The church doors slowly opened with a low, tired groan, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the vast quiet within.
Drogo stepped inside.
The Catholic church stood tall and ancient — its stone walls rising like silent sentinels. Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, scattering shards of color across the marble floor. Blues, crimsons, and golds shimmered faintly, giving the air a crystalline glow, as though the light itself had been blessed before entering. The place felt suspended in time; Untouched and reverent.
Empty.
His footsteps echoed softly as he moved down the aisle, his gaze lifting briefly toward the vaulted ceiling before settling on the far end of the pews. There, seated alone in the first row, was a solitary figure dressed in black.
Drogo's pace lessened.
Before joining him, he veered toward the statue of Mary cradling Christ. He knelt with a bowed his head, making the sign of the cross with practiced familiarity.
