The hurried footsteps of the young priest echoed through the marbled corridor, dimly lit in the early dawn's light. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he hastened along, his breath quick and uneven. The hallowed hall was adorned with intricate carvings and reliefs, telling ancient stories of power and piety. The marble beneath his feet, cool and polished, seemed to shimmer with a life of its own, capturing the faint morning light and reflecting it in subtle, dancing patterns.
Finally, he reached the imposing door of the High Priest's sanctuary. Pausing to steady his breath and compose himself briefly, he raised a trembling hand and knocked twice upon the heavy wood.
“Enter,” came the resounding, resonant reply from within.
Gently pushing the door open, the young priest stepped into a study of breathtaking grandeur. Towering pillars of pristine white limestone supported a domed ceiling that was intricately painted with the legendary tale of Elysarra's triumphant battle over her sibling, Elirius. The artwork was a whirlwind of colors and emotions, capturing the intensity of their celestial conflict.
The floor beneath was a seamless expanse of Calacatta Gold marble; its surface was perfectly polished. The golden veins in the marble glistened and flowed like molten metal through the stone.
The High Priest's desk was at the heart of the room, directly beneath the painted dome. It was carved from the finest Thassos marble; it radiated purity and strength, its surface aglow as if imbued with an inner light. Behind the desk, providing the only source of illumination in the room, was a majestic stained-glass window. It stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing the divine image of Elysarra in shining glory. Her golden hair seemed to dance in an unseen breeze; her arms extended in benevolence over the depicted Lumicrestia Kingdom below. The colors melded and shifted as the morning sun began its ascent, breathing life into the static image.
Every time he entered, the young priest found himself momentarily captivated by the sheer beauty and sanctity of the space. Shaking off his reverie, he hurried forward, his eyes cast down in reverence as he approached the High Priest, ready to deliver his message.
"What brings you here at this hour and looking so frazzled, Carlo?" asked Silas, not lifting his sharp, steel-blue eyes from the papers scattered across his desk. The sunlight filtering in was casting a warm hue on his dark, shoulder-length hair, which rested in loose waves around his angular face.
With his head respectfully bowed, Carlo lifted his arms toward the older man, clutching a deep blue envelope. The only adornment on the envelope was the intricate imprint of seal wax, depicting two roses with their thorny stems crossed and intertwined. Silas remained engrossed in his work, not sparing a glance upward.
“This has just arrived from the Duke’s mansion, Your Holiness,” Carlo finally managed to articulate, raising his head.
With a sigh, Silas finally lifted his gaze to meet Carlo's. His penetrating eyes fixated on the young priest momentarily before shifting to the letter. "Hand it over," he commanded. As Carlo met him in the remaining steps, he placed the letter delicately into the High Priest's waiting hands. Silas swiftly broke the seal with an ornate gold letter opener, its handle glinting and reflecting the colors from the stained glass window that framed Silas.
His eyes scanned the contents, absorbing the details of the message that spoke of their anticipated visit in a mere two days. A smirk tugged at the corner of Silas' mouth, revealing a hint of amusement.
“Is it good news?” Carlo inquired, picking up on the subtle change in the High Priest’s demeanor.
Silas placed the letter down on his desk, his eyes lingering on the words for a moment longer before he addressed the young priest. “Duke Aster would like us to visit in two days. It seems our young Duke has made quite a miraculous recovery from whatever ailment plagued him so severely that I was unceremoniously turned away,” Silas noted, his tone laced with evident disdain.
Carlo shuddered at the sound of his tone. Though he deeply respected the High Priest, it stemmed more from fear than admiration. He was well aware that Silas possessed a streak that some outside the church might label as cruel, while the devoted followers within justified as religious zeal. Yet, Carlo couldn't quite mask his reactions; every time Silas uttered a scornful remark about the nobility, a shiver ran down Carlo's spine.
The kingdom knew that the bond between the High Priest and the reigning King of the empire granted the Church immense power, allowing it to influence politics and flourish. But older congregation members, with memories predating Silas's ascension to the pinnacle of the church's hierarchy, couldn't help but feel uneasy. Memories of darker times lingered, and fears of a regression simmered beneath the surface. Although Silas often made his distaste for the nobility and their immoral lifestyles clear, most of the congregation was careful to walk a fine line, keenly aware of the fragile balance of power.
“Carlo, make sure to inform Jude to ready the Holy Knights for our upcoming visit,” Silas instructed, his voice steady and commanding.
“Yes, Your Holiness,” Carlo responded promptly, though a hint of trepidation laced his words.
“You may leave now.” Silas dismissed him with a wave, not lifting his eyes from the documents sprawled across his desk.
Carlo bowed deeply, turning to exit the room. As he did, he saw a figure reclining on a chaise lounge. The long, flowing white veil left no room for doubt; it was the Saintess.
Hesitating only a moment, Carlo stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Blessings to you, Saintess.”
The veiled woman tilted her head slightly; her eyes were hidden behind the delicate chiffon fabric. Then, surprisingly, she extended her right hand toward Carlo. He stepped back, startled and unsure, as he knew well the strict taboo against touching the Saintess.
Carlo felt the weight of Silas's presence before he heard his voice materializing suddenly behind him. "You have your task. Leave now." Silas's words, crisp and commanding, startled Carlo.
"Uh, yes..." Carlo stammered, making his exit. He risked one last fleeting look at the Saintess, noting her outstretched hand that remained motionless in the silent room.
The moment the door clanged shut, sealing the room again in its sanctified silence, Silas turned on his heel to face the young woman. His eyes, usually so calm and collected, now blazed with an intense fury swirling in their depths.
With swift, deliberate steps, he closed the distance between them. In one fluid motion, he yanked the veil away, revealing the Saintess’s face to the dim light of the room. Her eyes, a striking shade of bright pink, seemed dull and lifeless at first glance. Yet, as Silas leaned in closer, peering into the depths of her gaze, he could see the flickering of golden specks — a fire struggling to keep aflame.
"You can fight all you want, Celeste, but you won't win," Silas whispered his voice a venomous hiss in her ear.
A spark of understanding flashed in her eyes briefly, only to be extinguished just as quickly.
Silas walked over to his desk, his robes swishing softly against the floor. He reached inside them, pulling out a small necklace with a tiny key dangling. He retrieved a small, wooden chest from a locked drawer, inserting the key and turning it with a soft click.
The chest revealed several small glass bottles, each filled with a dark, shimmering purple liquid. Silas selected one and made his way back to Celeste with predatory grace.
"We need to ensure you are feeling your best when we meet the Duke," he sneered, uncorking the bottle with a deft wrist twist. Roughly, he grabbed her chin, tilting her head back and prying her mouth open. Without a moment's hesitation, he emptied the entire contents of the bottle down her throat.
"Make sure to drink every single drop, my dear," Silas murmured, his tone laced with false sweetness as he ensured Celeste consumed the potion entirely.
As the last liquid left the bottle, he finally released his grasp on her face, watching her closely. "Now, lower your hand," he commanded, and Celeste, now under the influence of the potion, lowered her right arm, which had been eerily suspended in mid-air since Carlo's departure.
Dark, smoke-like tendrils swirled momentarily in the iris of her eyes, ultimately vanishing into her pupils. Silas observed every subtle change in her demeanor. She blinked rapidly, her eyes clearing until they finally focused, and a flash of recognition sparked in her gaze as she met Silas’s stare.
"Took you long enough," she hissed, adjusting her veil with a newfound steadiness in her movements.
Silas returned to his desk, with Celeste trailing closely behind him. Her eyes momentarily lingered on the wooden box, catching a glimpse of its contents before Silas snapped it shut and secured it in the drawer.
"We'll need more of it," she remarked, her voice bearing an undertone of concern.
"And today's slip, unacceptable. It can't happen again." she admonished, her voice icy. With a graceful flourish, she readjusted her veil and the silky drape of her gown, preparing to depart from the opulent study.
"And where do you think you're going?" Silas demanded the edge in his voice, making it clear that he expected an answer.
"To bestow my blessings," she replied, her tone final, not once glancing back in his direction as she exited.
As Celeste stepped into the bustling outer hallway, the energy shifted instantly. Priests and acolytes, immersed in their morning rituals, crossed her path. Each one received a gracious nod from her, and she bestowed upon them a delicate, enigmatic smile, the only visible part of her face beneath the veil.
Such solemn little soldiers, she mused internally, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she observed their earnest strides, filled with a sense of purpose and piety.
"My Lady," a voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see a young knight standing before her. The softness of youth still lingered on his features, a stark contrast to the armor he wore.
"Sir Gideon," she greeted, her voice dipped in honey, and she watched as a blush rapidly colored his cheeks.
Holy knights, she knew, were a breed apart. From childhood, they were plucked from their homes—many from the stark, unloving walls of orphanages—and molded into unwavering church devotees. Their lives lacked family ties and worldly distractions, ensuring their steadfast allegiance to the ecclesiastical order. In stark contrast to knights of noble birth, groomed amidst luxury and privilege—the holy knights knew only of service and solitude. Their prowess in battle was unparalleled, and their loyalty unassailable.
Yet, the isolation bred a naivety in social graces, particularly in interactions with women, given the church’s lack of female clergy—save for the Saintess herself.
With a playful glint in her eyes, Celeste leveraged this to her benefit, skillfully flustering the young warriors while weaving a bond of endearment between them and herself. However, she always did it when Silas was not around.
Regaining his composure, Gideon stammered out, "The Elysian Room is ready. I am here to accompany you."
"Your kindness is much appreciated, good sir," Celeste responded, her voice laced with a gentle warmth. She watched, amusement dancing in her eyes as the blush crept up to Gideon's ears and neck. He pivoted gracefully, leading the way in silent companionship. Celeste walked beside him and sensed waves of nervous energy from the young knight. She caught his furtive glances; he observed her from the corner of his eyes.
Soon, they found themselves before a grand marble door, intricately designed and leading to the Elysian room. As Gideon pushed the door open, Celeste lifted her veil just enough to reveal her captivating eyes, fully aware of their breathtaking effect.
"Thank you," she whispered, a smile playing on her lips as she left Gideon standing there, his eyes wide and cheeks aflame.
Inside, the Elysian room unfolded in grandeur. The floor boasted the same Calacatta Gold marble as the High Priest's study, yet here, the pillars ascended in columns of shimmering gold, a masterful imitation rather than solid gold—the church's influence and wealth had its limits. Three rows of pews lined either side of the aisle, creating a path towards the chamber's heart. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the epic battles between Elysarra and her Children of Light against Elirius and his monstrous horde.
At the room's end stood an imposing altar of Thassos marble, its sides adorned with intricate gold embellishments. Behind it was a ten-foot statue of Elysarra, the goddess herself, holding a golden shield aloft.
With a sneer, Celeste approached, her disdain for the goddess barely contained. "Oh, how you've deceived them," she muttered, her words laced with barely suppressed rage. "They're completely oblivious to who they truly worship." She paused, her eyes locked onto the stone goddess. "Should I unveil the truth to them? What do you think?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm, as if expecting a response from the silent statue.
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