The flickering candlelight cast long shadows over the stone walls of the abandoned chapel. Dust clung to every surface like a curse, and the scent of rot lingered despite the high ceilings and broken stained glass that once let in holy light. Lucien sat alone on the altar's steps, a quiet place where hymns once echoed—now a forgotten tomb of silence.
He wasn't praying.
In his hand, he turned over a rusted emblem of the Church, plucked from a corpse long buried beneath lies. The metal dug into his palm as if trying to remind him of pain, of what they'd taken from him. He welcomed it.
"They once called this place sacred," he muttered, the sound barely louder than the creak of old wood. "Funny. Even rats have abandoned it now."
A gentle footstep behind him broke the quiet. Mira stood there, arms crossed, cloak pulled tight against the cold. Her usually sharp eyes were softer now, watching him not with suspicion, but curiosity.
"You never speak of your past," she said, approaching slowly.
Lucien gave a humorless smile, still not looking at her. "That's because it's buried. Like everything else the Church touches."
She knelt beside him. "I used to believe in them. In their justice."
"So did my mother," Lucien said. A pause. "And they called her a devil. Burned her alive."
The silence that followed was a wound neither of them tried to dress. But it wasn't empty. It was shared. And Mira didn't press further. She simply nodded, the way soldiers sometimes nod before a battle they know they won't survive.
Lucien slipped the emblem into his pocket and stood. "Enough reminiscing. Tonight, the High Inquisitor's caravan passes through Eldrin Valley. Their security is tight. Perfect."
"Perfect for what?" Mira asked, rising beside him.
He smiled again. This time, it touched his eyes—a predator's glint.
"For planting seeds. One whisper at a time. One illusion. One truth. The kind that fractures even the most devout."
As they exited the chapel, the moon emerged from behind heavy clouds, bathing the ruins in silver light. Lucien looked back only once, eyes distant.
"Ashes of old oaths," he murmured. "It's all they ever leave behind."
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End of chapter 14