The Grand Plaza of Solarium was lit with the heat of expectation.
Hundreds had gathered beneath the towering Cathedral of the Holy Flame, its spire cutting into the steel-gray sky. The Eternal Flame atop the spire flickered faintly, a feeble glow too weak to stir the hearts of the disillusioned masses below.
The air was plagued with whispers, a low murmur of speculation that hung like smoke over the square.
Vendors lingered at the edges of the crowd, their cries half-hearted, as if even they could sense the gravity of the moment. The people weren't here for bread or trinkets—they had come for something greater.
A sign. A reason to believe again.
Faith had long withered beneath the weight of corruption. The Church's promises rang hollow, and hope was a currency no longer spent. But tonight, the whispers promised something different: a cleansing.
A rebirth.
From the shadows of an arched alcove, Aric Valerian watched.
