The church-turned-headquarters of the Knights of Light was a ruin stitched back together by faith. Light from the high windows fell through dust and smoke, cutting pale lines across the wounded that lay in rows of improvised cots. The air smelled of wet stone, blood, and burning oil, the scent of victory and loss mixed together. There were not doctors there, only people doing the best they could.
This is not good, but we survived.
Talon moved among them with the heaviness of a man counting debts. His coat was torn at one shoulder, but his mind was already elsewhere, running through faces, orders, and the question that wouldn't stop echoing. Who talked?
At the far end of the nave, Gustav leaned against a broken column, pale and nervous. Talon joined him, voice low. "Someone warned the Valval Priesthood. They were waiting for Aros."
Gustav shifted uncomfortably. "It could have been anyone...or nobody. The Priesthood has eyes everywhere."
"Not everywhere," Talon said. His tone was measured, but his gaze was sharp. "Only where someone opens a door for them."
Gustav looked away, muttering something about loyalty, but Talon barely heard him. His attention had shifted to the figures entering through the cracked archway of the church.
A small group emerged from the mist outside, six silhouettes, walking as if every step carried the weight of the dead. At their front was a man Talon recognized immediately: Aros. Behind him came Broko, Candriela, a man and a woman he didn't know, and between them… a girl with white hair that caught the light like snow under fire.
Gemma.
Even from a distance, she looked changed. Not just weakened, transformed. Her steps were slow, careful, but the air around her seemed alive, charged. Talon felt it before he understood it: the hum beneath the silence, that strange vibration that only those touched by the Light could carry.
He exhaled, almost in disbelief. "By the gods," he murmured. "She is really a wonder."
Aros didn't slow down. He stormed past the wounded, straight toward Gustav. "Your friend," he said, his voice shaking with contained fury, "Alexander. He sold us out."
Gustav blinked, startled. "What...? What do you mean?"
Talon stepped between them, raising a hand. "That's impossible. Alexander's been fighting the Priesthood longer than any of us. He's no traitor."
"He warned them," Avos snapped. "They were alerted. And the only one who left before that...is Alexander"
Talon looked at him for a long moment, but before he could answer, Aros stumbled. His knees buckled as he tried to keep Gemma steady in his arms. Broko caught him by the shoulder, helping him upright.
"He's exhausted," Broko said. "Hasn't stopped running since the tunnels."
"Take him to a bed," Talon ordered. "Get him water, food, whatever's left. He's a hero. He deserves it"
Gemma didn't speak. She just looked around the hall: the wounded, the flickering candles, the worn symbols of faith painted over the old walls as, if she were seeing everything and nothing at once.
She is really changed. It's like a different person.
When Broko passed Talon, he stopped. "Diana didn't make it. She sacrifice herself to protect the girl"
For a moment, the world fell silent again. Talon's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. He just nodded slowly, eyes lowered. "We'll hold a ceremony for her. For all of them."
If she really died saving Gemma...then she is a real hero of the Knights of Light
Broko gave a grim nod.
Talon's gaze returned to Gemma. The girl stood now beside Candriela, her hair catching the dim candlelight, pale as frost. She seemed distant, but not lost, like something between child and myth.
He approached her quietly. "You've been through hell," he said, keeping his voice soft. "But I need to talk to you, Gemma. Alone."
Gemma hesitated, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. "All right."
Talon gestured toward the back of the church. "Come. There's something you should see."
And as they walked away together through the dim corridors of the old sanctuary, the wounded watched them go, some whispering prayers, others simply staring. None of them knew it yet, but from that moment on, the rebellion would no longer belong to men like Talon. It would belong to the girl with the white hair.
The small chapel behind the nave was colder than the rest of the church. Candles burned low in iron holders, their smoke curling like whispers above the cracked altar. Talon pushed the door open for Gemma, who stepped inside without fear or hesitation.
For a moment, he only watched her, how the faint glow of the candles caught her hair, how she moved as if the air itself parted for her. He cleared his throat.
"They told me you carry the Light," he said. "That you survived Bondrea because of it."
Gemma's gaze drifted toward one of the windows, where rain streaked the glass in thin, trembling lines. "It's not something I carry," she said softly. "It's something that carries me."
Talon's brow furrowed. "But you can control it now, can't you?"
She nodded once, her voice steady. "I can. Before, it hurt, like a thousand voices screaming through my head. Now they don't scream. They… sing. I can hear them clearly."
The general felt his pulse quicken. "Then you understand what this means, Gemma. You're not just another survivor, you're the key to ending this war. The Priesthood twisted the Light into a weapon, but with you, we can show the world what it really is."
Gemma turned to him, her expression calm, almost gentle. "No one can show the world what the Light is. It doesn't belong to anyone."
Talon smiled faintly, his hands clasped behind his back. "On that, we agree. But the Priesthood has convinced the world otherwise. They've built their rule on fear, on lies dressed as faith. We're not trying to own the Light, we're trying to free it."
Gemma studied him for a long moment. "If I help you," she said finally, "I want something in return."
"Anything," Talon said, too quickly.
"I want a funeral for Diana," Gemma said. Her voice didn't tremble. "She deserves one."
Talon's expression softened. "She'll have it," he promised. "
Gemma gave a small nod, then turned to leave. When she reached the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. "The Light isn't kind, Talon. Don't mistake it for mercy."
The door closed behind her, and for a long time Talon stood in the quiet, staring at the wavering flame of a single candle.
He felt the tremor in his hands, the old ache of disbelief. For the first time since the rebellion began, something inside him shifted, a sense that the balance, after all these years, might finally break in their favor.
He exhaled slowly, a faint, disbelieving smile on his lips."The Light," he whispered, almost reverent. "The Light is with us now."