A carriage rolled in.
Deep indigo.
Silver-threaded constellations shimmered faintly across its surface.
Murmurs spread quickly.
“That’s not ours…”
“Why is another church here?”
“The Veil of Night?”
The carriage door opened slowly.
A man stepped down.
Tall. Composed. Impeccably dressed in dark indigo robes that seemed to drink in the light.
His smile was gentle.
Too gentle.
His eyes moved across the training grounds once—
—and it didn’t feel like looking.
It felt like measuring.
High Priestess stood at the center platform, posture straight, expression perfectly composed.
But her voice, when it came, was a fraction tighter than usual.
“Students.”
All attention snapped forward.
“By order of the Council of Churches… your new instructor has been appointed.”
A ripple passed through the crowd.
The man’s smile deepened slightly.
“Henson Benril,” the High Priestess continued.
The name landed softly.
But something about it felt… heavy.
Henson inclined his head with elegant politeness.
“It is my honor,” he said smoothly, voice warm and refined, “to guide the future of the Radiant Sovereign’s promising youth.”
The words were perfect.
The tone was perfect.
The feeling—
Wasn’t.
His gaze moved slowly across the students.
One by one.
Not careless.
Studying.
Judging.
It passed over Lucas.
Lucas’s jaw tightened immediately.
He said nothing.
But his shoulders had gone rigid.
The gaze moved on.
Past Ethan and Elara.
The twins barely reacted.
Then—
Henson’s eyes stopped.
On Miha.
For the briefest moment—
Something sharper flickered behind his polite smile.
Interest.
Genuine.
Unhidden.
“…How remarkable,” he murmured softly.
Quiet enough that only those closest might have heard.
Miha’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
But she said nothing.
She couldn’t.
Not now.
Henson’s smile returned to its earlier warmth.
Then his gaze continued.
Until—
It reached the far edge of the grounds.
Elias.
Standing slightly apart.
Quiet.
Still.
Watching.
For the first time—
Henson’s eyes lingered half a second longer than before.
Not interest.
But something close to curiosity.
Then—
He moved on.
As if nothing had happened.
“As of today,” the High Priestess said firmly, “Instructor Benril will oversee your training.”
The announcement settled heavily over the field.
Lucas exhaled slowly through his nose.
Not convinced.
But silent.
The twins exchanged a brief glance.
Still uninterested.
Miha stood perfectly straight.
But her fingers had curled slightly at her sides.
And at the edge of the grounds—
Elias said nothing.
Did nothing.
But his eyes followed Henson Benril carefully.
Two days passed.
The training grounds no longer felt the same.
Where Cassian had once walked calmly between students, the air now felt… watched.
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Judged.
Henson Benril stood at the center circle, hands folded neatly behind his back, that same polite smile resting on his face.
“Again,” he said lightly.
Four forces answered her at once.
No strain. No hesitation.
As if the world itself had already decided to obey.
Henson didn’t even glance at the others.
“As expected of the Chosen,” he murmured, gesturing Miha forward while the rest were left waiting.
Lucas pushed forward with a sharp burst of wind—
—and lost control.
The gust scattered harmlessly into the dirt.
Silence.
Henson tilted his head slightly.
“…Crude,” he said.
The word landed harder than any strike.
Lucas’s shoulders stiffened.
Henson continued smoothly, voice pleasant as ever.
“Your previous instructor seems to have favored enthusiasm over refinement.”
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Miha’s fingers curled slightly.
The twins went very still.
Lucas slowly lowered his staff.
Henson stepped forward, examining the disrupted dirt where Lucas’s wind had scattered.
“If this is the standard he left behind,” Henson added mildly, “then I must say… the bar was set disappointingly low.”
That was enough.
Lucas’s head snapped up.
“What did you just say?”
The training grounds went silent.
Henson’s smile didn’t change.
“I said,” he repeated gently, “your foundations are poorly built.”
Lucas took a step forward.
“Take it back.”
Elara grabbed his sleeve quickly. “Lucas—”
He shook her off.
“Take. It. Back.”
Henson finally looked directly at him.
Not angry.
Not threatened.
Amused.
“…You are emotional,” he observed calmly. “That is another flaw.”
Something in Lucas snapped.
“He saved us!” Lucas’s voice cracked through the field. “You weren’t there!”
Students froze.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Elias stepped forward instinctively.
“Lucas—”
“Don’t,” Lucas snapped.
“You come here,” Lucas continued, voice shaking with fury, “talking like you know anything—”
Henson’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“I know results,” he said softly.
Lucas’s hands curled into fists.
“And the result,” Henson continued smoothly, “is that your previous instructor is dead.”
The words hit like a hammer.
For a split second—
Lucas moved.
Elias grabbed his arm.
“Lucas, stop—”
Lucas shoved him.
Hard.
Elias wasn’t expecting it.
His foot slipped against the loose dirt—
—and he fell backward onto the stone.
Silence dropped heavy over the field.
Lucas was breathing hard now.
Anger.
Grief.
Guilt.
All of it spilling over.
He looked around at the others—
At Miha.
At the twins.
At the silent students.
And his voice came out rough.
“Maybe you all can forget Cassian’s death…”
His jaw clenched.
“But I can’t.”
“Did you forget how he saved us from that devil?”
The memory hung heavy in the air.
Blood.
Fear.
The bell.
The hesitation.
Lucas stepped back slowly.
“If this is what the church becomes…” he said hoarsely, “…then I’m done.”
Elara’s voice trembled. “Lucas…”
Ethan looked torn.
Henson said nothing.
Just watching.
Always watching.
Lucas turned.
And walked toward the gates.
Elias pushed himself up
“…Lucas.”
Lucas didn’t stop.
“…I’m leaving,” he said flatly.
And this time—
He didn’t look back.
The evening road was quieter than usual.
Dust crunched softly beneath their shoes as they walked back toward the village. The sky was dimming into deep orange and gray, the air still carrying the tension from earlier.
Lucas was gone.
The space he left behind felt… wrong.
Miha finally broke the silence.
“…He’ll cool down,” she said softly, though there was uncertainty under her calm tone.
Ethan didn’t answer.
Elara’s fingers twisted lightly into her sleeve.
Elias noticed.
“…What is it?” he asked quietly.
The twins exchanged a brief look.
Then Ethan exhaled slowly.
“We’ve decided something.”
Miha’s steps slowed.
Sushank looked up.
Ethan’s voice was steady — too steady.
“We’re going to stop combat training.”
Miha stopped walking completely.
“…What?”
Elara spoke this time, softer but firm.
“We’re going to become healers.”
The wind moved through the roadside grass with a dry whisper.
Miha’s brows pulled together.
“You two can’t just leave,” she said, not sharply — but there was real protest in her voice now.
Ethan shook his head once.
“We already decided.”
Elias stepped forward slightly.
“…but—,” he said quietly.
Not commanding.
Not desperate.
Just… honest.
Elara looked at him gently.
“There are already enough people trying to fight,” she said.
Her voice wavered just a little.
“…Not enough people trying to save.”
That hit deeper than anything Henson had said earlier.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“If we had been faster that day…” he muttered.
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t have to.
The image was still fresh in all their minds.
Miha’s fingers curled at her sides.
“…Where will you even go?” she asked more quietly now.
Ethan answered immediately.
“We’ll learn from Healer Lyciarra.”
Elias blinked once.
“…From the village?”
Elara nodded.
“She agreed to take apprentices last winter,” she said. “Most people just… didn’t want that path.”
A soft, bitter smile touched Ethan’s mouth.
“We do.”
The road fell silent again.
This time heavier.
More final.
Miha looked between them.
For the first time since becoming Chosen—
She looked… young.
“…You’ve really decided,” she said.
Not a question.
Ethan nodded.
Elara gave a small, steady smile.
Elias lowered his gaze slightly.
“…When?” he asked.
“Soon,” Ethan said.
A pause.
Then Elara added softly—
“But we’re not disappearing.”
Her eyes flicked briefly between Miha and Sushank.
“We’ll still be here.”
The wind passed between them again.
But the group already felt different.
Smaller.
Fractured in a way that wouldn’t easily mend.
They resumed walking.
Closer to home.
Farther from the way things used to be.
Night settled heavy over the cathedral.
The corridors were empty. Too empty.
Only one chamber remained lit.
Inside, the High Priestess stood rigid beside the long stone table, fingers pressed flat against its surface. The candle flames around the room burned low and uneasy.
The doors opened without a knock.
Henson Benril entered like he owned the silence.
His indigo robes whispered across the floor as he stepped in, that same polite smile resting on his lips — warm at first glance, wrong upon the second.
“You requested a private audience,” he said lightly. “I’m flattered.”
The High Priestess did not return the pleasantry.
“It’s gone.”
Henson’s brows lifted a fraction.
“Oh?”
Her voice tightened.
“The vault was inspected at dusk. The seal was intact… but the segment is no longer inside.”
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Then—
Henson chuckled.
Soft.
Amused.
The High Priestess’ eyes sharpened. “You find this humorous?”
“Not humorous,” he corrected gently, strolling closer to the table. His fingers brushed the stone surface as if idly tracing dust. “Predictable.”
Silence pressed in.
“You knew?” she asked.
Henson tilted his head, studying her the way one studies a particularly interesting puzzle.
“Cassian was many things,” he said. “But he was not careless.”
The candle flames flickered violently.
The High Priestess’ jaw tightened. “Speak plainly.”
Henson’s smile thinned.
“He told me.”
A beat of silence.
Her voice dropped. “Told you what?”
Henson’s eyes gleamed.
“That he had already planted the seed.”
The words landed like a stone in still water.
The High Priestess went very still.
“…Impossible,” she said quietly.
Henson only watched her.
Enjoying this.
“You searched his chambers after his death, didn’t you?” he asked mildly. “And yet you found nothing.”
Her silence confirmed it.
His smile widened just a touch.
“How inconvenient.”
The air in the chamber grew heavier.
“If the seed is active…” she began slowly, “then the vessel—”
“—is already in motion,” Henson finished smoothly.
A long pause followed.
The High Priestess’ fingers curled slightly against the table.
“…You think it’s her.”
Not a question.
A statement.
Henson’s gaze drifted toward the dark window — toward the distant dormitories.
Toward where one particular girl slept.
“Four affinities,” he murmured softly. “Stage Six from birth. Spiritual fluctuations matching pre-Crimson records…”
He looked back at her, smile polite and poisonous.
“Tell me, Your Grace… who else could it possibly be?”
The High Priestess said nothing.
Because she had no clean answer.
Because the pattern was too convenient.
Henson stepped back, folding his hands behind him.
“Don’t worry,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll be watching our Chosen very closely.”
The emphasis lingered.
Sharp.
Intentional.
The High Priestess’ eyes hardened.
“You will remember your position here, Priest Benril.”
His smile returned in full.
“Oh, I never forget my position.”
He turned toward the door.
Paused.
Then added lightly—
“After all… observation is a Veil specialty.”
The doors closed behind him.
The chamber fell back into silence.
But for the first time in years—
The High Priestess looked… genuinely uneasy.
The next morning.
The hall felt colder than usual.
Elias stood at the center, hands at his sides, expression quiet — too quiet.
The High Priestess remained seated, her fingers lightly pressed against the armrest.
Henson Benril stood opposite him, smiling faintly.
Unsettling. Patient.
“We have reviewed the matter thoroughly,” Henson said smoothly. “And unfortunately… there are no viable suspects remaining.”
Miha stepped forward before she could stop herself.
“That’s not true.”
Several heads turned.
Her voice wasn’t loud — but it was steady.
“Elias hasn’t done anything,” she continued. “There is no proof.”
For a brief moment, the room held its breath.
Henson’s smile widened slightly.
“Correct,” he said pleasantly. “There is no proof.”
Miha frowned.
“…Then why is he being accused?”
Henson clasped his hands behind his back, tone almost conversational.
“My dear Chosen,” he said softly, “that is precisely why he is not being arrested.”
Silence dropped like a blade.
“We are exercising restraint,” Henson continued. “In the absence of definitive evidence, formal punishment would be… premature.”
Miha’s brows knit tighter.
“Then this shouldn’t be happening at all.”
For the first time, Henson’s eyes flicked briefly toward Elias — sharp, measuring.
Then back to Miha.
“On the contrary,” he said calmly, “when uncertainty exists, precaution becomes necessary.”
The High Priestess’s fingers tightened slightly on the armrest.
Henson’s voice remained smooth.
“Therefore, until the matter is resolved… elias is barred from all church grounds and activities.”
The words landed heavy.
Not arrest.
Not guilt.
Just… removal.
Miha took a step forward.
“That’s unfair.”
A pause.
Then Henson tilted his head, smile thin as a blade.
“If new evidence emerges,” he said lightly,
“I will personally welcome him back.”
The room knew what he meant.
It wasn’t kindness.
It was dismissal.
