Saint's Chamber,Holy Kingdom Capital
A sacred chamber, hidden deep within the heart of the Holy Capital.
Untouched by time.
Untouched by war.
Untouched by all—except the Pope, a handful of chosen attendants, and the Saintess.
The room was vast, cloaked in silence, its walls adorned with ancient scripture etched in gold. At its center stood an orb, suspended by unseen forces—the Orb of Oracle. It pulsed softly, like a living heart. It was said that only the Saintess, chosen by the divine, could hear the will of fate through it.
And there she knelt.
The Saintess, draped in white robes now faded by years of prayer and sorrow, rested in stillness before the orb. A blindfold covered her eyes, though not out of tradition—but by sacrifice. She had given her sight long ago, after her pilgrimage showed her the world's cruelty in its rawest form. It was then she had chosen—no, begged—for divinity, at the cost of her vision.
It had been ten long years since the last prophecy.
A prophecy of dread.
"The Age of Light shall perish,
And from shadow, a flame shall rise.
He, of white hair and azure gaze,
Shall walk the edge of salvation and ruin."
Since then, she had waited.
Prayed.
Suffered in silence.
But today—something changed.
A crack echoed through the chamber.
Sharp. Sudden.
The Orb of Oracle shuddered, and a jagged fracture snaked across its flawless surface.
Attendants gasped, scrambling to their feet. Fear gripped the chamber like frost. The orb—untouched for centuries—was breaking.
But the Saintess did not move.
She did not flinch.
She merely bowed her head, whispering through clenched hands as a cold wind swept the chamber.
"So it begins…"
Then louder, with divine clarity:
"Tell His Holiness—the darkness has come before its time."
Her fingers gripped the floor.
"May God... help us all."
And above her, the sacred orb—once eternal—cracked once more.
The voice of fate, cracked.
The Saintess walked toward the Pope.
Her steps were graceful—almost divine—each footfall echoing through the sacred hall like a soft hymn. There was no doubt: among the faithful, she was the holiest of all.
She offered a reverent greeting to the Pope, then spoke without delay.
"The Empire's war... and the crack upon the Orb of Fate—this cannot be coincidence."
The Pope remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"The Empire has taken Nytheris," he finally said.
As if the world itself responded, a glass ornament on the table nearby cracked.
A subtle yet ominous sign.
Dragons—the last living descendants of those once blessed by Fate—were being hunted to near extinction. Such blasphemy, such destruction, was bound to invite calamity.
The Saintess urged negotiation with the Empire, pleading that they must act now—to intervene, to prevent disaster. But the Pope dismissed her.
"The Holy Kingdom must remain neutral," he said.
They argued.
She insisted.
He refused.
In her heart, she already knew this was futile.
Without another word, the Saintess turned and left the chamber.
By nightfall, she was gone—accompanied by only a handful of elite guards—departing in secret, without the Pope's knowledge or blessing.
At the Empire's Border
Times were hard.
With war spreading across the continent, entry into the Empire had become heavily restricted. Few were allowed in. The Saintess, having traveled far and quietly, had made it to the border—but the capital itself was closed off.
At the gate, the guards stood firm.
"Only those with proper identification issued by the Empire are permitted entry," one of them stated.
Her carriage was halted.
She could not reveal her identity—not without alerting the Church. She tried to reason with the guards, assuring them she meant no harm.
"Please, I only seek peace. I—"
But the soldiers remained unmoved. To them, she was just a cloaked stranger.
As she began to relent, preparing to leave and try again another day, a carriage arrived from the other side. Adorned with the crest of a lion wreathed in flame, it was instantly recognized.
The guards saluted, opening the gates at once.
It was the Duke's carriage.
Lucas, seated inside, noticed the commotion—and then recognized her. Without hesitation, he stepped down and approached.
"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly.
With his testimony, the Saintess was granted passage. Soon after, he arranged a private audience with the Emperor.
Within the Palace — The Guest Chamber
The Saintess sat gracefully, sipping tea in a quiet chamber within the royal palace. Behind her stood her silent guards. Across from her, Lucas entered, having just left the Emperor's court.
She greeted him calmly.
"So, you are here, Lucas."
Lucas hesitated.
"You can see me?"
She gently set her cup down.
"I see more now than I ever did. In return for my sight, I was given the gift to see souls."
She paused, then added solemnly,
"Yours shines still… but dimmer than before. Be careful, Lucas. When you linger too long in the grey, it's easy to fall into darkness."
Lucas said nothing, but the weight of her words lingered in the air. He understood her warning well.
Then, the chamber doors opened.
"Then what about my soul?" came a cold voice.
Isla entered.
The Saintess turned toward him—and in that moment, her cup slipped from her hand, shattering against the floor.
Everyone stared.
The room was silent.
"Dark…too dark" she whispered.
The smile on the Emperor's face faded.
"Why are you here?" he asked her, curtly.
She stood.
"The war.Stop it.Bad omen.The world are not meant to be conquered."
Isla's voice remained calm, unreadable.
"Is this a request from the Holy Kingdom… or your request?"
She said nothing.
"Then I have no obligation to consider it," he replied. "The world is mine."
"You don't understand—the Age of Darkness is upon us—"
"Then let it be" Isla said, smiling. "Even the Demon King will kneel before me soon."
He turned to leave.
"This conversation is over. You may stay as long as you wish."
And with that, Isla left.
Lucas remained for a short while longer, offering the Saintess quiet company.
By dawn, he too departed—returning to his duchy, his heart heavier than when he'd arrived.