of my duties to safeguard the Church's interests."
Elias stared at his former pupil, clearly caught off guard by her sudden pronouncement. "Selenica, you are needed here. The relics—"
"Will be guarded by Battle Maidens and their Batteries," she finished. "My absence would be one blade among many. But at Fort Dauntless, a single Sword Saint could mean the difference between the initiates' success or failure." Her eyes met Elias's. "This is precisely what the Sword Saints were created for, Pontiff—to stand between danger and those who cannot defend themselves."
"It's too risky," Cenoris interjected, his voice sharper than intended. His hand had returned to his sword hilt, fingers drumming an agitated rhythm. "If another breach occurs while you're there—"
"Then they will have a Sword Saint among them," Selenica replied calmly. "One who has trained her entire life to face such threats."
Lenundis had gone very still, his mismatched eyes studying Selenica with an expression that mingled concern with unmistakable admiration. "You understand what you're volunteering for? The journey alone will take weeks, and once there..." He trailed off, unable to fully articulate the dangers that awaited at the edge of the Rift.
"I do," she said simply, meeting his gaze.
A flicker of something passed between them, brief but intense. Selenica felt a familiar warmth rise in her chest that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. She had known, from the moment Lenundis had mentioned the Empire's need, that she would find a way to help him—would have volunteered regardless of whether he asked. The realization was as natural as breathing, requiring no more thought than her morning prayers.
"Your wit is as sharp as your blade, Sword Saint," Lenundis said finally, a smile touching his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "And your courage is... remarkable."
Elias looked between them, his expression softening by degrees. "It would address the primary concerns," he conceded reluctantly. "The initiates would have protection, and your presence would lend the mission greater authority." He shook his head slightly. "I don't like it, but... I cannot deny the elegance of the solution."
"Then it's decided," Selenica said with quiet finality. "I will select the most capable initiates from the Brotherhood and prepare them for the journey. With your blessing, Pontiff," she added, the formal request necessary despite her determination.
Elias sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You have it, child. May The Father's strength and The Mother's wisdom guide you."
"Thank you, Pontiff," Lenundis said, genuine gratitude evident in his voice. "The Crown—and I personally—are in your debt."
"Pray that the debt need never be collected, Your Highness," Elias replied gravely. "For if it is, it will mean all our fears have been realized."
They took their leave with solemn bows, Lenundis clasping the Pontiff's weathered hands in his own. "Your counsel and assistance are invaluable to Somnium, as always," he said warmly. Cenoris offered a formal salute, fist to chest, while Selenica embraced her mentor briefly. As they departed the East Sanctuary, each felt the weight of what had been decided—and what remained unsaid—settling around their shoulders like an invisible cloak.
---
The trading vessel Wavecrest cut through the azure waters of the Sapphire Channel, its sails billowing with the favorable winds that had blessed their journey from Noctisveil. The captain had promised a swift passage to Mezza Island, and for three days, his word had proven true. If the weather held, they would arrive by sunset tomorrow.
Amariel stood at the bow, her tall athletic frame balanced effortlessly against the ship's rhythmic rise and fall. Though only twenty years old, she carried herself with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. The sea breeze tugged at her tightly braided blue hair, occasionally loosening strands that whipped about her face. She wore civilian clothing for the journey—a practical linen shirt and fitted leather vest over traveling pants—though her Battle Maiden's insignia remained pinned discreetly to her collar. Unlike other warriors who relied on steel, Battle Maidens carried no weapons; the Embrace taught that their bodies were the finest weapons The Father and The Mother had ever forged. Amariel's powerful limbs and calloused knuckles were testament to years of rigorous hand-to-hand combat training. Even in civilian garb, the coiled strength in her movements was unmistakable.
"About time," she said without turning. "Did you have to brew the leaves yourself?"
"The quartermaster was being stubborn," Yon replied, offering one of the two steaming mugs he carried. At twenty-nine, her Battery was unremarkable in appearance—average height, with brown hair cropped close to his head and a thin face that could have belonged to any commoner in Somnium. Only the simple blue pendant around his neck—the symbol of the Brotherhood of Battle—marked him as something more.
Amariel snatched the mug, splashing hot liquid over the rim. "I thought he told you there wasn't any left."
"He did. But I mentioned we were on Church business, and suddenly he remembered a 'forgotten' cache."
"Should have mentioned it the first time. You let people walk all over you."
Yon lowered his eyes briefly. "Yes, Maiden-vah."
A twinge of regret flickered through her at his submissive response, but she pushed it aside. This was how things were supposed to be between Battle Maidens and their Batteries. The instructors at the Church had drilled that into her since childhood—Batteries existed to serve, to support, to absorb the rough edges of a Maiden's temperament without complaint.
"At least you got it right this time," she added, her tone softening fractionally. "Good and strong."
The slight smile that touched Yon's lips at the grudging praise irritated her almost as much as it pleased her. They stood in silence, watching the distant shoreline drift by. Silver-winged seabirds swooped and dove around the ship's bow, occasionally emerging with tiny, wriggling fish.
"Do you think it will be as simple as Pontiff Elias suggested?" Yon asked finally. "Check on Metilda, verify the seal, return to Noctisveil?"
Amariel took another sip, letting the heat clear her thoughts. "Nothing involving Metilda Foghorn is ever simple." She kept her voice neutral, though discussing the woman always left a sour taste in her mouth. "But I don't expect complications beyond the usual... personality clashes."
"The usual challenges with..." Yon hesitated, his gaze dropping to the pendant at his throat. "...professional differences in methodology."
Amariel shot him a sharp look. "Watch yourself. Whatever you think of her methods, she's still a Battle Maiden of the Church."
Yon inclined his head, but Amariel caught the disappointment before he concealed it. Something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. She turned back to the sea, annoyed at herself for feeling guilty. Battle Maidens weren't supposed to care about their Batteries' feelings. They were tools, vessels for magik support—nothing more.
Except Yon had never been just a tool to her, no matter how hard she'd tried to see him that way.
"What do you know about the sealed relic?" he asked after a while, voice dropping despite no other passengers nearby. "Pontiff Elias was unusually vague in the briefing."
"Deliberately so," she replied, grateful for the change in subject. "No one truly knows what these relics are. The ancient texts from the War in Heaven only command that they must remain sealed and guarded." She paused, checking for eavesdroppers. "Whatever's sealed in the church on Mezza Island has been contained for ten millennia—one of the original seals maintained by the Church."
"That doesn't explain why Metilda was assigned to guard it," Yon noted. "She's not exactly known for her diligence."
"Political connections outweigh merit," Amariel said curtly. "Her father is Lord Foghorn. The Church has to play politics like everyone else."
Yon nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Perfect in theory, flawed in execution."
"Save the philosophy for someone who cares," Amariel snapped, though without real heat. "If I'd wanted a sermon, I'd have dragged a priest along instead of you."
"That would be volume four, actually." A hint of mischief colored his voice. "Volume three focuses on the duality of existence and the balance between The Father's strength and The Mother's wisdom."
Despite herself, Amariel felt a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "What did I do to deserve a Battery who back-talks?"
"Pure misfortune on your part, Maiden-vah," Yon replied, his own smile warming his plain features. "You could have requested a transfer at any time. Traded me for someone who nods and agrees with everything you say."
The words struck closer to truth than either of them typically acknowledged. She could have requested a more compliant Battery years ago. Many of her fellow Battle Maidens had cycled through multiple Batteries, discarding them when they became too damaged—physically or mentally—to serve effectively.
"That would be too much trouble," she said, shrugging. "I've already trained you to be adequately useful." She gave his shoulder a rough push. "Most of the time, anyway."
The ship's bell rang, signaling the change of watch. Crew members moved with practiced efficiency, adjusting sails and checking lines. The captain's voice called out orders from the helm, and the vessel shifted course, angling more directly toward their destination.
Amariel finished her tea and thrust the empty mug back at Yon. "Return these to the galley, then check our supplies. Make sure the ritual components are properly packed."
"I already did that this morning," Yon said, taking her mug.
"Then do it again. I won't have any mistakes when we reach Mezza Island."
She watched him hesitate, saw something—frustration? resignation?—cross his face before he nodded. "Yes, Maiden-vah."
As he turned to go, an impulse she couldn't quite suppress made her add, "After that, get some rest. You look exhausted, and I need you functional."
Yon paused, glancing back with mild surprise. "Yes, Maiden-vah," he repeated, but the words carried a different weight this time.
Once he had disappeared below deck, Amariel turned back to the horizon, where the faintest dark smudge might have been Mezza Island—or might have been nothing at all. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the tension that had been building for days.
Her instructors at the Church would have been disappointed in her hesitation, her moments of softness toward her Battery. Battle Maidens were supposed to be hard as steel, their expectations unyielding. A Maiden who showed weakness to her Battery risked becoming ineffective in battle, when instant obedience could mean the difference between life and death.
And yet...
"Yon," she called suddenly, catching him just before he descended the steps. He looked back, eyebrows raised in question. Amariel fought with the words, uncertain why she felt compelled to ask. "Are you... satisfied? With our arrangement?"
His face registered genuine surprise. "What do you mean?"
Amariel glanced around, ensuring no passengers were within earshot. "You know what I mean. The way I treat you compared to how other Battle Maidens treat their Batteries." Her voice grew more gruff as she added, "Not that I care. But it would be inconvenient if you were harboring resentment that might affect your performance."
Yon was quiet for a long moment, studying her with an intensity that made her want to turn away. When he finally spoke, his voice carried an unusual solemnity.
"You push me hard, demand much, and rarely offer praise." He chose his words carefully. "But you've never broken me for the sake of breaking me. That alone sets you apart from most Battle Maidens I've known."
Amariel's jaw tightened. She had witnessed such behaviors herself, had even been encouraged to adopt similar attitudes during her training. The Church taught that Battle Maidens were the chosen warriors of The Father, while Batteries were merely vessels of The Mother's nurturing energy—support rather than equals. It was a doctrine she had always found difficult to accept, though she rarely voiced such thoughts aloud.
"That doesn't answer my question," she pressed, her voice harsher than intended.
Yon's eyes—a warm brown that appeared almost amber in the morning light—met hers without flinching. "Yes, Maiden-vah. I am satisfied. More than most in my position could hope to be." A hint of his earlier humor returned. "Though I would appreciate fewer early morning training sessions. Some of us need more than four hours of sleep to function."
She scowled at him, but there was little force behind it. "Don't push your luck. Now go check those supplies."
As he disappeared below deck, Amariel turned her gaze back to the horizon, troubled by the brief exchange. She was neither as cruel as Metilda nor as soft as some of the younger Maidens who hadn't yet learned the necessity of discipline. She occupied an uncomfortable middle ground—strict enough to maintain the respect of her peers, but unwilling to cross certain lines that many of them ignored without a second thought.
---
The training grounds were eerily quiet that afternoon. At thirteen, Amariel sat cross-legged on the stone floor, still aching from the morning's combat drills. Around her, other initiates practiced their forms, but she had been singled out by Pontiff Elias himself for a private lesson. The old man lowered himself onto the bench beside her with practiced grace despite his age.
"You're troubled, child," he observed, his eyes following the movements of the other Battle Maiden candidates. "I've watched you hesitate during partner drills."
"I don't understand why we must be so harsh," Amariel admitted, keeping her voice low. "Master Torren yesterday—she struck her Battery for dropping a Mana Ore during practice. It was an accident."
Elias sighed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "The Church's ways often seem... contradictory to young minds. But there are reasons, dear Amariel. Important ones." He gestured to the training pairs sparring nearby. "Tell me, what is the primary duty of a Battle Maiden?"
"To defend the Church and the people from daemon threats," she recited automatically.
"Precisely. And to do so effectively, what must we maintain?"
Amariel considered. "Strength. Readiness. The ability to act without hesitation."
"Indeed." Elias nodded approvingly. "The harsh dynamic you question serves two vital purposes. First, it keeps Battle Maidens sharp, aggressive, always on edge. This tradition stems from necessity—our ancestors needed warriors ready to fight at a moment's notice. Softness could mean death, not just for the Maiden, but for all those depending on her protection."
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "Second, and perhaps... well, perhaps more important, is that it maintains necessary distance between Maiden and Battery."
Amariel's brow furrowed in confusion.
Elias chose his next words carefully. "You and your fellow initiates have taken vows as servants of the Church. Your Batteries have done the same. These vows include... constraints... similar to those taken by our priests and priestesses." He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "In any other part of society, when two people work so closely together, sharing power, understanding each other's every weakness and strength... certain bonds can... naturally form."
The young initiate tilted her head, still not quite following.
"But for Battle Maidens and Batteries," Elias continued, his tone growing more firm, "such bonds would be a violation of sacred oaths. The tension, the distance—they exist to..." He hesitated, seeming to weigh his words, "...to uphold the traditions that have served us for generations. Though perhaps..." He caught himself, shaking his head slightly. "But that's a discussion for another time."
He stood, brushing dust from his robes. "Remember: discipline and distance preserve not just your honor, but your effectiveness as a protector of the faith. For now, at least, these are the rules that guide us."
He rested a weathered hand on her shoulder. "Now, shall we continue your training? I believe Master Torren has volunteered to demonstrate proper correction techniques with her Battery."
---
The memory faded as the ship's bell signaled another change of watch. Amariel shook her head, pushing the recollection aside, though its lessons still echoed in her mind. She understood now, all those years later, why some Battle Maidens pushed their Batteries so hard—keeping that necessary distance through harshness rather than warmth.
Yet here you are, a voice in her mind whispered, treating Yon differently.
She clenched her fists, knuckles whitening as she gripped the ship's railing. The wind had picked up, carrying the salt spray higher, and she welcomed the sting against her face. It helped clear her thoughts, though it couldn't erase the fundamental question that Elias's lessons had never truly answered: what happened when the distance became too painful to maintain?
Her hand drifted to the inside pocket of her vest, where Pontiff Elias's sealed orders lay folded against her heart. The parchment carried instructions far more complex than the simple inspection story she'd shared with Yon. A cool breeze swept across the deck, raising goosebumps along her arms as the weight of her true mission settled more heavily upon her shoulders. Whatever awaited them on Mezza Island, Amariel knew with grim certainty that they would not be returning to Noctisveil as quickly—or as peacefully—as her Battery believed.
---
The Wavecrest creaked beneath Amariel's boots as she maintained her vigil at the bow. Sunset painted the western sky in shades of amber and crimson, casting long shadows across the deck. The crew was preparing for the evening watch, their movements efficient and practiced. Amariel squinted toward the horizon where Mezza Island should have been appearing as a dark smudge, but the waters there remained empty.
Then, without warning, the sea bucked beneath them.
The massive wave rose from tranquil waters with preternatural speed, towering above the ship like a liquid mountain. It was wrong—wrong in its size, wrong in its color, wrong in the way it defied the natural rhythm of the ocean. The crest glowed faintly in the dimming light, shot through with veins of crimson luminescence.
"All hands!" the captain's voice cracked like a whip. "Secure the—"
His words died as chaos erupted on the deck. Sailors scrambled for anything solid to hold onto. Barrels broke loose from their lashings, crashing across the planking. The ship tilted at an impossible angle, and Amariel clung to the railing, her warrior's reflexes the only thing keeping her from being thrown overboard.
As they crested the mammoth wave, Amariel's eyes locked on the horizon. Mezza Island blazed in the distance, but not with the peaceful lights of a port town. Columns of fire—scarlet and gold and sickly yellow—shot into the darkening sky. The flames weren't natural. They burned too bright, too fierce, painting the clouds with their hellish glow.
The Wavecrest plunged down the wave's far side, timbers groaning under stress they were never meant to bear. Water crashed over the deck, sweeping crew members like scattered leaves. But Amariel barely noticed. Her gaze remained fixed on Mezza Island as it drew closer with each wave-driven surge.
She saw it then—the truth that made her heart seize in her chest. Through the sheets of spray and the churning waters, beneath the ship itself, a crimson glow pulsed. Magik light. Somehow, someway, raw magik energy was surging through the depths, turning the sea itself into a conduit for power that should never exist in such form.
"Maiden!" Yon appeared at her side, drenched and white-faced. He reached for her arm just as another wave slammed into the ship's broadside, threatening to capsize them entirely.
But Amariel continued to stare at the island, at the lights bleeding through the sky. She had seen those colors before, in the restricted archives of the Church. The texts that spoke of daemon incursions. The accounts of magik gone catastrophically wrong. The warnings about power unleashed without control or purpose.
The sealed relic. The thought struck her like ice water. The seal had been broken.
A sound split the night—a shriek that was somehow both mechanical and organic, a fusion of twisted metal and tormented flesh. The fires on Mezza Island seemed to respond, flaring brighter, reaching higher into the heavens.
"We need to turn back!" Yon shouted over the wind. "Warn the Church—"
His words were lost as a pillar of pure energy erupted from the island's highest point. It was beautiful and terrible, a spear of light that cleaved the darkness with surgical precision. For a heartbeat, it seemed to hang suspended above the waves.
Then it moved.
The beam crossed the distance between island and ship faster than thought. Amariel caught a glimpse of its terrible radiance—not the clean blue of properly channeled magik, but a sickly blend of red and white that hurt to look upon.
"Down!" she screamed, tackling Yon to the deck.
The energy struck amidships with the sound of reality itself being torn asunder. Wood exploded into splinters. Mana-reinforced timbers, meant to withstand storms and sea monsters, simply ceased to exist. The Wavecrest split apart like kindling, her spine snapping with a crack that seemed to echo across the waves.
The last thing Amariel saw was the pieces of the ship hurtling through the air around her, mixing with bodies and debris. The last thing she heard was the hungry sound of the waves closing over everything. The last thing she felt was Yon's hand in hers, gripping tight as darkness swallowed them both.
And then there was nothing but the cold embrace of the sea, dragging them down into depths that pulsed with an unnatural red glow.
two chapters per week schedule, so we'll be seeing each other often!
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