The bloody words staining the sacred stones of the church were unmistakable in their message: THEY ARE COMING, followed by the crude, crossed-out sigil of the Empire.
"They are everywhere by the looks of it, right, Praefectus?" Felix called, nearly shouting to make himself heard beneath the rupturing skies.
"What are you talking about, Felix?" I asked, watching the rivulets of rain trace the edges of his face.
"Traitors. Scum. Heretics," he spat, sweeping his hand wide to encompass the scene before us. "News of Lapurum must have reached them — and the anger they felt upon hearing what became of their fellows surely drove them to lash out at this holy place before fleeing their perdition."
He turned aside and expelled a mouthful of rainwater and disdain into the mud.
There was not much to argue, only enough to move my head in weary agreement. Their message was clear.
The arrival of the legion in Lapurum must have driven these villagers to flee in haste. Whether they had played any part in treachery was uncertain, but fear had surely shaped their decision to abandon their homes. Fear of us.
The red borrowed cloth that had draped Sister Adrian's shoulders only moments before was now caught between wood and stone where she had forced herself through the crooked doorway. I retrieved it as Felix and I approached, and a small new tear revealed itself beneath my fingers while I secured the cloak over my own shoulders.
I could hear Sister Adrian struggling within, the screech of metal dragged over stone cutting through the rain like a blade. Felix and I moved at once, clearing the fallen debris to widen the crooked doorway before pressing inside after her.
The creature watched us in silence from the cart where she had left it, half-hidden beneath the tarp she had thrown over it for shelter. Only its pointed ears protruded into the rain, twitching faintly—as though straining to catch whatever sounds drifted from the ruined church.
The domed roof of the church softened the fury of the skies, though little could be done with its heavy doors lying broken in the mud outside. Rhythmic drops fell through the breach, tapping against the stone floor as my boots splashed through shallow pools gathering beneath them.
Sister Adrian had managed to lift a brazen candelabra—no doubt the source of the wide scrape carved across the floor—from where she had uncovered it to where it now stood.
She searched through the halflight for any fallen candlesticks and set them upon the candelabra with careful precision. I could hear her praying, though the words remained indistinct until I drew close behind her.
"...Et lumen tuum mihi dedisti," she whispered.
The final syllables drifted into the quiet church, and a fragile ember stirred on the damp wick before sizzling softly into life. A small flame rose, trembling, then reached outward to kindle its light among the clustered candles.
A sharp gasp escaped Sister Adrian as the widening glow revealed the true desecration of the holy ground. Felix's disdainful growl followed a heartbeat later, and I too felt the cold weight of the sight settle upon me.
The church had been gutted like hooked game. The magnificent frescoes that had once taught these people their faith had been torn from the walls, leaving only ragged patches of colored plaster clinging behind.
Sister Adrian stepped forward toward the Sanctuary, walking beneath the great dome where the Lifegiver was still depicted in radiant glory. Two small circles of tinted glass marked His eyes in the mural above, casting faint, near-invisible colors across her white robes as she passed beneath them.
A crunch of glass followed her next step, and her hands came to rest upon the shattered ring holder at the center of the Sanctuary's dais.
"They have taken everything," she said as she turned toward me, the bronze frame of the ruined vessel held against her chest. Her eyes were wet, yet fixed on mine with unyielding resolve.
"Felix," I called, not breaking her gaze, only tilting my head slightly in his direction.
"Yes, Praefectus?" he answered, awaiting my command.
"Keep an eye on the cart while I help Sister Adrian restore what decency we can in here."
"On your command, sir," he replied, and made his way to the church entrance. He paused beneath the shelter of the doorway, head low beneath the fallen frame, his watchful eyes already tracking the creature, which met his stare from the cart outside.
"The church still stands, Sister—and that much no one can take from us," I told her as I stepped closer. "Let us treat it as it deserves."
I laid my palm upon the cold metal frame she she was nesting in her embrace.
She began to step back, but halted, choosing instead to meet the moment. Her eyes softened as she yielded to the gesture, and she released the broken ring holder into my hands.
I moved past her, clearing the debris and shards of glass from the marble dais, then set the fragmented vessel back in its rightful place.
She moved on as well, struggling to lift the remaining fallen brazen candleholders from the floor. With a small nod of her pale face, she gestured for me to follow her lead. Together we gathered what could still be used, raising the surviving wooden furnishings and clearing the debris left from the ruined wall icons.
With more candles recovered, I shared the flame among them, letting their light scatter once more through the wounded church.
A familiar soft chime rose from Sister Adrian's direction — she was testing the fidelity of a salvaged censer. For a moment, as the candle glow steadied and the scent of old incense faintly stirred, the thought of taking shelter beneath this stone dome began to grow on me.
A few moments later, the ancient stone walls glowed with the flickering orange light of the crooked candelabras. The sweet, heavy smoke from the battered censer drifted downward, curling into the shallow pools of rainwater the dome above could not keep out. What little remained of the wall illustrations seemed to stir with the flames from the church's fireplace, and a brief breath of life was granted to the old, wounded church.
We stood there for a time — Sister Adrian at my side — her eyes sweeping each corner to be certain nothing more could be done. At last she turned toward me, a quiet satisfaction softening her features.
"At least now it resembles what it was meant to be," she said softly, her brows lifting above a bittersweet smile.
"The only thing missing now is a congregation," I replied, "and you would be ready to begin your Liturgy."
I glanced toward the doorway where Felix remained under the shelter of the fallen frame.
Before I could call Felix back to us, a trembling whisper from Sister Adrian halted me.
"Sir… I… I have not yet had the chance to lead a Liturgy. I am not certain if I have the right to…",
anxiety flowed from her, dragged out by each word of doubt.
"There should be a first time for everything, Sister," I told her. "I will go and gather your flock, and you will go into the Sanctuary to prepare. It is your duty to tend to our souls on this journey afterall , is it not?"
Her mouth remained half open, the beginning of a reply caught upon her tongue. But I moved on toward Felix, leaving her momentarily frozen in place before she hurried into the inner sanctum, the censer chiming sharply with each of her hurried steps.
"Has it attempted anything… unusual?" I asked as I approached Felix. The rainfall had swelled into a relentless deluge outside, likely drowning the sound of my steps on the wet stone; he startled when I came beside him, forcing his reply into something that strained to sound composed.
"It keeps watching us, sir," he said, clearing his throat. "And every so often it shifts the canvas over its head, like it's trying to settle itself." he said to me and kept his eyes to its direction.
"Very well," I replied, pausing beside him to share his watch.
I studied the small figure in the downpour — the misery of its condition plain to see. Soaked through, fumbling to shelter beneath the weighted canvas, yet still returning our gaze with that uncanny, intelligent spark. I could not be certain whether its kind suffered the same afflictions a man would if left exposed to the elements, but I was not willing to find out now. Our task was to return it to its kin, and arriving with a weeks-old corpse would win us no favor among them.
"Sister Adrian has managed to light the church's fireplace. Go and take its warmth, brother. I will be right behind you," I told Felix.
"Are we to leave it unattended, Praefectus?" he asked, still rooted in place.
"I was hoping to make our tasks easier and bring it inside, where we can keep proper watch over it," I replied, meeting his gaze as he snapped his head toward me in sharp disbelief.
"And allow it to drag its filthy flesh into hallowed ground? Are you certain of this, Praefectus?" he asked, voice tense.
"It may have to remain chained near the entrance," I said. "But let the final say rest with Sister Adrian. She is the only priestess left here now."
And with that, I stepped back into the downpour to fetch the creature.
I was only a few paces from the cart when its voice rose to greet me.
"Welcome, sir! I suppose you too have come to enjoy this delightful spring drizzle, as I am?" it called, tugging the canvas tighter around its head. "You would not, by chance, have a tricorn to spare, would you sir?"
It shook its red-haired head briskly, flinging droplets from its gray skin in a rather theatrical attempt to rid itself of the rain.
"I am not certain what a tricorn is," I said, "but I can offer you a stone roof, if you have had your fill of cold rainwater. All I ask in return is your compli—"
"And my full compliance you shall have to your every request, my good sir!" it declared, cutting me off before I could finish.
It sprang upright at once, the soaked canvas falling from its head as a visible jolt of energy coursed through it at the prospect of shelter.
I took hold of its chains, unfastening them from the iron clamps fixed to the cart's bed. With no more force than was necessary, I drew the creature forward, guiding it toward the sheltering stone maw of the church.
Sister Adrian awaited us at the cusp of the church's entrance, with Felix standing beside her, his eyes following the creature's quick, small steps behind me.
"May we enter, Sister?" I asked, as the creature and I stood before them. The rainfall had begun to bite at my flesh again, a cold reminder of the brief warmth I had left behind within the holy stone walls.
"Of course, sir. It is your right to stand within these walls, but for that—"
She paused, her finger lifting toward the wide-eyed creature.
"—for that, I would be at fault if I allowed it to enter without precautions."
She lowered her hand and opened her left palm beside her, letting the candlelight catch upon the silvery band wrapped around her ring finger.
I heard the chime of the creature's chains before I felt its small hand clutch the back of my cape.
"Terribly sorry to interrupt — truly, I am — but if I'm not mistaken, you are speaking about me? And, ah… might I add that the little blade upon your ring looks rather menacing?" it said, peering past me at Sister Adrian's open palm, half hidden behind me.
I gave a dry cough and glanced down at it over my shoulder.
"Yes, yes — of course. A promise made should be honored. Do as you must, ma'am," it proclaimed, stepping away from the security of my back. Its eyes squeezed shut, chin lifted, and its chained hands extended before it in a melodramatic gesture of surrender.
"Do not be afraid," Sister Adrian said calmly as she stepped closer. "You will either burst into holy flame, or be perfectly safe to enter." A small smirk tugged at her lips.
At that, the creature cracked one eye open to watch her, its body drawing backward in a careful, instinctive recoil.
She wrapped her hand — hidden beneath her white cloth sleeve — around its forearm and drew it forward. I stepped in beside her, placing my hands on its shoulders to steady whatever instinct might stir.
With its gray arm extended and its gaze flicking nervously between the three of us, Sister Adrian set her open palm against its skin. The ring claw's small silvery blade bit cleanly into the flesh, and the first drop of murky violet blood welled to the surface.
"Shhh! Not of a gentle touch, are you, ma'am?" the creature hissed, baring its teeth as its face tightened with pain.
"Hold it still," Sister Adrian said to me, her eyes never leaving her work.
"Fff—aaaach!" The creature's sharp cry tore through the stone hall as she carved the Word for Oblivion into its flesh. Its uncanny-colored blood trailed down the gray forearm, threading into the puddled rainwater and tinting it with faint shades of violet.
"Almost done," she whispered — more to herself than to it — and began inscribing the Word for Containment around Oblivion.
She lifted her palm from its torn skin, light-purple drops of vitae forming tears along the cold silver edge of her ring.
"It appears you are not a daimon after all," she said, removing the claw ring and wiping its small blade with a white linen Purificator she had salvaged from the church.
The creature stared at the freshly carved symbols on its trembling arm before replying,
"I was quite sure I had already told you what I am! Was there truly a need for this?!"
Its protest echoed after her as Sister Adrian moved toward the inner sanctum. She placed the ring-claw within the battered holder atop the dais, then turned back to us.
"Now all of us can truly be sure of that," she said.