"A prayer to the grey clouds that the grey crows do not consume us even in our rot..."
"A prayer to the horned angel of the North, that its wings may shield us from the frigid winds of the Niel."
"A prayer to the watcher of the Blazing Sun, for its crown is everlasting."
"And a prayer to the kings of Tartarus, that they may never wake from their slumber."
As he walked down the dark path shrouded in fog, the words of the pray fell down his lips.
The leaves on the trees and the grass beneath his boots were still wet with the morning dew.
Declan turned to him,
"You call yourself an unbeliever, but you always say your prayers."
Nero shook his head and lifted his gaze,
"I find it rather strange too."
His brows furrowed, "Why do we pray to the very things that force us to live in fear?"
Declan sighed then turned away, his countenance turning a bit dark as he spoke,
"The Grey Cloud. An existence, or a phenomenon most believe to have come to be right at the beginning of the Age of Angels. It was once an angel, but now, it has become a twisted entity that births the grey crows; terrible abominations that have an uncanny lust for human viscera."
"The horned angel of the North, a frightening entity that resides at the northern edge of the world. Its wings are so grand and horrible, it is as evident as the morning dawn. It holds back the deathly chill of the North with one hand, and with the other, it shows out the seeds of misfortune that plague us for all eternity."
"The Watcher of the Blazing Sun. One of the original Gryghori. A being ill understood by humanity. A being that is equally as benevolent as it is malevolent, the symbol of the Sol Branch of the Everlasting Church."
Nero turned to him with raised brows...
"And finally," Declan let out a soft sigh,
"And finally, the Kings of Tartarus. Beings directly sealed by the Divine Will. Madness is their chain and calamity their breath. It is said that the moment their bindings loosen, the second end will come..."
"You know... You are terrifyingly well read for a baker’s child."
Declan rubbed his nose proudly,
"I have dreams of going to the big city one day. Knowing this much isn’t anything at all."
Nero chuckled then sighed.
Indeed, they all had their dreams.
Some had dreams of grandeur while others dreamt of living through the night.
Of course, there was no guarantee such dreams would ever come true.
He let out another sigh.
The sound of the morning bell drowned away his gloom.
"Let us hurry." He said as he slightly increased his pace.
Leaving the path lined with the canopy of trees, they quickly arrived in front of the church gate.
At this time, none of the townsfolk would not be awake.
Those that had been on watch duty the night before were already gathered and headed into the church.
The church was a rustic, old building, having stood for several decades since the creation of the town itself. Regardless, it stood tall and humble, its stone façade weathered to a soft, muted gray. The intricate carvings above the entrance seem to whisper the secrets of ancient times and of a place once treated as hallowed ground. The resting place of the divine.
The heavy wooden doors, adorned with iron hinges and a large knocker in the shape of a serpent’s head creaked softly as they swung open every once in a while.
The sound of the tolling bell had come to a stop, allowing the voices chanting in disjointed unison behind the wooden doors to reach Nero’s ears.
The morning mass was about to begin...
"Nero. Declan. You are both here late again."
Standing at the church gates was an enormous specimen of a man. Although it was still so early in the morning, he was already fully clad in plate armor, his helmet strategically positioned under his armpit.
At first glance, the larger man appeared to be just a regular middle-aged man with scruffy greying strands of beard stuck to his face. However, the captain of the local guard, Peter Auswish, was just a tad bit special especially amongst the peasants.
He had once served directly under a real Templar of the church. More specifically, a Templar of the Crimson Crucible.
The knights of the Crimson Crucible were those with the Seal of Blood; powerful humans that had learned the secrets of strange sorcery passed down by divine hands into the possession of humans.
Ultimately, the secrets of it all were well preserved by the church, but it was impossible for a few details to not slip out every once in a while.
Nevertheless, this was more or less all that was known to the public. The Templar Orders of the Church were;
The Templar Order of the White Prophets.
The Templar Order of the Crimson Crucible.
The Templar Order of the Ironherd.
The Templar Order of the Verdant Ash Sea.
And the Templar Order of the Wilting Seraph.
Each one signified an important pillar of the church and society at large. They also possessed features that defined them, so it was easy to identify what order a Knight belonged to.
In Peter’s case, one of his arms, despite being covered by a gauntlet, was just slightly larger than the other. Through the gaps in the Blacksteel plating, Nero could see that it was black and gnarly, with strange markings and tumors on its surface.
It appeared more like the arm of some terrible abomination, not that of a human.
Despite this abnormality, Peter was still highly respected amongst the guard. Not just for his leadership, but also for his strength.
As a former member of the Templars, the edge of his blade was not easily inhibited and he could still be considered a force to be reckoned with.
The two young men bowed their heads and said nothing.
Peter clicked his tongue and sighed,
"The mass is about to start. Get in quickly. Damn it. I really need to be stricter with you buffoons."
Nero couldn’t help but chuckle, "As always, you are a big softie, Peter. Let’s go." He said as he walked around the large guard.
Declan wore a wide grin as he also strutted into the church.
Staring at the emptiness left behind by the two rascals, Peter sighed and scratched his head,
"Today is going to be a good day, right?"