The church smelled of wax and damp stone. The air was still, heavy with breath and whispers. Candles lined the altar in uneven rows, their flames trembling beneath the drafts that slipped through the cracked stained glass. No coffins, no bodies, only names written on strips of parchment, laid side by side like fragments of memory.
Aros sat among the front rows, his ribs bound tight beneath his coat, his posture careful. Every breath ached. He scanned the room, familiar faces turned hollow by grief, until his eyes found her.
Gemma sat near the aisle, wrapped in a dark cloak too large for her frame. Her white hair caught the faint light, giving her an almost spectral presence. She wasn't crying, but her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. Her gaze drifted over the altar, not in prayer, but in something closer to confusion.
Aros could tell. She was restless.
He wondered what the ceremony meant to her, this quiet display of faith and mourning that felt nothing like either. To him, it didn't feel like a funeral. It felt like a recruitment. The people around him weren't just mourning the fallen; they were being reminded of the war, bound tighter to a cause that was swallowing all of them.
Talon stood at the altar, his voice echoing off the stone. "We gather not for the bodies," he said, his hands clasped behind his back, "but for the purpose they gave their deaths. They defied the Light, and in doing so, became its truest reflection."
The crowd murmured in agreement. Some nodded, others bowed their heads, but Aros only felt the weight of how easily faith turned loss into fuel.
He turned slightly and caught Gustav's calm, polished profile beside him. The man hadn't blinked once since the ceremony began. His coat was pristine, his expression faintly solemn, or at least well-rehearsed.
"Beautiful service," Gustav murmured, his tone halfway between reverence and calculation. "Talon has a talent for theatre."
Aros's eyes stayed on Gemma. "It's not poetry," he muttered. "It's recruitment."
Gustav gave a small, humorless smile. "In times like these, they're the same thing."
Talon's voice carried again, smoother now, deliberate. "Let the Light see them, not as martyrs, but as proof that the world can still resist corruption."
The words hung in the air, reverent but hollow.
Aros felt Gemma's unease across the room like a quiet signal. She wasn't made for altars or sermons. She'd seen too much already, the power, the death, the fire. This wasn't faith to her. It was theatre.
When Talon lowered his head for silence, Aros finally exhaled and leaned closer to Gustav.
"She doesn't belong here," he said quietly.
"None of us do," Gustav replied. "But here we are."
Aros didn't look at him. "Diana deserved more than words."
"They all did," Gustav replied. "But words are cheaper than coffins. And right now, we can't afford either."
Aros's jaw clenched. "You sound like a noble again."
"Is that a problem?"
"I'm not fond of nobles later"
Gustav leaned forward, folding his hands. "You still think it was Alexander, don't you?"
"I know it was him," Aros said under his breath. "The patrols, the timing, the precision, they knew before we even moved."
"Possible," Gustav allowed. "He's been speaking with the Priesthood again. I heard from a friend in Calad that he was petitioning to reclaim his lands. I suppose he got what he wanted."
Aros turned to him sharply. "You knew?"
"I suspected," Gustav said, voice calm as always. "You forget, I used to sit in those same halls, I know how nobles think."
Aros looked away, fingers tightening around his knee. "He sold us."
"Or saved himself," Gustav countered. "Those things often look the same."
Talon's voice rose again. "Let the Light see them, and may the truth they carried burn brighter than the lies that took them." He nodded to one of the young knights, who began to read the names aloud. After each one, Talon rang a small brass bell.
When Diana's name was spoken, Aros's head bowed.
"She'd hate this," Gustav muttered. "Too quiet."
Aros's voice was low, nearly breaking. "She hated silence."
Gustav smiled.
"I'll be leaving soon," he said quietly. "After tonight, I return to Vishora."
Aros frowned. "Vishora? I thought you served the court of Nisbal."
"I did," Gustav said. "But things change. Vishora is quieter, for now. The Duke there owes me a favor or two."
Aros studied him, trying to read the man's calm. "And what would you want with us?"
Gustav smiled again, that noble, practiced smile that revealed nothing. "I'd like you and the Knights to visit someday. You'll find Vishora… accommodating."
The bell rang again. Once more. Then the door creaked.
Everyone turned.
Aros froze.
The sound of boots against stone echoed down the nave, steady, deliberate, almost ceremonial. And then he saw him.
Alexander.
Clad in dark travel armor, the symbol of the Priesthood faintly etched on his shoulder plate. His expression unreadable, but his posture, proud, unbowed, spoke for him.
Gasps rippled through the congregation. Someone whispered, "Is that…?"
Talon's head lifted slightly from the altar, his eyes narrowing but his mouth staying shut.
Aros's heart hammered in his chest. Every muscle screamed to move, but his body stayed locked in disbelief until the realization hit with full force, the patrols, the ambush, the deaths.
He stood suddenly, the bench scraping against the stone floor. "You," he said. His voice cracked at first, then rose, sharp as a blade.
"You!"
The word echoed through the church, snapping the silence like glass.
Alexander stopped halfway down the aisle. The flicker of candlelight caught his face: calm, almost pitying.
Aros took a step forward, his whole frame trembling. "You murdered them," he said, pointing toward the altar. "You sold us to the Priesthood!"
Gasps, whispers, movement. Candles guttered from the sudden air.
Alexander didn't flinch. He simply looked at Aros, his tone low, measured. "You're still alive," he said. "That's more than I expected...and it makes me really happy."
Talon's hand came up sharply. "Enough," he commanded, his voice like iron. "This is not the place."
But Aros barely heard him. He kept his eyes on Alexander, the man everybody trusted. The traitor. He could kill him with his bare hands.
Alexander stayed calm. "This is exactly the place" He looked at Aros. "Are you ready?."
And for the first time, the sanctuary didn't feel like a refuge, it felt like the start of another war.