Towering piles of unfinished reports loomed over Eileen’s workspace like teetering paper cliffs. Amid them lay a cluster of recently acquired artifacts from the last purge. Even the tainted devices seemed apprehensive of the bureaucratic chaos surrounding them.
Eileen kept fidgeting, looking at one item, one report to the next, barely glancing more than a minute at each task before pressing the empire seal without a second thought. Another mission, another ordeal, sometimes to defend, sometimes to decimate, all merged into faded, frayed and forgettable forms.
The closest construct, a smooth sphere of polished metal with a slit at its center, started to move discreetly. It paused. The slit widen, revealing a deranged eye. It was fixed at her figure and stared intently, slowing down its progression almost to a still as it approached her unnoticed, her attention always returning to her left hand.
She stared at her porcelain ring for the hundredth time, unease crawling beneath her skin. Was it finally turning black? Was the rot reaching her mind? She waited for the tremor. Instead a blade cut brutally through her palm, violently pulling her back from her haze, as speck of blood splattered all over and her veins shined in gold. She smothered a cry. The sphere tried to burrow deeper but her fingers closed around it. She ripped it and crushed it in her grip, before flinging the ruin against the far wall with a dismissive spat. It struck and went still. She looked back at her hand but she had already healed.
“I guess this falls outside standard storage and safe handling protocol” Said a voice behind her. Eileen rolled her eyes.
“Don’t start Alice”
She leaned back in her chair and stretched, arms reaching skyward. Her head tilted back, catching a glimpse of the blue outside before turning towards the old mural clock. Another sigh escaped her.
It was time. She couldn’t be late today. Eileen stood, ready to leave the office, when the high-pitched, robotic voice chirped once more:
“You didn’t get much done.”
“Let me decide what’s acceptable. I need to get ready for the national memorial. No one can keep HIM waiting”
The android followed without a word. Her assistant, in theory; in practice, her keeper. Her father’s gift: a machine placed at her cradle and never meant to leave her side. Alice had been many things over the years: sister, playmate, bodyguard and, more often than not, the quiet warden of her conscience.
As they stepped outside, a group of teenagers, clad in green celebratory robes, rushed past them, laughter spilling into the street. For a fleeting instant, Eileen envied that lightness.
Then came the familiar prickle at the base of her neck.
She stood inside a lavish birthday hall, drowned in silver and red. Sixteen candles, sixteen quiet prayers. The girl at the center knelt before a priestess, hands trembling in her lap. The ceremony of coming of age and the end of innocence. No one smiled as the girl’s lips recited the liturgy under the eyes of God.
Eileen pulled a small, worn notebook from the inner pocket of her coat and scribbled down the vision. Another useless premonition. The book was full of them, a collection of fleeting glimpses, some from the past, others from futures that might never be. Light, whimsical, or quietly tragic, they were snapshots of strangers’ lives, uninvited, unexplained, and, more often than not, completely irrelevant. Alice observed silently, before interjecting. “These records appear to have low operational value. You may wish to prioritize more relevant materials.”
“All visions are God’s gift and must be preserved,” Eileen replied flatly. “You should know that better than anyone.”
“Scripture may be interpreted in many ways. Still, your recent choices are not supported by my guidance protocols”
“Heretic,” she muttered with a faint smile.
They walked slowly along a narrow path, silent and pale, small figures drifting like ghosts. Eileen’s long white robe floated gently with each step, adding to their dreamlike presence. In the distance, the cathedral loomed, the tallest structure in the country, a constant reminder that God was always watching. The whole city was draped in floating lights and candles. White and red flowers framed every window, their brightness in stark contrast with the dark-stoned buildings. The emperor’s sigils and banners rose from the tallest towers, watching over the streets like silent judges. Even the ground was taking life under their steps, spreading holy words from the Testament and Revelations. These representations should have felt comforting as a reminder of unity and faith. Instead, Eileen’s heart kept rushing painful in her rib cage. Her face was drawn into a tight, controlled expression but her palms were damp as she forced herself forward. Why choose me? It is known my gift has never been reliable. So she had wondered many nights since the announcement of her selection.
Two months ago, she would have thought it a blessing, a sign that her life still had meaning. Now, it felt like a cruel joke. She slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out her white-and-emerald cross. The metal felt colder than she remembered. For a brief moment, her nose wrinkled in a faint expression of disgust. Then she tightened her fist around it, the edges painfully pressed into her skin. Honored or not, there was no turning away.
The crystal bells chimed softly, marking the 11th hour of the morning. The melody faded, replaced by a harsher sound: a military march. Eileen and Alice froze, adjusting into formal posture, a hand on the heart, and joined other likewise frozen citizens in singing the Anthem of Glory. Another daily annoyance but ignoring The Call was heresy. As its commanding note faded, Eileen quickened up her pace.
As they finally arrived at the Church Headquarters, she stared up at the gothic cathedral, and its stained glass windows high above shimmering with animating chronicles of sacred events. At the cathedral's base, Eileen drew her order’s sigil on the fa?ade with a drop of her blood. The wall absorbed it, and a thin entrance slid open. She slipped inside, darkness closed around her, pierced only by the soft cold glow of her skin. As they moved through narrow passages, a door opened ahead casting blinding light. Out of habit, Eileen bowed her head and recited the customary greeting.
“I salute you, Sentinel. May you be kept in the light of God.”
When she looked up, she could recognize Sentinel Sofia with her arms covered in dense lines of devotional script, inked from wrist to shoulder. Her gaze was cold, almost contemptuous, as if Eileen’s presence were an inconvenience. Eileen stayed straight and still face to her Divine Sister. Sofia brushed past her with a sharp, forceful movement, the muscles of her jaw tightening in visible disgust.
Twelve years of service, yet she remained an outsider for some. And today’s would not make things any easier.
She entered the Seer convent aisle, a place she had not set foot since then. Pushing open the heavy doors, she was embraced by a solemn silence. Some of the sisters stared at her in surprise, others bowed their heads in quiet acknowledgment.
The common room was magnificent: a high, arched gothic ceiling soared above, while sunlight streamed through the vast west-facing glass wall, diffracted in a multitude of colors across the polished marble floor. The opposite stone walls were adorned with century-old paintings of heaven, bright and glorious they commanded reverence. All around the hall stood tables and seats of noble wood, white gold, and crystal, arranged with austere grandeur.
At the far corner, Clara’s familiar figure was smiling, beckoning her closer.
“Alice, go to my room. I’ll join you shortly.”
Her assistant gave a lazy nod, brushed a crystal globe hanging near a shelf of gilt-edged books, and vanished in a spark of blue towards the upstairs levels. Eileen drew a steadying breath and approached her friend.
“I salute you, Sentinel Clara, may you be kept in the light of God.”
“And may you be granted His warmth, Eileen.”
The formal greeting softened into shared smiles. Clara, eight years Eileen’s junior, was tall and striking, her dark skin and long braids framing a face that radiated the presence of a true holy warrior. Unlike Eileen, her aura carried unshaken faith.
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“How are you? It’s been too long since we last spoke.”
Eileen’s gaze drifted.
“It hasn’t felt the same here…. since his death.”
Clara’s expression softened. She placed a hand on Eileen’s arm, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The silence carried more weight than any prayer.
“Will you manage today’s ceremony?” she asked at last.
Eileen shrugged.
“I have no choice but to.”
Her eyes moved to Clara’s arm. “I see they’ve been working on you.”
A faint smile crossed Clara’s face. She drew a knife and turned it once in her mechanical hand. The motion was smooth, almost elegant, the limb humming quietly as metal caught the light.
“The engineers finished it last week,” she said. “It responds faster than my old arm ever did.”
“Reassuring,” Eileen replied with a quiet teasing smile. “Next time we’re surrounded; you might actually kill the right target.”
Clara gave her a short, dry look.
“That wouldn’t have been an issue if you’d explained your plan.” She teased. They were always shy when times called for warmth, sarcasm and small jabs felt easier.
“My plan got us out alive,” Eileen said. After a pause, she added with a grin, “Well, most of us.”
Clara’s mouth was formulating a reply which got lost in the toll of bells. The sound rolled through the room, deep and unyielding. Whatever warmth had lingered between them faded with it.
“I should get ready,” Eileen said quietly, glancing toward the golden orb
Before she could leave, Clara pulled her into a long, tight embrace. Her eyes glistened.
“Be careful, Eileen.”
She released her abruptly and walked away. Eileen frowned, unsettled. Had her friend seen something? But now was not the time to ask and she hurried to join Alice and change into her ceremonial attire.
As she arrived in her room, two silent sisters waited for her, dressed in the plain linen robes of their order. On the desk facing a tall window rested a small chest of carved mahogany, bound with platinum filigree. The relic.
This year, she had been chosen to represent her kind: to pray at the tombs of the fallen comrades and receive the divine words that would shape the year to come. Each year called for a different relic. This time, it would be the Crown of Thorns.
The sisters moved with reverent haste. They vested Eileen in the ceremonial robes: white silk that fell in a single, seamless line from one shoulder to her feet, fastened with a silver clasp and slander belt. The fabric clung effortlessly, light as breath. Her hair was braided and drawn smooth against her crown. A jeweled headdress - diamond, ruby and emerald – cascaded down to her lower back. Her face was hidden behind a porcelain mask, blank and expressionless revealing only the wearer`s eyes. When their task was complete, the sisters bowed once more and withdrew, leaving her alone with the chest.
She did not immediately open it. She first walked to the window. From there, she overlooked the vast ceremonial court. The crowd was already gathering, rows of dark figures. At the highest tier stood the Emperor. His silhouette was almost swallowed by the luminous white cape draped over his shoulders, concealing his green robes and his imposing frame.
Down on the ground, her Brothers and Sisters were already in place, each branch of the Sentinel Orders arrayed in solemn ranks. Her gaze drifted from one to the next: the Seraphin with their immense radiant claymores, the Arias whose crystalline voices were said to bridge heaven and earth, the Seers masters of time and truth, the Inquisitors channeling divine wrath into holy fire, and the Angels, bringers of solace and healing. Familiar faces she had grown beside. Shadows of many more she had lost.
Then the Arias’ voices rose, weaving the song of glory. The ceremony had begun. Eileen gestured toward the reliquary, which stirred to life and hovered above her, brushing her hair with un uncomfortable weight.
She began the slow walk to the ceremonial ground. A priest stepped forward, offering a white wafer upon a crimson cushion. A hallucinogen, meant to open the mind. Seers rarely required it, but her gift made precautions necessary. Kneeling, she received the drug, rose, and crossed the threshold.
Light and heat flooded her, a stark contrast to the cathedral’s cool shadow. Her bare foot touched the burning sand, and the Arias’ fell silent. A hush fell. The Seers, among which, she recognized Clara’s outline, dropped to their knees, hands joined in prayer, asking for the blessing of the day’s vision. Around the ceremonial ground, the Seraphim stood in a silent ring while the Inquisitors moved between them, lighting the torches and the floating platinum candles that drifted like pale stars above the crowd. Closer to the people, the Angels stood with eyes closed and arms crossed over their chests, murmuring soft prayers meant to soothe and steady the mass gathered above.
At the center of it all, Eileen advanced alone toward the black monument raised in honor of those who had fallen for the Empire. The polished stele stood like a shard of night in the sand, its surface etched with thousands of names. She stopped a single step before it.
Closing her eyes, she raised her hands at her sides, hands open toward the sky, sunlight warming her skin. Heat climbed slowly through her body, settling in her lungs. Then her voice rose. The liturgy of the dead left her lips in a steady, resonant tone, strangely amplified, as if the air itself carried her words outward. The sound rolled over the square like distant thunder. The cadence never changed, each verse flowed into the next, a slow, hypnotic current of sound. She felt herself drifting with it.
At the final verse, faint sparks of light appeared above her palms. She opened her eyes. Her pupils were unnaturally wide, swallowing the color of her irises. A tremor passed through her body, and her movements shifted into something older than doctrine, older than the Empire itself. Her feet traced slow, circular steps in the sand. Her arms curved and twisted in an unnatural rhythm. The sparks multiplied. They rose like embers and melted into a soft, luminous rain that washed over the black stele, bathing the engraved names in pale light. The glow spread, growing brighter, until it swallowed both monument and Seer.
White fire burst upward. For a moment, Eileen silhouette stood inside the radiance, wings of flame stretching behind her. Her voice climbed higher, stronger, echoing against the cathedral walls. Louder. And louder. Until, on the final word, she struck the stele with her right palm.
All light vanished.
This was the moment…the visions had to come. For a heartbeat, there was only doubt and silence. Then her sight clouded white, and she was overcome.
Cries tore through her mind: voices, wailing, prayers of agony. She saw comrades pierced and dying, citizens writhing in despair, a woman clutching her husband’s rigid body, a child shaking his mother’s corpse, begging her to rise. Darkness smothered everything, soot-choked and hopeless. From the haze, a half-consumed Angel seized her with desperate hands. “What have we done?” the creature shrieked, panic twisting her ruined face. “WHAT HAVE WE DONE?” She screamed scattering into ashes.
And then: him. He stood calm amid the chaos, pain etched in his eyes. Her heart sank. Not him. Anyone but him. He approached, gaze cold, disdainful. “Sister, why could you not save me? I screamed for you, again and again. And yet, I died alone.” Gently, he lifted a lock of her hair, letting it slip through his fingers. “God have mercy.” He whispered, a tear dropping to the ashy ground, before, he too, dissolved.
No… come back, she whispered in her mind but she was a simple observer, frozen like stone.
A cold and mad laugh broke surrounding her. Frost rushed into her veins. Two yellow eyes pierced the smoke, shaping a mutilated form from swirling cinders. With a sudden lurch, it glided to stand before her.
“Tell your Emperor his time has come. Submit, or be consumed. None shall be spared.”
Agony ripped through her as its hand speared through her chest seizing her heart. “You shall be the doll of the demise. Speak to your impostor.” He spated.
The vision blurred; both realities overlapped. Her white robe was drenched in blood. The crown’s thorns dripped crimson tears, staining the white silk with faces twisted in torment. Crow alighted in circle around her, their black wings spread like a bad omen.
She turned toward the Regent, finger raised in accusation.
“Black wings shall eclipse the sky, and the ashes of the faithful will fall as snow. Brothers burning, children calling to the dead. And in the smoke, the yellow-eyed is watching. The Empire itself is silent, and God does not answer either.”
The hand released her. She collapsed into the sand. Silence fell, broken only by the distant cries of birds. She could feel the weight of every eye, heavy with disbelief and dread, until a sudden rush of wings drove the crows wheeling into the sunlit sky. The crowd began to stir. Murmurs turned to shouts. Some voices rose in panic, others in anger. Eileen was choking, unable to breathe. The world around her blurred as her body shook with violent convulsions. The noise of the upper terraces, an incomprehensible mix of screams, prayers and orders, crashed into her ears. The other enhanced warriors stood frozen, forbidden to move. But the regular army, previously hidden among the shadows of the cathedral arches, was already descending on the crowd. Lines of armored soldiers poured into the stone tiers separating groups, forcing people to their knees with gradual violence.
The Emperor rose from his elevated dais and with a simple gesture of his hand and a few quiet words Eileen could not make out, the chaos began to dissolve. Voices faltered. Movements slowed. Panic ebbed away. Silence returned almost as quickly as it had broken. Eileen’s gold-tinted eyes remained fixed on the Emperor’s silhouette as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. Then it swallowed her whole.
