In a Different room, a black-haired girl was preparing for the upcoming battle.
Love was on a sofa near the door. She was fidgeting with her fingers, giving away her nervousness.
Love had already planned the battle with her team. Since she was top of the leaderboard, having over 20,000 points, it was expected that she would have very weak teammates.
She didn't think she needed anyone's help, and she told them so rightfully.
This was far more important to love than it was to anyother students. Job? Marks? Ranks?
No, this was not for any of that. This was for survival. Since she killed archivist Pell, she had been paranoid about the thought that maybe the church was hunting her. She thought about it many times, going again to that hidden base and explaining her situation, but a single thought overwhelmed her. What if they don't care if I am right or wrong?
And since she still had a collar on her neck, she couldn't ask for help. She couldn't run away either, as the collar had a tracker and it routed through Nuan.
So the only option was to gain the attention of a higher-up. To show her worth. And what better way to do that than a tournament where the pope himself was attending?
She leaned back on the sofa, exhaling a deep breath.
She remembered what Solace said on that starry night.
Struggle. Struggle. The word repeated in her mind, echoing as a prayer.
She understood the weight behind staying alive. It was true that she had no one to care about her, nor did she have anyone to care about. But that didn't mean she wanted to die.
So, taking his advice, she decided to struggle. She will use whatever resources she has to live, and if an opportunity presents itself where the church is slipping, then she would avenge herself, and the people who died because of the church.
Of course, she wasn't stupid enough to risk her own life to save others.
During all this One thing that was unrelated popped into her mind.
Solace.
His standing in Love's mind elevated a little.
Suddenly, a Knock echoed across
Love broke free from her thoughts and checked the door. Wondering who it is.
She then carefully opened it with a mechanical knob.
Opening the door fully A man stood in front.
He wore pure white robes that highlighted that he was a devout believer in the church.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could The man quickly intercepted
"You have been summoned," he said
At first, she looked confused, asking: By whom and why?
Then things clicked in Love's head.
'It looks like I succeded' she thought internally.
Love then nodded her head and followed the man.
***
The corridor swallowed sound.
As the door closed behind Love, the murmur of the stadium, the distant roar of the crowd, even the hum of the academy itself seemed to vanish, as if the world beyond had been folded away and sealed. What remained was silence so complete it felt curated.
The private wing of the stadium was nothing like the student areas.
Here, wealth did not announce itself loudly. It didn't glitter for attention or overwhelm with excess. It simply existed, heavy and unquestioned, the kind that had never known fear of loss.
The floor beneath Love's boots was polished obsidian-veined marble, cool even through the soles. Each step echoed faintly, absorbed almost immediately by thick tapestries lining the walls.
The chandeliers above were crystal, but not ostentatious. Each shard had been cut to bend light inward rather than scatter it. The glow they cast was soft, flattering, designed to make anyone standing beneath feel… safe..
She stopped before the door.
It was enormous, crafted from dark rosewood streaked with veins of silver lacquer. The grain smelled faintly sweet, like incense soaked into wood over decades. Symbols were carved into it, subtle and shallow, not decorative but deliberate. Protective sigils. Warding marks. Authority etched into matter.
The man in white robes stepped aside and inclined his head.
"Enter," he said.
Love inhaled once.
Then stepped forward.
The room beyond was vast.
A wide chamber opened before her, circular in shape, its domed ceiling painted with a mural of the Loom. Threads of gold and ivory spiraled outward from a central point, branching into countless strands that faded into the edges of the dome. Some threads were intact. Others were frayed. A few had been deliberately cut.
The walls were lined with shelves, but not bookshelves. These held relics, artifacts encased in glass or crystal fields. Rings. Broken blades. Masks without faces. Bones that hummed faintly with residual essence. Each item radiated quiet power, restrained, sleeping.
The scent of the room was subtle. Old parchment. Polished stone. Wax from ceremonial candles that burned without smoke.
At the center stood a long desk carved from pale stone, its surface smooth as still water. Behind it, a tall window overlooked the stadium, though the glass was tinted, muting the chaos outside into distant motion and color.
And before the desk stood a man.
He was not tall by imposing standards. Not broad. Not physically intimidating.
He wore the white and gold robes of a high-ranking member of the Church of the Loom, layered and immaculate, the fabric so fine it seemed to resist wrinkles out of principle. A silver sash crossed his chest, embroidered with sigils denoting jurisdiction over Theon.
His hair was black, streaked faintly with gray at the temples, combed neatly back. His face was thin, sharp-boned, but softened by a perpetual, gentle smile.
Round glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.
Behind them, his eyes were calm.
"Ah," he said warmly. "You must be tired."
Love froze for half a breath.
At the tone.
It was… kind.
The man stepped around the desk slowly, hands folded behind his back as he approached her. His movements were unhurried, unthreatening, as if he had all the time in the world.
"Please," he continued, gesturing toward a chair positioned across from the desk, "sit. There's no need to stand on ceremony. This isn't an interrogation."
Love didn't move immediately.
Her eyes tracked him. Every instinct she had screamed that this man was dangerous.
"…Thank you," she said finally, keeping her voice even as she took the offered seat.
The chair was comfortable.
The man returned to his place behind the desk and sat, folding his hands atop the stone surface.
"My name," he said gently, "is Cardinal Edrion Valecar."
The name settled heavily in the air.
Cardinal.
One of the highest authorities of the Church in Theon.
Love inclined her head slightly. Not too deeply. Not disrespectfully.
"It's an honor," she said.
Edrion smiled.
"Is it?" he asked lightly. "I often find honors are more pleasant when they're chosen rather than imposed."
She didn't answer.
He didn't seem to expect one.
"I watched the first round," Edrion continued, adjusting his glasses with a delicate motion. "From beginning to end."
Love's fingers curled subtly against her thigh.
"And," he went on, "I must say… it was immaculate."
The word landed softly.
"I don't say that lightly," Edrion added.
His gaze sharpened, just a fraction.
"And you made sure you were seen."
Love met his eyes.
"Yes," she said simply.
A flicker of amusement passed through his expression.
"Honesty," he murmured. "Good. It simplifies things."
He leaned back slightly.
"You wanted our attention," Edrion said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"And you wanted it because you are afraid."
Love didn't flinch.
"Yes."
Edrion nodded, as if confirming something he had already known.
"Fear," he said, "is a very rational response to your situation."
Her jaw tightened.
He continued calmly, "You killed Archivist Pell."
The room did not change.
No alarms. No guards rushing in.
Just the quiet statement of fact.
Love's heart thudded once, hard.
"…Yes," she said.
Edrion regarded her for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he sighed.
A sound of mild inconvenience. Of disappointment, perhaps, but not anger.
he said. "A crude man. Talented, but crude. The kind who mistakes leverage for invincibility."
Love stared at him.
"You don't…?" Her voice caught. "You're not—"
"Angry?" Edrion supplied gently.
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "You were right to kill him."
Love's breath hitched.
"…What?"
"He violated protocol," Edrion continued calmly. "He endangered an asset. He abused authority in a manner that could not be concealed indefinitely."
He folded his hands again.
"You felt no pleasure in it," he said, eyes searching her face. "Only necessity."
"I feel guilty," she admitted, quietly.
Edrion smiled, softer this time.
"Guilt," he said, "is a luxury of conscience. I would be more concerned if you felt nothing at all."
She swallowed.
"Am I going to be killed?" she asked.
There it was.
The question she had been carrying like a blade pressed against her ribs.
Edrion did not answer immediately.
Instead, he stood and walked toward the window, gazing out at the distant arena where the tournament continued, tiny figures clashing like sparks.
"Pell's death created… complications," he said thoughtfully. "It revealed a flaw."
Love's shoulders tensed.
"Not in you," he added. "In our oversight."
He turned back to her.
"You are powerful," Edrion said. "Exceptionally so. But power alone is not the issue."
His eyes met hers.
"Obedience is."
Her chest tightened.
"You disobeyed," he said gently. "You acted independently."
"Yes," Love said. "I did."
"And that," Edrion replied, "is why you are sitting here instead of a cell."
She blinked.
"The Church," he went on, "does not destroy tools simply because they cut differently than expected."
He returned to his seat.
"To compromise," Edrion said, "you will work under me."
The words were calm.
Absolute.
"You will report directly to my office. Not to your former handlers. You will prove, once again, that you can be trusted."
Love clenched her fists.
"…And the collar?" she asked.
Edrion's gaze flicked briefly to her neck.
"For now," he said, "it remains."
Her stomach sank.
"But," he added, raising a finger slightly, "its operational authority will be rerouted."
"To you?" Love asked.
Edrion smiled faintly.
"To me."
She exhaled shakily.
"And if I refuse?" she asked.
Edrion tilted his head.
"You won't," he said softly.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Love nodded.
"…Alright," she said. "I'll do it."
Edrion's smile returned, serene and approving.
"Good," he said. "As for your immediate duties…"
He leaned forward.
"Stay close to your peers," he said. "Especially the group you've already begun orbiting."
"There is nothing you need to do at present," Edrion continued. "Observe. Learn. Remain unremarkable."
A pause.
Love almost laughed at the irony after making such a spectacle in the tournament.
"Yes, Cardinal," she said.
He stood, signaling the end of the meeting.
"You may go," Edrion said kindly. "And Miss Love?"
She paused at the door.
"You did very well today," he said.
The door closed behind her.
As Love stepped back into the corridor, her legs felt weak.
But she was alive.
And for now—
That was enough.