The temple bells sang that morning — low, sorrowful, and endless. Their echo wove through the fog, rolling across the sleeping village like a prayer too heavy to rise.
Cael knelt before the altar, his blade laid across his knees. The stone beneath him was cold, wet with dew — or blood. He could not tell which one it was anymore.
A beam of light filtered through the stained glass above, bathing him in gold. Dust motes drifted through it, slow and graceful, like descending blessings.
He bowed his head.
"Guide me, O Goddess," he whispered. "Through shadow and sin, let my hand not falter, let my mind not hesitate."
The silence answered. Then — a sound. Soft, wet, rhythmic.
He lifted his gaze. From the marble base of the Goddess's statue, a single red drop slid down her pale cheek. It traced the curve of her jaw, lingered at her lips, and fell.
Cael caught it in his palm. It was warm.
A shiver of awe ran through him. "A miracle," he breathed. "You bleed for our sins."
Footsteps echoed behind him — light, hesitant.
"Holy Lord," Elior said, voice calm as always. "You've come early."
"The Goddess weeps," Cael murmured, showing his crimson-stained hand. "She knows the demons still breathe."
Elior looked at the statue for a long moment. His expression did not change. "Her tears are our blessing," he said softly. "A reminder that salvation comes with sacrifice."
The priest's eyes met his. For a heartbeat, Cael thought he saw something flicker behind them — not reverence, but fear.
Then it was gone.
Elior placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go to Serah. She will tend to your wounds. The Light favors those who serve without hesitation."
Cael nodded. "I shall continue the purge when the sun sets."
As he left the temple, the bells began again — but slower now, uneven, like a dying heartbeat.
Outside, the air shimmered faintly, and for a moment, he thought he saw the village walls — not of stone, but of white tiles and metal rails. The image vanished with a blink.
He touched his temple. The world righted itself — cobblestones, prayer flags, morning mist.
He smiled faintly, though the taste of iron lingered on his tongue. Almost like a human's blood.