The Cathedral of the Church had grown quiet.
Grand halls, prior filled with hymns sung to the heavens, now echoed only with footsteps that barely dared to tread across the marble floors. The gilded statues of saints seemed dimmer in the flickering torchlight, their majestic visages dulled by dust and neglect.
Outside, the streets told a grimmer story.
Merchants laughed openly about the Church’s "pious" greed, while commoners whispered of priests who sold blessings for coin and absolved sins in exchange for favors.
Faith had not merely dwindled—it had curdled into disdain.
But the Church endured, clinging to life through the steady flow of gold sent anonymously by one man: Prince Aric Valerian.
It was a bitter truth that only a few knew, and one he intended to use tonight.
Deep within the Cathedral, in a chamber lit by trembling candlelight, High Inquisitor Levos and High Priest Dorim sat across from each other.
The air between them felt heavier than the stone walls surrounding them, both men acutely aware of why they had been summoned.
Opposite them stood Aric, cloaked in black, his face unreadable as he stared into the flickering light of a single candle.
"Do you know what I see?" Aric asked softly, his voice breaking the silence. He didn’t look at either of them, his eyes fixed on the flame as it danced and swayed. "A flame fighting to survive. Choking on its own smoke. Burning the last of what it has." Official source ıs 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝗇𝖾𝗍
Levos frowned, his knuckles tightening against the carved arms of his chair. "The Eternal Flame endures, Your Highness," he said sharply. "It always endures."
Aric turned his head slowly, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips—though it was cold and numb. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked. "Because from where I stand, it looks ready to collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy."
Dorim shifted uncomfortably, his wrinkled hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer. "We are aware of the challenges before us, my lord," he said cautiously. "But the Church has survived worse trials than this. With the Flame’s guidance, we will—"
"Stop," Aric cut in, his voice cold enough to freeze the air between them. He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the stone with a measured rhythm. "Do not insult me with platitudes. You don’t believe them any more than I do."
Levos opened his mouth to retort, but Aric raised a hand, silencing him.
He moved to the table between them, placing his gloved hands on its edge as he leaned forward. The candlelight carved shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his pale eyes.
"The Church survives because I allow it," Aric said, his tone quiet but razor-sharp. "My gold keeps your doors open, your priests fed, your debts paid. Without me, your precious Flame would have guttered out long ago."
Dorim’s lips parted, but no words came. Levos, however, managed to summon his defiance. "And what would you have us do, Prince Aric?" he demanded. "Abandon our oaths? Grovel at your feet? The Church is not some plaything for you to—"
"Groveling would be an improvement," Aric interrupted, his voice like ice. He straightened, towering over them as his words fell slow and deliberate. "What I would have you do is survive. And to do that, you will do exactly as I say."
The room fell silent again, save for faint crackle of the candlewick. Dorim’s face had gone pale, the lines of age etched deeper into his skin.
Levos stared at Aric with clenched teeth, but his defiance crumbled under the weight of truth.
"You’ve allowed corruption to fester within these walls for decades, and you are both part of it," Aric continued, his gaze cutting between them. "Now the people have turned against you. They see your priests as thieves, your Inquisitors as tyrants. Faith is no longer your shield—it’s your noose. So use it as such. Let bodies hang."
Levos’s fists slammed against the table, the sound echoing in the chamber. "And what do you propose, Your Highness?" he spat. "That we kill our own to appease the masses?"
"Yes," Aric said simply. The word hung in the air, stark and unyielding.
Dorim flinched as if struck, his hands trembling in his lap. "You... you can’t mean that," he whispered.
Aric’s expression didn’t waver. "The people demand justice. If you do not give them blood, they will take it themselves. You must purge your ranks of those who betrayed the Flame and make it clear that this Church stands for something greater than greed. Regardless of whether it’s the truth. After all, a truly honest purge would mean your lives as well. But that need not be the case. Find scapegoats to take the fall for the sins of the Church."
Levos shook his head, his voice rising with anger. "You would have us spill the blood of our own brethren—"
"They are no longer your brethren," Aric snapped, his voice cutting through the room. "Tell the people they are the rot that has poisoned this institution. Their deaths will be a sacrifice to the Eternal Flame—a symbol that the Church is willing to atone for its sins."
Dorim’s shoulders sagged, his head bowing as though the weight of the room had crushed him. Levos looked as though he wanted to argue, but the fire in his eyes had dimmed.
They both knew the truth: they had no choice.
"And the relics," Aric added, his tone softening just enough to make it clear this was not a suggestion. "The ones you’ve kept hidden for over a century. They will be brought forth."
Dorim’s head shot up, his eyes wide with panic. "No," he said, his voice shaking. "We cannot. They are sacred—protected by our oaths."
"Oaths that mean nothing if this Church falls," Aric countered, his words cold and unforgiving. "The people need to see the Flame’s power restored. The relics will remind them of the divinity you claim to serve. Or would you rather they remember your corruption instead?"
Levos’s hands tightened into fists again, his jaw set. "It’s not that simple," he said. "The Guardians will never allow it."
Aric smiled faintly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "The Guardians are already mine."
The room fell deathly silent. Levos and Dorim stared at him, their disbelief warring with the grim realization that he was telling the truth.
"You have no other choice," Aric said quietly, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his back. "Purge the rot. Bring forth the relics. And ensure the Flame burns bright enough to blind the people to your past failings. Or watch as everything you’ve built turns to ash."
Dorim’s lips trembled, his voice barely a whisper. "This... this is madness."
"No," Aric said, turning toward the door. "Survival...it’s survival."