Chapter 23 - Chapter 23- Gates of Sanctus

The refreshing chill of the morning air bit at Helios and Bow as they stepped out of the inn, their packs slung over their shoulders. Bow rummaged through his bag one last time, double-checking everything before snapping it shut. "Hey, you got everything, right? Money, map, fire starter… the usual?" Helios peeked inside his own bag, scanning the contents. "Yeah… got everything. Only thing I'm missing is a water pouch. Lost mine about a week ago while training with the others." Bow nodded. "Alright, we can grab one at the shop down the street." The two made their way there, exchanged a few coins, and secured a new pouch before heading back to the inn to wait for Halo. Not long after, Halo appeared in the distance, waving. Helios and Bow waved back. "You guys ready? We're leaving out of the east gate," Halo called. "Okie-dokie. Sounds like a plan," Bow replied, scratching the back of his head. "Is it a long walk?" Halo's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "We aren't walking. Too far. Walking would take us a month. By cart, about a week." Bow's face brightened. "Perfect. Saves us a ton of time, and our legs." The three of them made their way to the east gate, where a waiting cart and driver stood. After paying the fare, they climbed aboard, Helios taking a seat near the front, Bow leaning back casually, and Halo scanning the horizon with that quiet intensity that always made Helios uneasy. The cart creaked to life, rolling along the cobblestone path, carrying them toward the eastern horizon, and toward the holy, mysterious land of Sanctus. Along the long and winding journey, they passed sights unlike anything they had ever known. Great floating islands hung in the sky, tethered to the earth by massive chains of stone and vine, their waterfalls defying gravity as they flowed upward to feed the land above. Strange fruits grew in the wilds, shapes twisted and sizes absurd, some no larger than a fingernail, others as big as a man's chest. Helios couldn't keep his eyes still. His gaze roamed restlessly, drinking in every wonder. The air itself felt alive, rich, pure, humming with unseen strength. He could smell it, taste it, feel it thrumming beneath his skin. Every vista they passed seemed too perfect to be real, as though the world had been painted by the hand of a divine artist. For the first time in a long while, Helios felt a quiet awe settle into his chest. After days on the road, the trio finally caught sight of the holy country's gates. Sanctus rose before them like a dream from another age. The gates were colossal, towering high enough that even giants could have passed beneath them without bowing. The walls stretched outward in both directions, ancient stone swallowed by creeping vines, moss, and flowering plants. It was as if mother nature herself had chosen to embrace the holy land, weaving her blessings into its defenses. As the cart rattled closer, their driver straightened and proudly held up his merchant's token. The guards at the gate, armored head to toe in radiant silver plate with white cloth trimmed in gold, barely spoke. A silent nod, the token accepted, and the cart was ushered through. The moment they crossed the threshold, the world changed. Helios and Bow both froze, eyes wide. The holy capital stretched before them in breathtaking detail, a city built around a single massive cathedral that pierced the sky itself. Its spires gleamed like polished ivory, etched with symbols of the Radiant One, Elyndor. Every inch of it looked as though crafted by divine hands, too flawless to be mortal work. Surrounding the cathedral sprawled avenues of stone-paved streets lined with pristine houses, colorful markets, and shops so finely carved they looked like art themselves. The air itself seemed cleaner here, filled with the distant sound of hymns. Bells tolled gently from the cathedral towers, carrying a solemn yet comforting melody over the city. As they stepped off the cart and into the crowd, the scene only grew more surreal. Everywhere, groups of citizens gathered around speakers dressed in white robes, their voices raised in unified sermons. "Love your neighbor as you love yourself!" one preacher called. "Smile, for the Radiant One, Elyndor, purged the land of evil and gave us salvation!" another declared, his words sending the crowd into reverent cheers. Helios watched them, brow furrowing slightly. The devotion here was absolute, smiles across every face, faith etched into every word, every gesture. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, beautiful… but unsettling all the same. The streets of Sanctus were alive with voices and color. The white-bricked roads gleamed as though they were polished each dawn, and every corner seemed crowned with flowers in stone vases, their scents mixing sweetly in the air. Preachers stood on steps, calling out passages of Elyndor's grace, while children handed out small wooden charms carved into the shape of radiant suns. Bow kept glancing around with wide eyes. "This place… it feels like a dream," he muttered. Helios nodded, though his gaze lingered longer on the people. They smiled, they laughed, they prayed in unison, but there was a sameness to it all that gnawed at the back of his mind. The trio stopped before a tall timber building with painted shutters, a sign creaking above the door: The Pilgrim's Rest. Inside, the air was warm with the smell of spiced bread and old wood. The innkeeper, a plump woman with rings on every finger, welcomed them with practiced cheer. "Travelers, eh? You'll find no safer beds than mine. Ten silver for the night, breakfast included." They agreed, dropping their packs off in a small upstairs room before returning to the busy streets. Not long after, as they passed through the market square, a young priest in white and gold vestments approached, his hands folded politely. "Blessings of Elyndor upon you, strangers," he said with a gentle bow. "One of the Cardinals himself will deliver a sermon at dusk in the Grand Cathedral. It is rare for one such as him to speak… you would be most welcome to attend." Bow grinned, clapping Helios on the shoulder. "Sounds like something worth seeing. What do you say?" Helios shrugged. "We've come this far. Might as well understand what drives these people." With hours to spare before dusk, they wandered through Sanctus, losing themselves in its splendor. They passed gardens where trees twisted in patterns like spirals toward the sky, fountains carved with angels pouring endless streams of crystal water, and marketplaces bursting with fruits shaped like stars and glowing herbs used in holy rites. Everywhere, the name of Elyndor was spoken like a heartbeat, steady and constant. Yet now and again, Helios caught a flicker of something else, the way armored knights at the corners never once relaxed their grip on their spears, or how a laughing merchant lowered his eyes and hushed his tone when a priest walked by. Finally, the sun sank low, painting the sky in hues of gold and violet. The bells of the cathedral tolled, deep and resonant, calling the faithful. The trio joined the steady stream of worshippers climbing the marble steps. The doors, towering and carved with radiant suns, opened to reveal a hall that seemed to swallow sound. Pillars of white stone stretched up into a vaulted ceiling where murals of Elyndor's triumph blazed with color. Light poured through stained-glass windows, scattering rainbows across the polished floor. They found a place among the crowd and sat upon the long oaken pews. Helios rested his hands on his knees, eyes scanning the intricate carvings and the way the congregation leaned forward in hushed anticipation. Bow whispered, almost reverent: "I've never seen anything like this in my life." The air thickened as the choir began to sing, and a hush fell as the doors behind the altar opened. Helios watched as a robed figure emerged from behind the altar, his arms raised high, fingers stretched toward the heavens. His voice carried with a commanding clarity, echoing through the vaulted chamber. "Pax vobiscum!" The crowd answered as one, their response booming like a single breath shared among thousands: "Et cum spiritu tuo!" The man lowered his arms slowly, his presence calm yet absolute. "It warms my heart to see so many gathered here in faith. For those who do not know me, I am Cardinal Seraphiel Damaris of the Covenant of Grace. Today, we turn to the Book of Renewal." With practiced reverence, Seraphiel pressed his index and middle fingers to his lips, kissed them softly, then lifted them toward the sky. The congregation mirrored his motion in perfect unison, a forest of hands rising around Helios, Bow, and Halo. "Grace is not comfort. Forgiveness is not the balm you wish it to be; it is the mirror that shows the shadow in your own heart." His voice cut through the hall like a blade, yet carried an almost tender authority. "To forgive is not to absolve another, it is to name your own weakness, to refuse to be chained by cruelty. And it is not painless. No… it rends the soul." He let his gaze sweep over the congregation, pausing on the light dancing across the stained-glass murals. "Consider the soldier who returns from war, haunted by screams he could not stop. He is not free because the enemy is defeated; he is free when he forgives himself for what he could not prevent. And yet freedom is not the end, it is the beginning of the cycle. Life will demand again. Pain will return. Sin will call. And still, the Radiant One whispers: 'Rise. Try again.'" Helios felt a cold weight in his stomach. Every word pressed against something raw, old, unhealed. Memories of prayer unanswered, of being left to die, of the silent void where divinity should have been, gnawed at him. "Do not mistake this for fairness," Seraphiel continued, voice sharpening. "The world is not fair. Elyndor does not remove suffering; she illuminates it. She does not erase failure; she refines it. And those who resist, who doubt, who curse the heavens… they are not beyond hope. But they are known. Every act, every misstep, every bitter thought is recorded in the heart of the Divine. And she waits, not to judge you, but to see if you will rise despite it." The cathedral air grew heavy, almost suffocating, as the Cardinal lifted his hands toward the light spilling from the stained-glass windows. "You may look at your own hands and see only blood, failure, weakness. You may curse the heavens, cry to the void, rail against absence. And yet… even in that void, Elyndor is there. She does not abandon you. She does not forget you. She waits to see if you will claim your grace through your own struggle, not through complaint, not through despair, not through anger." Helios's jaw tightened. He could not kneel. He would not pray. Yet the words gnawed at him, persistent as a thorn. "And so we come to the cycle, the eternal rhythm of rise and fall, sin and atonement. Life will strike you down again and again. The faithful are not those who never stumble, they are those who rise again and again because Elyndor's light is patient. It does not burn you for failure; it burns away doubt, teaching endurance. Consider the farmer, whose crops wither despite toil and care. He curses the soil, he curses the heavens, yet he returns each season, planting, tending, praying, not for reward, but for the quiet knowledge that effort persists beyond the cruelty of chance. That is grace. That is renewal. And that, dear children, is not given, it is earned." A murmur ran through the congregation, soft, reverent. Helios felt his fists clench involuntarily, the ache of absence, injustice, and abandonment pressing into him. "You may feel abandoned. Betrayed. Deaf to your pleas. Perhaps they are. Perhaps the heavens have turned away. But in that silence lies the lesson: the Divine is not your comforter. Strength is not born in prosperity; it is forged in despair. It is crafted in the fires of failure, in the moments when all seems lost, when you have nothing but the stubborn beating of your own heart." His gaze swept across the cathedral, across every bowed head. Then, with deliberate emphasis, he raised his voice: "Do you see, beloved, that forgiveness is not about the offender? That renewal is not about the fallen world? It is about you. Each choice to rise, each moment to act when the world would see you kneel, each act of defiance against despair, these are your offerings to Elyndor. They are the prayers that matter, more than words, more than hymns, more than sacrifice. They are proof that the light endures within you, even when absent without." Seraphiel's eyes lingered on Helios. A flicker of acknowledgment, of seeing him, the defiance coiled inside him, passed through. "Do not mistake grace for comfort. Do not mistake mercy for ease. The path is never smooth. The faithful walk not without wounds, they walk because they endure them. And when you fall, when despair threatens to consume you, remember: it is in rising that the world is truly made anew. Every act of courage, every step toward the light, even when the light seems absent, is an echo of Elyndor's will. It is a testament that no force, no shadow, no cruelty can claim dominion over the soul that refuses to yield." The Cardinal lowered his arms, letting silence descend like a living thing. Helios's chest burned, not with enlightenment, but with the raw edge of anger and grief, the reminder of what had been denied him. And yet, beneath it all, a spark of stubborn recognition lingered: even if he rejected their god, the sermon had seen him. "So I ask you, children of Sanctus, and wanderers from far lands alike," Seraphiel said softly, almost a whisper now that filled the cathedral, "what will you do when the world turns its back? Will you curse the heavens? Will you succumb to the shadow? Or will you rise, again and again, unbroken, until your own strength becomes the measure of your salvation?" Helios looked away, eyes tracing the fractured light across the marble floor. He would not kneel. He would not pray. But the words would linger. And he would carry them, with unease, with resentment, but also with a weight he could not yet name, beyond Sanctus. The cathedral bells faded as the trio returned to the Pilgrim's Rest. The streets were quiet now, lit only by lanterns. Helios walked in silence, Seraphiel's words heavy in his mind. Bow flopped onto the bed with a groan, Halo quietly set his pack down, and Helios lingered at the window, staring at the city beyond. "Time to get some rest." Bow said lazily. Helios shook his head. "I'll try." They settled in, the warmth of the inn contrasting the weight of the day. Outside, Sanctus slept under the glow of Elyndor's light. Helios closed his eyes, readying himself for whatever the holy city would bring at first light.