2025-10-27 13:48:33The sun pierced through the last veil of mist above the gates of Valenfort, glinting off moss-covered stone rooftops and the slow-fluttering church banners.
“We’ve arrived, Father. The basilica is on the northern side of the city, but the road there is quite crowded today.”
Cassian nodded, stepping down from the wooden stairs and taking in his surroundings.
After days of hearing nothing but rain and prayer, this bustle felt like another world to Cassian.
The aroma of toasted bread and meat stew rising from the stalls made him swallow hard. He stepped toward a small shop with a wooden sign reading El Pan del Sol.
The shopkeeper, a plump man with a wide smile, handed him a plate of warm soup and slices of freshly baked bread.
The air here felt lighter, yet fragments of his dream still lingered in his mind—a figure in black robes burning in white light.
He drew a deep breath, trying to chase it away.
“Father Cassian?”
The voice was soft, but enough to make him turn.
Her hair was pale blonde, softly wavy to her shoulders. Her skin was milky white, her eyes a clear bluish-green—like glass reflecting the sky. She wore a cream wool coat with lace-trimmed sleeves, simple yet elegant.
When she smiled, warmth broke through the cold air of Valenfort.
Cassian blinked, momentarily confused. “You know me?”
The woman laughed softly, covering her mouth politely. “It’s hard not to recognize a priest among such a crowd. I’ve heard a lot about your bravery protecting that village.”
Cassian instinctively glanced down at his clothes—a plain black shirt, a thin cloak. Nothing marked him as a priest.
“Aura,” the woman said lightly. “You radiate a strange calm. Like someone who just won a battle but isn’t sure whether to feel grateful or guilty. And everyone who’s met you describes you exactly as I see you now.”
Cassian was silent for a moment. “I came here to meet someone. Monsignor Ardent.”
Her gaze softened. “What a coincidence. He’s my uncle.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You’re… Monsignor Ardent’s niece?”
“Yes,” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Celene Ardent.”
“In that case, let me take you to the basilica,” she said brightly. “Besides, Uncle doesn’t like waiting for guests too long.”
“Oh, by the way, would you like anything? Please, take what you want—I’ll pay.”
Celene chuckled softly. “No need, Father Cassian. Take whatever you like. Here, all servants of the Church are highly respected, right, Madam Ruth?”
The old woman behind the counter nodded with a warm smile.
“Madam Ruth can’t speak, but she can hear,” Celene explained.
Cassian bowed slightly, his eyes drawn to the rows of bread on the wooden table—wheat loaves, fruit loaves, and one small golden roll gleaming with a glaze of honey. Its aroma was gentle—warm, simple, comforting.
“Then…” he said softly, pointing at it, “I’ll take this one.”
Celene smiled faintly. “A sweet choice.”
Cassian looked at her, returning a slight smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted anything sweet.”
His gloved hand accepted the bread, and for a moment he simply stared at it—as if that humble thing carried echoes of a distant memory.
“My sister used to love bread like this,” he murmured unconsciously. “She said honey makes the world feel lighter.”
Celene lowered her gaze briefly before meeting his eyes again with softness. “Maybe she was right. The world does feel heavier when we forget to taste its little sweet things.”
Cassian nodded faintly, something stirring in his chest that felt almost like longing.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Celene answered only with a warm smile, then turned. “Come, then. The basilica isn’t far.”
She led the way through the crowded market alleys. Cassian followed, his steps slow amid the scent of spices, laughter, and merchants’ calls.
“Valenfort is so lively,” Cassian remarked, watching the cobbled streets crowded with traders and running children.
Celene smiled. “It wasn’t always this busy, you know? Valenfort used to be a fortress city. During the war against the demons, its walls were marked with arrows and blood. Now only stories remain.”
“You know quite a lot,” Cassian said quietly.
“Of course,” Celene replied, glancing back, her blonde hair swaying. “My grandfather was a priest. He used to tell me bedtime stories—about how the priests once prayed until dawn so the heavens wouldn’t collapse.”
Cassian looked at her briefly. “Your uncle, Monsignor Ardent… was he also a priest from a young age?”
“Yes. Uncle is strict, but kind. He scolds me when I miss mass but always prepares warm tea when I come home soaked in the rain.”
Cassian nodded slightly, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Strict yet gentle. The mark of true faith.”
Celene looked at him and laughed softly. “You speak as if you’ve known him a long time, Father Cassian.”
Cassian shook his head, eyes on the road ahead. “Just a guess. Sometimes, those who carry much choose to look stern so no one sees how fragile they are.”
Celene watched him for a moment, then said quietly, “Perhaps.”
When they crossed a stone bridge over a small river, Celene paused and gazed at her reflection in the rippling water.
Cassian looked at the water’s surface. “Or through someone who doesn’t even know why he came to this city.”
Celene smiled faintly. “Maybe so—like what’s happening now, between you and me, Father Cassian. Surely God has His own reason for bringing us together.”
The sky had turned golden by the time they reached the northern avenue. The buildings changed from shops and stalls to rows of Gothic stone houses with tall stained-glass windows.
At the end of the road stood the Basilica Sanctum Aurelia—majestic, with twin towers and great doors carved with angels bearing swords.
The evening light glinted on its walls, making the gray stone shimmer like gold.
Celene looked at him from the side. “You seem uneasy.”
Cassian smiled faintly. “I just… don’t feel ready to face someone who knows too much about darkness.”
Celene returned the smile. “My uncle doesn’t judge. He simply sees deeper than most.”
Cassian lowered his head, his voice low. “That’s what makes it most frightening.”
They walked toward the basilica’s great doors.
The high ceiling was painted with stories of angels. In the center, light from the stained glass fell on the marble floor in the shape of a glowing cross.
Celene turned before climbing the stairs. “I have to report first. Wait here.”
She walked away, her footsteps soft amid the echo of evening bells.
Cassian stood alone in the vast hall.
And for a moment, Cassian truly felt at peace.
But beneath that stillness, when he looked down at his reflection on the marble floor, he saw something else— the reflection smiled at him first.
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14
The stairway the shadow had taken plunged far deeper than the previous tunnel, and the air grew heavier with each descending step, thick like damp velvet pressing against their lungs with oppressive weight.Cassian gripped the stone rail as he followed the twisting descent, and with every passing meter the sounds from the club above faded entirely, swallowed by an unnatural hush that felt ancient, deliberate, and aware of their presence.Celene’s footsteps echoed behind him with unsettling clarity, each tap too loud in the silence, as though the stairwell wished to amplify her fear and feed on it like a starving creature tasting blood.When they finally reached the bottom, a vast chamber opened before them, carved into a perfect circular shape with pillars resembling humanoid figures holding up the ceiling, their stone hands stretched overhead as if forever praying for forgiveness.An altar stood at the center of the room, but unlike the basement beneath the basilica, this one pulsed
13
The derelict chapel at the edge of the eastern district felt wrong from the moment Cassian and Celene stepped beneath its shattered archway, as though the remaining structure mourned a history it could no longer carry.Rain-soaked wind swept through the broken stained glass, scattering colored fragments across the floor that glittered faintly like dried tears beneath the muted daylight.Cassian surveyed the interior with cautious breath, noticing how the shadows clung unnaturally to the corners even though the sun should have dispelled them, and he sensed a presence lingering like a memory refusing to fade.Celene moved closer to him, clutching the hilt of her concealed ritual dagger beneath her cloak, and her tense expression revealed she felt the same invisible eyes watching from the dark.“We should not stay long,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, “because something in this place has been waiting far too patiently.”Cassian nodded, scanning the cracked tiles for any sign o
12
The morning after the bell tolled three times, Valenfort awoke beneath a sky the color of diluted ash, and the citizens moved through the streets with the quiet dread of people convinced something terrible had already chosen them.Cassian walked beside Celene toward the eastern district where the church guards had supposedly discovered a body, and every step felt heavier than the last because he already sensed the corpse would not resemble anything natural.The eastern district was usually filled with bakers opening shutters, children running barefoot, and merchants preparing their stalls, but today the entire street stood eerily empty as though the whole neighborhood had collectively agreed to hide.A cluster of armored guards stood around a boarded door, their hesitant posture revealing fear they could not mask despite the rigid discipline of the Church’s enforcement order.When Cassian approached, several guards stiffened while others subtly reached for their weapons as if expectin
11
Celene did not speak for the first several minutes after they fled the underground chamber, and Cassian could tell she was choosing her silence carefully rather than losing her voice to panic.They stepped into the cloister hallway where moonlight washed through the tall arched windows, painting pale stripes along the floor that looked disturbingly like bars of a cage they had both unwillingly stepped into.Cassian leaned against the stone column, trying to calm the frantic tremor in his hands, though the shaking worsened when he thought about the reflection speaking with a voice shaped perfectly like his own.Celene kept her distance at first, watching him as though he were a cracked vessel leaking something dangerous into the air, yet her breathing gradually steadied enough for her to approach him.“You were not supposed to see that room,” she said with a quiet intensity that felt more like a verdict than an explanation, her eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and reluctant res
10
Cassian waited until the last of the choir boys extinguished their lanterns and followed Ardent up the winding stairwell toward the clergy’s quarters, leaving the basilica echoing with hollow breaths of cold evening air.The silence felt wrong, as if the walls themselves inhaled in anticipation of something he was not meant to hear, yet absolutely meant to discover.He moved through the nave with deliberate steps, each footstep softened by the worn crimson runner that stretched to the altar like a vein carved into the marble.When he reached the small wooden gate behind the pulpit, he felt an unexplainable pressure hugging his ribs, an invisible warning urging him to stop, but stopping had long ceased being an option for him.The gate creaked open with the slightest push, revealing a cramped stairwell descending into the basilica’s lower foundation where the choir stored their props and where the priests claimed old relics slept.Cassian had visited the storage room once before and fo
9
Seven years ago.The night outside the window glowed with a cold silver light. The wind shook the old trees in the yard of their grandmother’s long-abandoned house. The air was thick with dust and damp earth, yet that night, two brothers stood in the middle of the living room, watching a shadow on the wall that moved without light.Cassian held a small lantern, while Elias gripped a short sword etched with the sign of the cross.“He’s here,” Elias whispered. “I heard him when we opened the back door.”Cassian took a deep breath. “Don’t act rashly.”“Too late for that, brother.” Elias’s gaze lifted toward the ceiling. “Look.”The ceiling trembled softly. From between the rotten boards, black liquid began to drip—falling to the floor like blood flowing backward.Cassian pulled a small book from his coat pocket—Manual Obscura, a copy of an old scripture known only to the Church’s highest-ranking demon hunters.He read quickly in Latin:“Fiat lux in tenebris, et umbra cadat in nomen Domin
