The air in the high-tier living quarters of the Church of Luminara was usually thick with the scent of expensive incense and the hum of holy wards. But tonight, that sanctity had been replaced by a cold, sharp dread. Merlin, Lucky, and Genius stood in the center of the foyer, their expressions ranging from analytical concern to barely suppressed fury. They were waiting for news—any news—regarding the boy they had just escorted to safety hours ago.
The sound of frantic, uneven footsteps echoed down the hall. Scarlett burst through the double doors, her face pale and her breathing ragged. She was huffed and puffed, her uniform slightly disheveled, as if she had run the entire length of the cathedral district.
"HE HAS BEEN WHAT?!?" Lucky's voice exploded, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
He looked completely shocked, his hands tightening into fists until his knuckles turned white. Beside him, Genius and Merlin looked equally disgruntled, their eyes narrowing as they processed the word that had just left Scarlett's lips.
"He has... he has been imprisoned!" Scarlett managed to say between gasps for air. "I've been searching for the arresting squad for a while, trying to find where they took him. They bypassed the standard processing units entirely."
"Why has he been imprisoned, though?!" Lucky yelled in a rage, his spiritual energy flickering around him like a simmering fire. "We were with him! He hasn't left his room! How can a boy who just arrived be a criminal?"
Scarlett leaned against a stone pillar, trying to steady her voice. "Apparently... he was imprisoned because he was suspected of being a Bloods member."
"Bloods...?" Genius whispered the name, a visible shiver running down his spine. The Bloods were the most vicious, fanatical cult in the history of Prithibi—a group dedicated to the worship of the Calamities and the total eradication of the Church's light.
"How so?" Merlin asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He was disguising his mounting anger with a facade of clinical calm, but the air around him began to vibrate with a faint, dissonant hum. "On what grounds could they possibly link a student from Rytha to that filth?"
Scarlett swallowed hard. "They claim that cult members appeared at the exact site of his Awakening, implying it was a coordinated ritual rather than a tragedy. But more importantly... it has been uncovered that in his room, a letter was found. It contained the complete details of his day, his interactions with us, and the Archbishop's interest. They say it was about to be sent via an unknown transmission method. They're calling it espionage. They say he was supplying information to an unknown party—which the prosecution has already labeled as the Bloods."
As soon as she dropped this bombshell, the entire team was hit with another wave of shock. The evidence, if true, was damning. In the eyes of the Church's legal system, a letter of that nature was as good as a signed confession of treason.
"C-could this accusation actually hold merit?" Lucky choked out, his voice wavering. He looked at Merlin, his eyes pleading for a denial.
Genius and Merlin remained silent, their minds racing. For a moment, they felt completely bamboozled. A seed of betrayal began to sprout in the back of their minds. Had they been played? Was the innocent, wide-eyed boy they had protected actually a high-level infiltrator? The timing of the Awakening and the presence of the cult did align in a way that was hard to ignore.
"I truly do not know..." Scarlett said, her head hanging low. "I want to believe him, but the evidence is so specific..."
"No. That accusation holds no merit at all."
The voice was like a physical weight in the room. The group spun around to find the Archbishop, Ashraf the Cinderborne, standing at the entrance of the foyer. His face was a mask of cold, smoldering fury. Beside him stood Bishop Ainsley, the only member of the council who looked more worried than angry.
The squad quickly readjusted, snapping to a respectful stance, though their faces remained etched with confusion.
"How do you know, Archbishop?" Scarlett inquired, her voice trembling. "The Enforcers were so certain. They said the evidence was found by the High Inquisitor's hand-picked team."
"You will know the 'how' in the future," Ashraf stated, his eyes glowing like dying coals. "For now, you must trust me completely. Aris is not a traitor. He is a victim of a much larger and much more disgusting game."
As soon as the Archbishop said this, the group felt a palpable sense of relief. They truly wanted to believe in Aris; they had all collectively taken a liking to him in the short time they had spent together. His wonder, his fear, and his raw, unpolished spirit had felt genuine.
"But still..." Scarlett said, her mind still stuck on the logistical nightmare. "The note in his room? The guards witnessed the recovery. How do we explain that?"
"That part about a note found in his room? It's completely fake," Ainsley spoke up, stepping forward. He adjusted his spectacles, his expression grim. "It was purposely placed there by a shadow-operative to frame him as a criminal. And you know how screwed the justice system is here when the 'safety of the Church' is invoked. They don't want to give him a trial to defend himself. They have already moved to bypass the judiciary. They want him executed by sunrise."
"But why?" Lucky whispered, his rage turning into a sickening dread. "Why are they targeting him so much? You can't say it's because of his Sin... there are multiple people with malevolent-looking Sins who serve as Paladins."
"That is because there are certain people within this Church who want to see it destroy itself," Archbishop Ashraf said, his voice dropping to a dark, gravelly tone. "They are a faction that thrives on stagnation. They want to kill every stream of talent that enters our halls, especially those who represent a shift in the status quo. They want to let the Church decay and wither so they can rule the ashes. They have been quite successful in these recent years."
"Can't you do something about it, Archbishop?" Scarlett blurted out, her frustration boiling over. "You're the head of the Church! You're the Cinderborne!"
"Unfortunately, I cannot act openly," Ashraf said, a rare note of self-deprecation in his voice. "The opposing faction is too entrenched. If there were merely a few bishops plotting, I could eviscerate them in an afternoon. But this is systemic. If I strike down the Council without absolute, undeniable proof, I trigger a civil war that would leave our borders open to the Calamities. I am a king whose hands are tied by his own crown."
"T-then what will happen to Aris...?" Lucky whispered quietly, his face pale. "Will he really be executed? Tomorrow?"
"Well, of course not on our watch," Archbishop Ashraf said, his voice suddenly regaining its commanding edge. "Let me tell you a plan that me and dear Bishop Ainsley have formulated."
The group lit up instantly. The hopelessness that had filled the room began to evaporate.
"Tell us about it, your Excellency!" Lucky said excitedly.
"Well, it involves Merlin," Bishop Ainsley said, turning his gaze toward the silent commander. "He is the key chess piece—the door to the success of this entire operation. Your specific Sin, Merlin, and your standing among the knights make you the only one who can move through the cracks of the dungeon without triggering the high-alert wards."
"Me?" Merlin said, his amethyst eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and resolve.
"Yes, you," Ashraf said, his gaze meeting Merlin's. "Now, listen closely. Let me tell you the details of our plan, for if we fail, the light of this world dims forever."
⛓️ POV: THE DUNGEON
While the high-ranking officials plotted in the light, Aris sat in the absolute dark.
The dungeon of the Seventh Floor was not like a normal prison. It was a place of spiritual suppression. The walls were made of Void-Stone, a material that absorbed every scrap of ambient light and sound. The air was cold, damp, and tasted of old iron and despair. Aris sat on a pile of wet straw, his wrists bound by the Sin-Sealing cuffs that made him feel like he was carrying a mountain on his back.
His eyes were lightless, staring at a wall he couldn't see. He was tired—more tired than he had ever been in his life. In less than forty-eight hours, he had gone from a student in a peaceful city to a survivor of a massacre, a "miracle" of the Church, and finally, a condemned traitor.
'Nyx... what do you think will happen to us?' Aris asked in the silence of his mind. His voice felt thin, even to himself.
'I truly do not know, Aris...' Nyx replied. For the first time, her voice lacked its usual sharp confidence. She sounded genuinely worried, her presence flickering at the edges of his consciousness, struggling against the dampening effect of the cuffs. 'This level of treachery... even I didn't foresee the Church being this hungry for its own.'
'Can we escape even?' Aris whispered, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek. 'I don't want to stay here waiting for my death... even if there's a puny chance, I'd rather die running than sitting in this straw.'
Nyx let out a dry, rattling snigger. It was a hollow sound, but it held a flicker of her old spirit. 'I wish escape out of this hell hole was as simple as you make it out to be, little light. These bars are reinforced with the Sins of a hundred wardens. To break them would require a force that would level this entire tower.'
'How can you even laugh?' Aris yelled in his mind, his frustration finally breaking through the exhaustion. 'We've just been told there's no trial. No defense. Straight to public execution. They're going to kill me for a letter I didn't write!'
'There's always time for humor, Aris. It's the only thing the Church can't tax,' she chuckled, though the sound quickly died down. 'Plus... I have a tiny bit of intuition. Call it a lingering shadow of my former self. It tells me that the threads of your fate aren't ready to be cut just yet. You will be saved.'
Aris leaned his head back against the cold stone, closing his eyes. 'I wish so... I really wish so.'
He drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep, unaware that high above him, the gears of a rescue were turning, and that the man he looked up to as a roles model was about to become the most wanted man in the Church.