Cathedral of the Shattered Sun (Capital City of Theron)
The cathedral dominates the capital's skyline, a silhouette of blackened spires and stained glass rising higher than any palace tower. No matter where you stand in the city, one spire is always visible as if the building itself refuses to leave your gaze.
The air around the cathedral is heavy, thick with incense and ash, so that sunlight breaks into shafts that look almost physical, like bars of a cage.
Inside.
Vaulted ceilings vanish into shadow, rib-like arches curving upward like bones.
A long nave stretches before the altar, where hundreds of pews sit mostly empty.
Banners hang down, painted with saints but with golden masks and nameless figures, all in flowing yellow garments.
In a room fairly decorated a, A man draped in yellow and black vestments that shimmer like silk, stands before the vault.
His eyes are half-blind, clouded with cataracts,
Opening he takes out A pocket watch, A yellowed crown and a dairy.
He stood in front of the mirror, put on the crown, and checking his watch took out dairy and opened, the only page which had words written.
dairy was yellowed as though thousands of years old. Opening the page it showed a poem.
Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.
Strange is the night where black stars rise ,And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead; Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa.
He recited the lines while wearing the crown as if being possessed, After a minute of two he looked at the watch, removed the crown draped in Yellow and put all of it in vault,
After that he put on a gentle a smile and walked out of his room.
***
(Solace's POV)
A new day began,
Yesterday we built tent in a safe area around the stronghold.
And after not so good sleep, everybody seemed to looked at Instructor's with sleepless eyes.
While doing the morning routine I thought about it for while about how Today was Thursday.
We reached the Mountain road on Tuesday and slept the day in bus, After that we reached the foothold yesterday evening.
'I still have a whole day'
Tomorrow was the day Nolan's Mother escaped the Mountain. I just have to help Nolan see his Mother and make sure she doesn't get captured again.
Maybe I can use the layer 3 beasts chaos to meet her.
But the Only thing I know is she escapes at night.
Actually that's not too hard, We are going to get a tour of the stronghold today so I can cancel out the areas of the strong hold.
The stronghold has a large enough wall protecting it from all sides.
There are 4 Main areas in the strong hold First is cafeteria and guest quarters,
Second is a open area for security and Church personnel.
Third is a Research Facility.
'I mostly think it's Research facility'
And lastly there is a small Praying quarters.
After a while we gathered in the cafeteria and the teacher began giving us overview of The quarter's and rules and regulations also explaining, How this stronghold is to study various mutations in Beasts of lower layer's
From there, we were led to the second quarter: the open grounds reserved for security and Church personnel.It was here the air grew sharper with discipline. Rows of armored sentinels drilled in unison, steel striking against shields, their chants echoing across the flagstones. Church banners hung from the walls, heavy with iconography, and clerics moved between the guards like shepherds among hounds.
"Here lies the spine of the stronghold," another instructor said. His tone carried a warning linger too long here, and you'd break yourself against its order. I noted the training yard's exits, the distance to the towers above, and the rhythm of the patrols.
We passed through to the third quarter: the research facility.This part of the stronghold was quieter, colder. The walls narrowed into stone corridors lined with iron doors. Strange equipment hummed faintly from within the chambers gears turning, glass canisters glowing faintly blue, the scent of chemicals sharp in the air. Robed figures, masked and gloved, walked in silence.
"No one enters here without sanction," a Church official said curtly, barring us from stepping farther. "Knowledge here is sacred and dangerous. Keep your eyes forward."Still, I glanced anyway doors, locks, vents in the ceiling. A place easy to get lost in, or to vanish.
The tour ended at the fourth quarter: a small praying quarters, carved into the mountain itself.It was dim and narrow, lit only by hanging lamps filled with perfumed oil. The walls were smooth stone, the floor polished by knees and hands pressing into it over generations. At the far end stood a simple altar no gold, no jewels, only a slab of stone.
The priests knelt, murmuring a prayer, their voices low and steady, like the drone of bees within a hollow. We were told to bow our heads. Most did. I kept my eyes open just long enough to trace the alcoves, the side passages, the distance to the rear wall where the mountain pressed tight.
When the prayers ended, the Churchman spoke softly: "Remember. This stronghold is more than stone. It is faith given shape. Respect it."
As we left the quarters, I glanced back once more.