The incense had long since burned out.
Still, the High Priestess remained kneeling.
Her knees had molded to the cracked marble floor, the bones beneath her thinning skin pressing sharply against the stone. Time had bent her body, but not her will. Around her, the grand chamber—once filled with gold-veined columns and tapestries that reached the heavens—stood silent and decaying. Candle sconces rusted on the walls. Damp moss crept along the stones. Above the altar, the grand mosaic of the Divine's face was broken and faded. His eyes no longer watched. His hands no longer blessed.
Yet Aveline stayed.
For two months, she had knelt under that broken gaze, whispering prayers into the emptiness. Her voice was hoarse. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her robes, once dyed in the colors of sunrise, had dulled into the color of ash.But her spirit—her flame—still burned.
"Please," she whispered into the cold, dead air, "please, don't forget us."
No answer.
There hadn't been a miracle in over two hundred years. No voice. No visions. No fire from the heavens. No dreams carrying sacred words. The Sanctum Solis, once the beating heart of faith in Everthrone, was now little more than a tomb. Kings had once knelt before her. Now, not even beggars came.
Her breath misted the air as she sighed.
"We're killing each other," she said softly. "And there's no one left to stop it."
The world's collapse had been slow, but relentless. The faith cracked when the crops failed, when the skies dried up, when the kings grew greedy and turned their swords on each other instead of guarding their people. As the Divine went silent, so did the last sparks of holiness in the world. Borders fell. Empires splintered. Even the eastern monasteries—once the guardians of relics and wisdom—had sold their treasures just to survive.
The people turned first to idols. Then to gold. Then to blood.
She had buried more young acolytes than she could count. Disease. Hunger. Execution. Some had twisted the sermons for power, selling salvation to the highest bidder.
Still, she knelt. Still, she prayed.
A sound broke the silence.
At first, she thought she imagined it. She had heard phantom footsteps before—ghosts of her own desperate mind. But this time, the steps were real. Sharp. Heavy. Armor against stone.
Her spine stiffened. Her hand reached for her staff, Solaris, the ancient wood worn smooth from centuries of use.
The grand doors burst open with a loud, echoing crash.
A paladin stumbled in, dust-covered and out of breath. He was young—no more than twenty-five—but his face bore the exhaustion of a man who had seen too much. His armor still bore the faded sun sigil of the Sanctum, cracked and battered, but he wore it proudly.
He dropped to one knee.
"High Priestess Aveline," he gasped, his voice shaking with awe—and fear. "I bring news."
Aveline did not speak. Slowly, she rose to her feet, her movements stiff but powerful.
The young paladin hurried on. "A child. In the ruins east of Braelith. A newborn. Alive. Untouched. Surrounded by death."
Her fingers gripped her staff tighter.
Braelith. A place reduced to ashes decades ago. No one lived there anymore. Only raiders and death.
"She glowed, Priestess," he whispered, almost like a confession. "Not metaphorically. Her skin shimmered. Her eyes were golden. When she cried..." He shuddered. "It sounded like a choir. The villagers who found her—some fell to their knees. Some ran."
Aveline's heart hammered painfully against her ribs. She hadn't felt it beat like this in years.
"They say she carries the Mark," he said breathlessly.
He pulled a crumpled parchment from his satchel and held it out. A rough drawing in ink and charcoal—a symbol older than memory.
The sun pierced by the crescent.
The mark of reclamation.
The final prophecy.
Aveline stared at it. Behind her, the shattered mosaic seemed to shimmer at the edges of her vision.
"You saw her yourself?" she rasped.
The paladin nodded quickly. "I did. She was lying inside the ruins of an old chapel. No dirt on her. No cold. Animals stood in a circle around her—wolves, deer, birds. None touched her."
He shook his head, still disbelieving. "The ground under her had bloomed, green and alive. And the air... it smelled like summer."
Aveline staggered back a step, overwhelmed not by fear—but by hope.
She turned to the ruined altar behind her. "He answered," she whispered.
"My lady?" the paladin asked.
Aveline took a deep, trembling breath. Her whole body shook, but inside, she felt steadier than she had in decades.
"I prayed for two months and heard nothing. I thought... maybe the Divine had left us forever." Her fingers brushed the cold stone. "But He answered. Not to me. To the world. To the broken. To the lost."
A slow, fierce smile grew on her cracked lips.
"Bring her here," she commanded.
The paladin hesitated. "There are... obstacles."
"What kind of obstacles?" she demanded.
He swallowed hard. "The news is spreading fast. Some want to claim her—sell her as a holy relic. Others think she's a curse. Warlords near Braelith are already moving. And the Black Regime—the slavers—they've put out a bounty."
Aveline's blood ran cold. "How much?"
"Enough to feed an army for three years."
Her jaw tightened.
"Then we send every sword we have," she said. "Every faithful hand, even if it's old and rusted. She must not fall into theirs."
"My lady, we are few," he said, almost apologetic. "The Sanctum Guard is only a shadow of what it once was. Some of the first arrived have already secured her, but—"
"But we have faith," Aveline interrupted, her eyes burning. "And that is more powerful than anything they have."
The paladin looked up at her, seeing not an old woman—but a mountain, unmoving, unbreakable.
He bowed. "I will protect her. With my life."
She stepped forward and laid a trembling but strong hand on his shoulder. "Not with your life, child. With your faith."
He bowed deeper. "Yes, High Priestess."
Without another word, he rose and hurried from the chamber, his armor clanging as he ran.
Aveline turned back to the altar.
The cold air felt warmer now.
Behind her, in the ruined hall, a single forgotten candle flickered to life. Once.