The carriage reached District 1, two statues stood opposite to each other, testaments of war and dominance. Imposing figures curved with artistic precision, the figures were sculpted from a strong stone. On the right was a figure of a man, his body was a masterpiece of muscles and raw power.
His face was a mask of fury, one side marked by a deep scar, a permanent reminder of battles fought and won. His bald head gave the figure an air of ruthlessness. His arms, thick as tree trucks, held a curved blade and the other hand, an axe that whispered bloodshed.
Around his waist was a tattered cloth. That was the legend, Commander Kael, the demon slayer.
On the left, the statue stood tall, a female warrior. A definition of both elegance and brutality, she was the vision of deadly grace, the artist understood both beauty and war. Her armor exposed several parts of her body that spoke of agility and speed rather than brute strength.
Her long flowing hair cascaded over her shoulders, her gaze seems to pierce through time itself, a goddess, so glorious.
That was not a mere statue of a warrior, it was an embodiment of power and destruction, during the hundred years of war, they said she did more damage than ten thousand soldiers combined. She had devastating abilities, she was the greatest threat during the hundred years of war, the first Daemiran, Evarith - pronounced as: air-va-ret.
The statue of Kael and Evarith was a symbol, a tribute to an era of war, where humans and demons clashed, and only the brave and ruthless survived. The statues gave pride to the people of Mediva, warriors who would never be forgotten.
Inside the wagon Klah and Edward haven't spoken since last night, maybe there was nothing left to say. Silence was the only language left to them after witnessing such horror.
Edward's attention was now fixed on klah, who was sitting at the opposite side of the wagon, with his head bowed, unmoving. He wanted to talk, to say something to his younger brother but no word came out of his mouth.
For the first time, Klah lifted his head up and looked at Edward ,
" I…I'm so weak", he said, voice cracking " I'm so…sorry, I couldn't save mother".
His words were soft, broken. And yet those words shattered Edward's heart.
Edward was shocked, he had no idea Klah had been blaming himself the whole time. Tears gathered in his eyes, he reached across the wagon.
"Hey… it's okay"
Edward tried to comfort his brother and was still fighting the tears in his eyes. But Klah's eyes were no longer lost, they were filled with rage.
" I made a promise to mother, I will be strong. I promised".
Now Klah was more serious and loud
" I will get stronger. I swear it!"
There was fire in his voice and something else too, something different. Edward's breath caught. He knew Klah as a hotheaded, reckless person, but this… this wasn't just anger.
It was something not human
when Klah said that, that look just now, what was that?. He knows his brother well,he has never seen Klah this angry and the aura he just showed now is inhuman.
The carriage finally stopped, and they had arrived at the grand cathedral.
The streets were overflowed with people from every district, some were curious, others mourning. And many came because of the current rumors spreading, that the one responsible for District 5 destruction had been caught.
In a nearby wagon, a child turned to his mother
" Mama, is today liberation day?"
The crowd began to move, murmurs became voices and voices became shouts. Words began to enter the survivors ears, tension became the oxygen in that area
" Hey let's get out of this place"
Edward quickly dragged his brother by the hands as they headed for the cathedral hall, where the guards had promised food earlier in their journey.
The tension behind them was getting wild, the people began to protest.
" JUSTICE, WE WANT JUSTICE"
" BRING THE CULPRIT OUT HERE"
The people were yelling and chanting wildly, the tension was turning to something else, soon it will be uncontrollably. Cathedral guards sprinted to the scene from all different directions.
The protests were getting wilder every second, the cathedral guards alone could not stop the wild crowd.
" Come on, let's walk faster"
The two brothers started to run.
As they neared the wooden door of the cathedral hall, Klah glanced to his right and noticed three women with hooded cloak heading for the cathedral wooden gate. Edward noticed too, he had seen the woman in the right before, she was from District 5. She is a Daemiran.
Klah and Edward were nearly at the door when a shadow passed the two in the opposite direction. He wore a long, dark robe with a hood that covered most of his face, making him look mysterious like a shadow. The robe flowed like smoke down to his boots, and his sleeves were wrapped in a black straps.
Underneath, he had on a plain, dark tunic, tied at the waist with a black wide sash. His pants were tucked into his tall boots.
He moved like a ghost.
That was a Hunter, an elite warrior that fights demons outside the walls.
_____________
" We have prepared everything, Father Salas". The cathedral guard said, his voice steady yet cautious.
The Archbishop stood with his back at him, gazing at the cubit painting before him. Salas rarely faced anyone when they spoke, it was one of his many habits.
" We also have__"
The door creaked open, cutting the guard off. Heavy boots stepped in.
Suddenly, the cathedral guard stood at attention, looking at the man as he walked passed him.
" You need to address the people outside before their protest turns to something else, Father Salas", a deep voice interrupted.
Salas turned slightly to answer the man
" Well, you are late…General", he finally turned to face the man fully, eyes unreadable. " let them protest, they are not ready for what is about to come".
There was a quick silence between the three men
The man who had entered the room earlier, tall and broad shouldered caucasian, was no ordinary soldier. He was General Boyce— the commander of the cathedral guards. His authority extended from the towering cathedral of District 1 to the monastery of District 4 and the parish churches of all three remaining districts. His soldiers patrolled the streets within the city walls, keeping order with an iron grip.
Unlike the cathedral guards, the general dressed differently. He wore a black long - sleeved shirt, black trouser tucked into heavy boots, and over them, a long dark coat decorated with a single crimson cross on its back. The coat fell over him like a shadow, flowing down to his heels.Two swords hung on either side of his waist.
That was Boyce the ruthless.
To every criminal in Mediva, his name only was like a death sentence. Justice was his creed, and mercy had no place in his gospel. He followed orders, when he deemed them worthy. Rules, to him, were suggestions easily bent in the name of justice.
" And what is coming?". The general broke the silence
Salas didn't answer. Instead he turned to the cathedral guard beside Boyce
" Go" he said simply, " tell the people the Pope will address them shortly".
The guard left immediately.
Boyce's gaze sharpened, what was Salas planning?.
" The Pope?", Boyce asked with curiosity, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
" Yes…" Salas smiled. " Brace yourself, General… a storm is coming ". He said as he walked towards Boyce.
Without a word, the Archbishop walked passed Boyce and left the chamber.
The General stood still, staring at the door long after it had shut behind Salas.
The Archbishop had always unsettled him. Even after all these years, the man was still a stranger to him like a mystery wrapped inside a stone.
"A storm huh…" he muttered under his breath. "let's see what you are planning this time".
Then he too stepped out, the echo of his boots trailing behind him like thunder.
_______________
Beside the gigantic cathedral of District 1, stood its grand extension— the cathedral palace. A massive square shaped edifice of stone and gold trimmed spires, it served as a seat to the highest authority in Mediva. It was here, within these walls, that the Pope, the ruler of Mediva resided.
Archbishop Salas walked through the palace's long marble hallway with a calm, deliberate grace. Every ten paces, a cathedral guard stood at attention, clad in silver armor. Their stillness and silence, added to the solemn weight of the corridor. It was the most secure place in Mediva.
The Archbishop's steps echoed softly until he reached the double door inlaid with golden filigree. With ease, he pushed it open.
The chamber that greeted him opened like a treasure chest, its air rich with incense and silent authority. The marble floor is shiny as if greased with oil. Along the wall, hung vast wooden portraits of stories of ancient glory and saints.
Above, the ceiling soared like the heavens, adorned with paintings of angels. Every inch of the room whispered reverence.
At the heart of it all, stood a golden throne. Seated on it was the Pope, Julius.
He was old, his skin marked with lines curved by years of rule. Draped in a cascade of gold and Ivory, a living symbol of divine authority. His robe shimmered like morning light on sacred relics, embroidered with patterns and precious stones that caught every flicker of candlelight.
A tall, ornate tiara crowned his head, topped with a golden cross that reached upward. In his hands, he held a staff of authority, tall, gilded and bearing a double cross, its weight symbolic as much as physical.
Salas stepped forward and bowed deeply
" Your Holiness". He said, his voice low with reverence. " it is time".
The Pope's gaze rose slowly. His eyes, though tired, still held the clarity of purpose.
" Then let's get to it", the Pope replied, his voice soft, yet unwavering.