2025-10-27 14:44:57“Welcome to Valenfort, Father Cassian.”
The deep voice echoed through the grand hall of the basilica, reverberating among stone pillars that rose toward the heavens. Monsignor Ardent stood at the far end of the room, dressed in a white robe trimmed with gold embroidery. His hair was entirely white now, his gaze sharp yet not without warmth.
Cassian bowed respectfully. “Monsignor Ardent. Thank you for receiving me.”
“Ah, you came all the way from the north to meet an old man like me. Surely God has His reasons,” Ardent said with a faint smile. Then his eyes shifted to Celene, who stood by the doorway. “Celene, my child, give us a moment alone. I wish to speak privately with Father Cassian.”
Celene nodded gently. “Of course, Uncle.”
Cassian glanced briefly at her before she stepped out. The great doors behind them closed with a soft thud. Ardent turned and said, “Come with me.”
He walked slowly through a narrow corridor toward his private chambers. The basilica’s walls were lined with ancient symbols—some Cassian recognized as seals of protection, while others were unmistakably sigils of binding demons.
When they entered the room, Ardent closed the door and locked it firmly. The sharp click of metal echoed in the air.
Cassian straightened. “Monsignor?”
“Relax,” Ardent said, patting his shoulder. “Not to imprison you… only to ensure we’re not disturbed.”
He moved to a large wooden desk cluttered with old parchments, small candles, and worn leather-bound books. A dark crucifix hung on the wall.
“I know who you are,” Ardent said suddenly.
Cassian frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Ardent gave a faint smile. “Oh, of course you do. The youngest demon hunter of the Order of Salvare. You and your brother, Elias Holt. Your names were once whispered in these halls—both as pride and as warning.”
Cassian froze. He had never told anyone in the village about his past, not even Father Bren.
“How could you possibly know—”“There are things even priests cannot hide from the eyes of the central Church,” Ardent interrupted softly. “And… there are sins that still linger in the air, waiting for redemption. When you become one of God’s chosen, every priest keeps watch over you, Father Cassian.”
Cassian lowered his head. “I came here seeking answers, not judgment.”
“And you shall have them,” Ardent replied. He turned, opening an old cabinet in the corner. “But sometimes, truth does not wait in the light. Come.”
He took up a candle and moved toward a small door hidden behind the cabinet. When it opened, a damp draft greeted them. A stone staircase led downward.
“The archive chamber,” Ardent explained. “All records of exorcisms, confessions, and the names of those who once fought the darkness are kept here.”
Cassian followed, his footsteps echoing between the stone walls. Candlelight danced in the air, casting shadows that seemed almost alive.
At the bottom, the space opened into a vast chamber—rows of tall shelves filled with scrolls, books, and ancient sigils. Ardent placed the candle on a table.
“I’ll return shortly. There’s something I need to retrieve upstairs. Read, if you wish.”
Cassian opened his mouth to object, but Ardent had already disappeared up the stairs.
Silence fell. Cassian wandered among the shelves, his fingers tracing through thick layers of dust. On one shelf, he found a stack of black leather-bound books. One of them bore faint handwritten letters: Elias Holt.
His blood froze. He opened the first page—inside was an exorcism report dated after Elias’s recorded death.
Subject refuses to enter the prayer circle. The light rejects his body.
Cassian swallowed hard. The air around him grew suddenly cold. One by one, the candles went out, as though pinched by invisible fingers.
From the far end of the room came footsteps—slow, dragging.
Cassian turned. Between the shelves stood a figure. Blond hair in tangled clumps, face marred by burns—but Cassian knew that smile.
“Elias…” he whispered.
His brother only stared back, blue eyes now burning like fire.
“Brother…” The voice cracked, hoarse, as if spoken through a throat long dead. “Did you come to kill me again?”
“What do you mean, Elias? I never killed you!”
Elias slowly shook his head. “You never remember what happened… because something dark had already taken you.”
A flash of blinding light forced Cassian to shield his eyes. When he looked again, Elias was gone—
replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. Monsignor Ardent.“What is it, Father Cassian? Are you all right?”
Cassian lifted his head, breath ragged. “Monsignor… I—I saw him. Elias, my brother who’s been missing all this time… He was here.”
Ardent stopped in the middle of the room. The candle in his hand trembled faintly.
“Elias?” he repeated softly, as if making sure he’d heard correctly.Cassian nodded quickly. “I know how insane it sounds, but I saw him standing right there. His face was burned, his eyes blazing blue. He accused me—of killing him. And what does his name mean, carved here in this record?!”
Ardent didn’t answer immediately. He stared at Cassian for a long, heavy moment, his gaze sharp as if weighing something unseen. Then he slowly set the candle on the table.
“So, you’ve finally seen him too,” he murmured.
Cassian stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Ardent stepped closer. “Did you think you were the only one haunted by that spirit? Since the day Elias died, the central Church has never truly closed your case. There are many things… hidden from the public records.”
“My brother isn’t dead—I haven’t seen him since the last time we fought that darkness at the Carmelite Abbey! How could he appear here now and accuse me of killing him?!”
Cassian’s panic made Ardent close his eyes for a moment. Then the Monsignor approached, gripping Cassian’s shoulders firmly.
“Elias is dead, and you must accept that. It has been fifteen years since your last hunt—and yes, Cassian…”
his voice dropped to a near whisper— “Elias died because of you.”
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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
