Footsteps echoed softly.

He looked up. A group of children stood at the end of the alley, watching him. Their clothes were old and torn, but their faces were kind. One of them held out a piece of bread.

"Don't cry, mister," the smallest girl said. "We know a safe place. You can rest there."

Janus hesitated, then nodded slowly. The bread was warm in his hands, its simple scent grounding him.

The children led him through winding streets until they reached a small, worn-down church. The stained glass windows were cracked, but candlelight glowed softly within.

"This is our home," one of the boys said proudly. "Father takes care of us."

"Father?" Janus asked.

"You'll see," the girl said, tugging his hand. "He's nice."

They pushed open the door.

Inside, the scent of incense and old wood filled the air. A man in white robes turned to greet them, his face serene.

"Welcome, traveler," he said warmly. "You look weary. Rest here, in God's house."

Janus nodded, too exhausted to question it. For the first time since entering the city, he felt a flicker of peace.

Days passed like drifting petals on still water.

Janus stayed in the church, helping where he could. The children adored him they'd pull him by the sleeves to show him drawings, stories, half-broken toys. In the mornings, he swept the floor and repaired furniture; at night, he read aloud by candlelight, his voice carrying softly through the chapel's empty pews.

Father Merek, the man who had welcomed him, seemed kind gentle even. His voice had the warmth of sunlight after rain. He spoke of salvation, of innocence, of how the world outside the church had forgotten the face of grace.

Janus found himself wanting to believe him.

For the first time since his home disappeared and his family forgot him, he felt useful again needed.

Yet, sometimes, when the candles burned low, Janus thought he could hear faint sobbing echo from beneath the chapel floor. The sound was soft and quickly swallowed by silence. Whenever he asked about it, the children only smiled and said, "That's the angels singing, waiting to take us to heaven."

It was said so innocently that Janus wanted to believe that too.

But unease was patient.

One evening, as rain lashed against the stained glass, Father Merek gathered everyone for dinner. The fire crackled merrily, and the children's laughter filled the hall. Janus sat among them, feeling, for the first time in a long while, almost human again.

Then Father Merek stood. His smile widened, and his voice rose in solemn joy.

"The time has come," he said.

The children stopped eating. Their faces lit with reverence. "The time has come!" they echoed, in unison.

Janus frowned. "What time?"

Father Merek's eyes gleamed like polished stones. "The time to open the Gates of Heaven, my son. Tonight, one among us shall return to the Father's embrace."

The children clapped, excitement filling their voices.

Janus's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "You mean someone... dies?"

"Dies?" Father Merek repeated gently, as though tasting the word. "No, my boy. No one dies here. We are lifted."

He motioned toward the altar. "Come, let us prepare."

The children rose, forming a circle, their little hands joined. Father Merek began to chant softly, the syllables strange and old. The air shimmered, and from the ground, a faint white light began to rise shaping itself into an ornate gate.

Janus felt cold crawl up his spine. "This isn't right..."

Father Merek turned toward him. "Would you question Heaven's door?"

The gate solidified, its bars glowing. The children trembled in awe.

"Who wishes to be the next to ascend?" the priest asked.

A small girl stepped forward, her eyes full of hope. "I do, Father."

Father Merek smiled. "Brave child. Come, take your place."

Janus stood abruptly. "Wait! You can't"

The girl turned, smiling through tears. "It's okay. I'll see everyone again in heaven."

The light around the gate grew brighter. The girl's small hands clasped in prayer as she stepped toward it.

But as she crossed the threshold, a sharp, metallic smell filled the air. Janus's heart stopped, as memories of the Happy Sheep tavern flooded his mind.

Blood.

"No!" he shouted, rushing forward. He grabbed the girl's arm and yanked her back. The glow shattered.

The gate flickered violently, then vanished in a burst of wind that snuffed out every candle in the room.

The children screamed.

Father Merek's expression twisted from kindness to fury. "You dare interrupt a holy rite?"

Janus shielded the girl behind him. "That wasn't holy, it was murder!"

Father Merek raised his hands. "You know nothing of God's will!"

Janus reached for his necklace, clutching it tightly. "Grace!" he cried.

A sudden burst of light filled the chapel. Butterflies of silver and purple swirled through the air, forming a brilliant storm. From it, Grace emerged, her wings glowing faintly before the oppressive magic of the city dimmed them.

"Thought you could survive a few weeks without me?" she said, her tone edged with humor, though her eyes burned with focus.

Janus pointed toward the priest. "He was about to sacrifice her!"

Grace turned to Father Merek, her gaze cold as starlight. "Another false prophet," she murmured.

"You mock what you do not understand," Father Merek hissed. His body trembled as the remains of the gate's magic coiled around him. "I am sending them home!"

"You are damning them," Grace said.

The priest's shadow elongated. His robes began to twist as he drew power from the altar. The church trembled, windows cracking.

Grace raised her hand, summoning a thin blade of light. "Stay behind me."

Janus clenched his fists. "You can't use magic here, right? You said this city rejects you."

"I can still burn what's rotten," she said.

The air exploded with force. Father Merek's chant became a shriek as black mist poured from the altar, twisting into clawed shapes. Grace leapt forward, her sword slashing arcs of white fire. The illusions shattered on impact, but more replaced them, drawn from the priest's corrupted faith.

Janus grabbed a fallen candle stand, using it as a weapon. "Do you ever stop fighting holy men?"

Grace smirked. "Not when they forget holiness."

The priest's eyes blazed red. "You cannot stop what is divine!"

Grace landed before him, her blade to his throat. "Then let Heaven judge you."

With one swift motion, the light flared, and the false gate imploded, consuming Father Merek in its collapse. A blinding flash filled the chapel then silence.

When the dust cleared, the gate was gone. The priest's robes lay empty on the floor, and the faint scent of lilies replaced the stench of blood.

Grace lowered her sword, exhaustion flickering across her face.

Janus looked around. The children were gone.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"I moved them," Grace said quietly. "To a safer realm. They'll wake when it's time."

He exhaled shakily. "You saved them."

She gave a small nod. "You did. You called me."

He looked down at the pendant. The black wing glimmered faintly, the stain spreading just a little more.

"What happens if it turns completely black?" he asked.

Grace didn't answer.

Janus sighed. "Of course. You never tell me the whole truth."

Her smile was faint but weary. "Some truths only reveal themselves when you're ready."

They stepped outside. The night air was cool, carrying the distant hum of the city's endless laughter, laughter that now sounded like crying.

Janus looked up at the stars. "So... what now?"

Grace followed his gaze. "Now you see the first wound. There are deeper ones. This was only the beginning."

He gave a hollow laugh. "And I thought saving the world would start with something simple."

Grace tilted her head, eyes glimmering softly. "You can still turn back."

He shook his head. "There's nothing to go back to."

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't cold this time. It was heavy, but shared.

Grace finally said, "Then keep walking, Janus. Until you understand why the world needs saving."

He nodded slowly. The wind carried away the ash of the burned chapel, scattering it like dark snow beneath the moonlight.

Behind them, the bells of Aurel tolled softly not in celebration, but in mourning.

And ahead, somewhere beyond the plains, thunder rolled again.

The journey had only begun.