The morning came shrouded in fog.
The kind that clung to marble and memory alike — soft, silent, almost holy.
The holy church stirred under it, its towers emerging from mist like the bones of a sleeping god.
Aiden stood at the highest balcony, watching. Below, the banners of the Church procession advanced through the winding road — black carriages, gold insignia, and the rhythmic clang of armored escorts.
The Bishop had come.
He looked smaller than Aiden had thought — a man inflated by titles, not spirit. Even from a distance, Aiden could sense the arrogance in his posture, the slow wave he offered the crowd as if to bless their ignorance.
"Amber," Aiden said quietly. She was beside him, veil drawn, eyes wary. "Has the hall been prepared?"
"Yes, ai....Lucifer, As you asked — the white banners replaced with blue. The old scripture scrolls positioned behind your seat. And… the wine poured."
"Good."
She hesitated. "You mean to unsettle him."
