Thomas and his crew had just witnessed the two faiths that ruled the City of Graves. Before entering the city, they saw the Fog Walkers begin their second pilgrimage, a massive one this time, joined by people from every corner of society. And now, walking through the streets with the Orphans, they were face to face with another belief entirely, the Blood Creed, a group that worshiped Glints as divine beings.
They stopped outside the cathedral, its tall doors marked with glowing runes and banners stitched with strange symbols.
Gale leaned against the wall, looking up at the massive cathedral. "Yeah, they think the Pink Fog's some kind of god or something. But for them, turning into a Glint is proof you've been blessed. Survive the change, and you're one of the chosen. They let anyone in, but only the strong get noticed. For most people, it's just something to hold on to… makes them feel like their suffering actually means something."
Thomas tilted his head. "So if I walk in there right now, they'd roll out a fancy carpet for me?"
Gale smirked. "With your Glint? Probably. They'd start singing before you even hit the first step."
Thomas shrugged. "Huh. I do like free praises."
Bryan sighed, crossing his arms. "We are not getting involved with a cult."
Vell nodded. "Good. Because even if you wanted in, they don't just let anyone near their leaders. You gotta earn it, and their trials? Yeah, not exactly friendly."
Thomas frowned, glancing back at the cathedral. "Sounds tough enough to join… but what if someone wants out?"
Gale rubbed the back of his neck. "That's the problem. A lot of people are leaving lately. The Fog Walkers are stealing their followers, and the Blood Creed doesn't like that. Losing people means losing control. They're not the type to take that quietly."
Thomas blinked. "So basically, they kill you."
Vell sighed. "Not always. Some just disappear, no one says anything. Others stop showing up, and then they're just… gone. A few make it out, but they don't talk about it. Whatever they saw or did, it messed them up."
For a moment, no one said anything. Vell looked up at the cathedral again. "After the meteor, Blood Creed kinda kept things from falling apart. They gave people something to hold onto. Some really believe in it. The rest? They just like being in charge."
Thomas gave the huge structure one last look and shrugged. "Yeah, sounds like trouble. Let's keep moving."
All throughout their walk around the city, Iris barely heard a word anyone said. The noise of the streets and the chatter of the others faded into the background. Her thoughts were somewhere else.
She had confirmed it earlier. Dante Graves, the man running this city, was the same Dante she once knew. She had pictured this moment many times, wondering what she would say or how she would feel, but now that it had happened, there was nothing. No spark. No ache. Just emptiness.
Had too much time passed? Or had she simply changed?
Her gaze drifted ahead, settling on Thomas as he walked a few steps in front of her. She caught herself watching the way he moved, the calm confidence in his stride.
Maybe it wasn't time that changed her. Maybe it was him.
As they turned down the next street, the cathedral bell rang, its deep sound echoing through the city.
Inside the Blood Creed cathedral, the air was filled with low murmurs. Priests, guards, and followers crowded the hall. Smoke from burning incense hung in the air while the light from the braziers flickered against the stained-glass walls.
At the altar stood High Priest Ezekiel. His voice boomed across the room.
"Faithful ones, I see it in your eyes! I hear it in your whispers! Our city has forgotten the truth!"
He scanned the crowd, his expression sharp with anger.
"The Fog Walkers spread their lies, and the weak believe them. They promise safety without transformation, protection in the fog. But tell me, when has the fog ever spared anyone? When has it ever shown mercy?"
Some nodded, others stayed quiet. Since the meteor fall, the Blood Creed had kept order in the city, giving people a reason to keep going. But now, things were changing. People were leaving, turning to the Fog Walkers and their beliefs.
At the back of the room, Father Gregor Graves stood with his arms crossed, watching in silence. He didn't need to raise his voice to understand what was happening.
The Graves Family relied on the Blood Creed to hold power over the city. If the Creed lost its followers, the balance would break. And neither the priests nor the city's leaders could afford that.
After the sermon, Ezekiel climbed to the upper balcony of the cathedral, his steps slow and heavy. His thoughts refused to quiet. The second pilgrimage had already left hours ago, swallowed by the fog. His words had done nothing to stop it. More would follow soon, more believers walking away from him. The idea made his stomach twist.
He leaned against the railing, looking down at the hall below. The priests spoke in hushed voices, their confidence fading. The cracks in their faith were spreading fast. Ezekiel clenched his jaw. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. The Blood Creed had been the city's foundation, the one thing holding the people together. Now, it was slipping away. The Fog Walkers were taking everything he built.
He closed his eyes, fighting the thought he had been avoiding. The whispers had reached him weeks ago, but he hadn't wanted to believe them. They said his son, Jonah, had joined the Fog Walkers.
He had told himself Jonah was gone, lost to the fog like so many others. But deep down, he knew better.
If Jonah was still alive, if he had truly become part of that heresy, then sooner or later, Ezekiel would have to face him.
And when that day came, there would be no mercy.
In the crowded market district, unease spread like wildfire. What had begun as quiet gossip that morning had now turned into panic.
Liam was gone.
He had been one of the city's most familiar faces, a food vendor who had worked the same stall since the meteor fall. Last week, he joined the first pilgrimage, stepping into the fog with the others, chasing the promise of something greater. But unlike some of them, he never came back. His stall stood empty now, the table bare, the smell of old spices still lingering in the air. And everyone knew he wasn't the first to vanish.
"He wasn't one of them," a woman whispered, clutching her apron. "He wasn't even religious. Why would he go with them?"
A man beside her shook his head. "He had a family. A business. He wasn't desperate like the rest. Why would he just walk into the fog?"
A younger vendor lowered his voice. "Maybe he didn't come back because he didn't want to. Maybe he stayed. Maybe he's one of them now."
No one replied. The market fell quiet, and for the first time, the fog that hung near the edge of the city seemed a little closer.
The second pilgrimage had returned.
Word spread fast. People filled the streets, lining the sidewalks as the group that had vanished into the fog began to reappear. They moved in perfect lines, their steps even and controlled, not a word spoken between them.
Elise stood near the front of the crowd, her eyes scanning the hooded figures as they marched past. Her hands gripped her sleeves tightly, her heart steady but tense.
Then she saw him, her brother.
He walked in the same line as the others, hood pulled low, face pale beneath the fabric. But he didn't stop. He didn't look at her. Didn't even seem to notice she was there.
Her breath hitched. "Liam," she whispered, but he kept walking, silent and unblinking.
Around her, others searched the faces under the hoods, trying to find people they knew. Some whispered names, some reached out, but the line didn't break. The pilgrims kept walking, one slow, steady step at a time, vanishing deeper into the city.
It was hard to tell who was missing until someone called out a name and no one answered.
A woman near the front shouted, her voice cracking. "Where's my son?!"
No one replied. None of the pilgrims even turned their heads.
The crowd shifted uneasily, the tension thick enough to feel. Something was wrong. The people who returned looked pale, their eyes distant and dull, their movements too smooth, too exact.
They didn't move like ordinary people anymore. Every step was the same, perfectly timed, as if they were all following the same unseen command.
Fear quickly turned into suspicion.
Then, for the first time since their return, one of the pilgrims moved.
A woman near the front turned her head slightly and spoke in a low voice.
"Those who didn't come back weren't true believers. The fog accepted us because we trusted it. We didn't fight it. We all saw the same Fades, but we stayed, and we were spared. The ones who ran were taken."
She faced forward again and kept walking with the rest of the group.
The crowd stayed still, watching them disappear into the city. No one followed.
Even after they were gone, no one spoke.