Chapter 12 – Shadows of Retribution
High Father Maltherion's sanctum was a chamber of radiant deceit. Gilded walls reflected the glow of a hundred crystal lamps, their light cascading over tapestries depicting the Goddess of Light's triumph over chaos. Incense drifted lazily, masking the scent of old blood seeping from cracks in the marble floor.
Maltherion sat upon his throne, tall and imposing even in stillness. His scepter rested against his knee, its jeweled head shimmering faintly as if breathing with a will of its own. To the faithful, he was the embodiment of wisdom. To those gathered before him, he was a storm waiting to be unleashed.
A kneeling inquisitor trembled as he delivered the report. "Most Radiant Father… the ledger of the Thirteenth Province has been stolen. The trail leads to the undercity of Durelin. We believe the Oathkeepers aided in the theft."
Maltherion's eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, the warmth of mercy was gone, replaced by a pitiless fire. His voice was soft, almost gentle. "So… the embers dare to flare again."
He rose, every movement carrying the weight of centuries. The chamber seemed to darken around him. "The ledger was not merely parchment—it was blood, consecrated in secret flame. If the heretics spread its contents, they will seed doubt… and doubt is the true heresy."
From the shadows, the Seraphic Blades emerged—six figures clad in blackened steel, faces hidden behind masks carved with serene, smiling visages. Each carried a blade etched with runes that shimmered faintly with divine fire.
"You will descend into Durelin," Maltherion commanded. "Root out the Oathkeepers. Silence their tongues, extinguish their flame. Let their corpses be lanterns on the road to obedience."
The Blades bowed as one, their voices a whisper of steel. "As the Radiant wills."
But Maltherion was not finished. His gaze turned to a cloaked priest standing apart from the rest—Arch-Inquisitor Verrian, master of whispers and chains.
"You, Verrian, will orchestrate the spectacle. Riots, purges, false confessions—whatever is needed. Let the people cry out for our justice before we deliver it."
Verrian bowed, lips curling into a cruel smile.
As the chamber emptied, Maltherion pressed his hand upon the scepter. Its light flared, and for a heartbeat his flesh rippled—revealing something monstrous beneath the mask of man.
"Soon," he murmured, his voice carrying both prayer and promise. "They will learn that rebellion is but another word for sacrifice."