The Cathedral of the Church had grown quiet.
Too quiet.
Grand halls, prior filled with hymns sung to the heavens, now echoed only with footsteps that barely dared to tread across the marble floors. The gilded statues of saints seemed dimmer in the flickering torchlight, their majestic visages dulled by dust and neglect.
Outside, the streets told a grimmer story.
Merchants laughed openly about the Church's "pious" greed, while commoners whispered of priests who sold blessings for coin and absolved sins in exchange for favors.
Faith had not merely dwindled—it had curdled into disdain.
But the Church endured, clinging to life through the steady flow of gold sent anonymously by one man: Prince Aric Valerian.
It was a bitter truth that only a few knew, and one he intended to use tonight.
Deep within the Cathedral, in a chamber lit by trembling candlelight, High Inquisitor Levos and High Priest Dorim sat across from each other.
