Inside, the scent of burning oils and polished wood filled the air. Sunlight filtered through red-and-blue glass, casting warm streaks across the stone floor and the simple brass altar.
Cesar stepped through the heavy oak doors, nodding to a few of the younger acolytes hauling crates near the nave. They returned the gesture, faces curious but not unkind.
“Ah, Cesar.” The voice came from behind the altar.
Father Merek emerged from the side corridor, robes half-loosened, sleeves rolled up. His face was lined with age and sun, but his eyes were bright. Ink stains marked his fingers, and a small wooden prayer scroll peeked from behind one ear.
“Right on time,” he said. “The gods favor the punctual—though not, it seems, the rodent-free.”
Cesar smiled faintly. “You said under the furnace?”
“Yes, yes. Little beasts are nesting in the crypt vents again. Talia swears she saw one with two tails yesterday.” He grimaced. “It probably means a mutation, but I’ll leave that worry to the constable.”
“We had an encounter with a cat on the mountain while checking traps yesterday,” Cesar said, setting his bag down and retrieving several small traps, “we think it had the rot. Burned my cheek too.”
The Father didn’t comment on that, instead he seemed lost in thought before suddenly remembering where he was. Merek gestured toward the side hall, then lowered his voice slightly. “Do take care, though. One of the old ducts collapsed near the furnace last week. And Paladin Kes is down there today, walking her passage.”
Cesar hesitated. “He’s in the basement?”
“She’s… devoted. The Paladins don’t always see things the way we do. But she’s not here to hurt anyone.”
Cesar nodded slowly. “Right.”
Merek gave him a small, quiet smile. “The traps are yours. The prayers are hers.”
Cesar nodded and moved on, but not before Merek called out once more.
“Oh, and Cesar?”
He turned.
“Thank you for taking the time to help us.” The Father said with a bright smile.
The stairs creaked beneath Cesar’s boots as he descended, the air cooling with each step. The basement was lit only by scattered glow-tapers wedged into stone sconces. Their flames flickered with greenish light, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.
The crypt vents lay ahead—iron grates set into the floor, half-collapsed from age and disuse. The space beyond them led deeper, toward the old furnace chamber. It smelled faintly of ash, dry stone… and something else. Metallic. Sweet. Wrong.
He moved slowly, eyes sweeping for signs of pests. One of the traps twitched in his hand.
Then he heard it.
A low hum. Not a voice. Not a machine. Something between the two—soft, rhythmic, and resonant, echoing off the stone.
He crept forward, hugging the edge of a pillar.
A shadow moved in the next chamber.
Cesar peered around the corner.
Paladin Kes stood alone in the center of the room, armor black as wet obsidian and carved with runes that pulsed faintly, like embers beneath glass. Her head was bowed, hands resting on the silent statue that sat in the center of the basement.
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The humming came from her.
It wasn’t speech, exactly, but it carried a cadence. A chant. A prayer.
“May thine flesh be rendered immaterial.
May thine soul be cleansed by the flame of truth.
May my churches enemies be made clean through that flame.
And if not, be made clean by my blade.”
ach word echoed through the crypt like the tolling of a distant bell. Her voice—if it was truly hers—sounded hollow, as though it were channeled through something older than language.
Cesar froze at the edge of the archway.
Paladin Kes stood motionless in the gloom, rune-carved armor gleaming faintly with violet-blue light. One hand rested on the hilt of her massive blade, the tip embedded in the stone floor at her feet. The runes across her gauntlets pulsed softly in rhythm with her chant.
She didn’t speak like someone thinking. She spoke like someone remembering—like the words weren’t hers, but something inherited. Something given.
Then, without warning, her helm turned.
“Cesar,” she stated simply.
His breath caught in his throat. “Paladin Kes,” he answered, trying not to let it shake.
“You should not be here.”
“I’m helping with the pest issue. Father Merek—”
“There is no pest,” she interrupted. “Not the kind you trap.”
A long silence. The furnace behind her groaned softly—old metal shifting in its sleep.
“Something is stirring beneath,” she said.
Then she turned, vanishing into the shadows of the lower chamber.
“May my Church’s enemies be made clean through that flame…”
The words trailed off behind her, echoing through the stone.
Cesar stood alone now. The light of his taper flickered. He realized his hands were trembling. Taking a deep breath he reminded himself that he was doing a job. Turning he chose a corner next to the furnace and began setting the trap. He placed the box, weighing the trigger carefully with a small bit of dried meat. Rat meat.
He shuddered at the stench before finishing his task. Looking around he saw a shadow move and froze. Reaching down he drew a small hunting knife and waited. He saw a shadow move slightly and began to make out the small shape.
It darted out and lunged for him. He waited for the right moment and stabbed downward. The blade went between the rats front two legs, pinning it to the ground. It hissed, pale white miasma puffing out from its mouth as it writhed on the floor.
Cesar kept it pinned there, waiting the inevitable. The rat struggled, the blade working through its body as puss oozed out. It suddenly went limp and died.
Breathing a sigh of relief Cesar pulled the blade out and wiped it off. He suddenly heard a sound.
A sound behind him—metal on stone.
He spun.
Another rat. Far larger and easily the size of a small dog was pinned to the ground less than a foot from him.
A gauntlet held it in place.
Paladin Kes stood over it, silent, unmoving. The rat thrashed and cried, its bulbous eyes bulging, leaking rot as it shrieked in a pitch that curled Cesar’s stomach.
Kes turned the rat over with one hand, examining it. Then she began to speak:
May thine flesh be rendered immaterial.
The rat’s flesh began to bubble from beneath the skin, patches rising like boils. A sickening squelch echoed through the chamber, and the sound of cracking bones followed—slow, deliberate, like branches snapping underwater.
May thine soul be cleansed by the flame of truth.
Her gauntleted hand glowed faintly. The rat’s limbs seized up. Smoke hissed from its mouth and eyes. The stench of burning fur filled the space between them, thick and nauseating.
May my Church’s enemies be made clean through that flame.
The creature burst into blue fire. Its body flared with a low roar, heat pressing against Cesar’s face. It thrashed once, then crumbled into ash. The flame vanished, leaving only a black smear and a curl of smoke.
Kes said nothing. Staring down at her hand while tilted her head. Cesar followed her gaze and noticed the black smear was covering one of the runes. Wordlessly he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small piece of cloth that had carried some of the bait.
Pushing through his fear he reached out and gently wiped the smear away. The Paladin watched him wordlessly before suddenly standing to full height.
She turned away, the heavy echo of her boots vanishing into the crypt’s shadows. Her words seemed to reach out from the darkness suddenly.
And if not, be made clean by my blade.
Cesar quietly exited the basement, breathing a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him.
Cesar caught Father Merek’s eye and quickly walked over to him.
“What was that in the basement? She has magic. Full magic,” Cesar panted, still processing what he had seen. “I thought the runes lost their power when the Empire fell?”
Father Merek laughed as he set down a tome before sitting on one of the benches.
“How many times have you heard me tell you that faith has power?” he said with a wide smile.
“But that’s serious magic, like those in the stories! Like those in your books!” Cesar said, suddenly wondering about the true possibilities behind the Church’s mystic arts.
The Empire might be gone and its magic dying, but what about this?
“The Gods may have gifted the First King with their runes and magic,” Father Merek said, his smile dropping to one more somber, “but those of the faith are still rewarded with their own power, to do good in this world.”
Cesar fell silent, nodding his head slowly.
“But the Church went against the King. Against the person their Gods selected,” Cesar said simply, looking at the priest with a thoughtful expression. “I think I need to understand more.”
“Yes,” Father Merek said with a sad expression, “perhaps we can talk next time you come by to assist in our pest problem.”
“With a Paladin down there, I don’t understand why you need me,” Cesar said with a laugh.
Father Merek didn’t laugh. He merely smiled weakly and wished Cesar farewell.