The golden bells of the Holy See tolled across the marble spires of Sanctum Ardent — the Vatican’s sacred citadel. Its white walls gleamed under the midday sun, pristine and divine to the eyes of the faithful. But beneath those radiant arches, shadows lingered — deeper and darker than most would dare imagine.

  Inside the Grand Council chamber, a silence weighed heavier than sin itself.

  Varrin knelt before the Council dais, one knee pressed to the cold marble floor. His cloak was torn, his left arm still wrapped in fresh linen, the faint stain of violet energy seared into his flesh. Around him, twelve figures of the highest clergy sat in crescent formation — each clad in layered vestments of gold and white.

  Their eyes bore down on him like judgment itself.

  “You led an Inquisition squad into the northern territories,” one Cardinal began, his tone sharp. “And you returned with nothing but corpses and shame.”

  Varrin bowed lower. “We encountered a being… far beyond estimation. It was no mere fiend nor Starved One. It—”

  The Cardinal slammed his staff upon the dais. “Blasphemy! You dare claim a creature of darkness could overpower the blessed agents of the Holy Light?”

  Before the tension could escalate further, a voice broke through — calm, melodic, yet resonant with a divine undertone.

  “Enough.”

  The chamber dimmed as if the very light itself bent toward the man who spoke.

  From the center throne, a figure in immaculate white robes stood — Saint Fariel, the Holy Messenger of the Church. His long golden hair seemed to shimmer like spun sunlight, and his pale blue eyes radiated serene grace. A faint golden aura enveloped him, subtle yet commanding.

  He stepped forward, each footfall echoing softly against the marble.

  “Brother Varrin,” he said gently, his voice like honey poured over steel, “I have read your report. You speak of a being wrapped in shadow… and violet flame?”

  Varrin nodded weakly. “Yes, my lord. The same one who decimated the Inquisition unit during our encounter near Valencrest. He called himself… the Shadowborn.”

  A hush fell over the chamber.

  Saint Fariel closed his eyes momentarily, then smiled faintly — calm, composed, unshaken.

  “Then our fears are realized. The shadow does not sleep. It has only learned to move unseen.”

  He turned to the assembled Cardinals, his expression serene yet edged with cold determination.

  “But we must not falter. To fear the dark is to feed it.”

  His words rippled through the chamber like divine command.

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  “Let it be known,” he continued, his tone firm and absolute, “that the Church shall not retreat in the face of this new threat. Instead…”

  He turned slightly, his gaze falling upon one of the seated Council scribes.

  “We will assign the task of extermination to the hunters. Let them prove their worth and devotion. Let them remind the world who stands between light and the abyss.”

  He paused — and then smiled.

  “The Callus family will take the lead.”

  Murmurs erupted among the Council. “The Callus? You mean the boy—”

  “Lucien Callus,” Fariel said softly, almost reverently. “The golden child. A symbol of hope for the common man. If he triumphs, faith will flourish anew. If he falls…”

  His eyes glinted faintly, hidden behind his serene smile.

  “Then the shadow will reveal its hand sooner than expected.”

  Varrin bowed deeply. “As you command, Saint Fariel. I shall deliver the decree myself.”

  “Do so,” Fariel replied, raising a hand in blessing. “And remember — failure is but a trial of faith, not an end to it.”

  As Varrin departed the chamber with renewed resolve, the other Cardinals began murmuring in concern. “Do we truly trust that boy?” one asked. “He’s untested against the darkness.”

  Fariel’s expression remained tranquil, his gaze fixed upon the fading silhouette of the departing inquisitor.

  “Every flame must face the dark to prove its light,” he murmured. “And if it burns away…”

  A faint smile curved his lips.

  “…then the world will need a new dawn.”

  The Holy Messenger walked alone.

  Gone was the golden light of the cathedral halls — replaced by the cold flicker of torchfire along narrow stone corridors. The air grew heavy with dampness, the smell of old blood and sanctified incense mingling as he descended deeper beneath the holy city.

  Fariel’s pristine robes brushed against the stone walls as he moved through the dim labyrinth, finally reaching a spiraling staircase that led into the earth’s bowels.

  At the bottom awaited a door — a towering steel gate covered in intricate sigils and angelic runes, glowing faintly with divine light. He raised his hand, and the magic recognized his touch. The runes flared brilliantly before the gate parted soundlessly, revealing the hidden sanctum beyond.

  What awaited inside was not holy.

  It was sacrilege made manifest.

  Rows of researchers in white coats chanted purification rites while others dissected grotesque organs that pulsed faintly with unnatural life. The scent of sanctified oil mingled with blood — human and otherwise. Glowing crystals suspended in iron cages illuminated the chamber in a sickly hue.

  As Fariel walked, priests knelt on either side, whispering blessings. Some looked terrified. Others… enthralled.

  At the center of the vast underground hall stood a towering glass capsule — etched with golden seals and runic veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. Inside floated a figure — still, silent, and radiant.

  A woman.

  Her body was perfection itself — pale as moonlight, delicate as porcelain. Her hair floated around her like a halo of snow. Four pairs of wings unfurled behind her, feathers pure and brilliant — yet beneath that divine grace, something darker pulsed.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  Blood-crimson irises met Fariel’s serene blue gaze.

  The chamber’s light dimmed instantly. Some of the priests fell to their knees in awe; others in fear.

  Fariel’s expression softened — almost lovingly — as he approached the glass.

  “Welcome to the waking world,” he said softly, his tone both tender and reverent. “For you are the future… born of light and shadow alike.”

  He placed a hand upon the capsule.

  “Welcome, Serena…”

  The capsule pulsed with light, the runes flaring brighter — as if the being within responded to his words.

  A faint whisper echoed from within, barely audible but laced with unearthly grace.

  “...Father…?”

  Fariel smiled — the kind of smile that belonged more to a god than a man.

  “Yes, my child.”

  He turned his gaze upward toward the ceiling of the sanctum, where faint rays of moonlight bled through the cracks.

  “Soon, the world shall meet its salvation. The light will return — even if it must be bathed in blood.”

  And beneath that radiant holy city, where prayers echoed through marble walls, the sound of quiet heartbeats stirred — a heart that belonged to something not quite angel, and not quite human.

  The light… had begun to bleed.