The Vision
At first, Thecla thought she was dreaming.
The room around her — the cracked walls of the old guest suite inside Shomon Hotel — seemed to dissolve into a veil of light that breathed like mist. She had been praying, kneeling by the window, whispering for strength. The pendant she wore against her chest had grown warm — not burning, but alive — pulsing to a rhythm that didn't belong to this world.
Then the light swallowed everything.
The cold damp of the hotel faded, replaced by warmth that poured from above like liquid gold. She opened her eyes and found herself standing on a boundless plain of light. There was no sky, no ground, only radiance that moved like water — alive, pure, infinite. A sound filled the air, not music, but harmony ,the very hum of creation itself.
She gasped softly.
"Am I dead?"
A voice answered, gentle yet vast. "No, child. You are being reminded."
She turned.
A figure stood before her, majestic and immeasurable. He was robed in a fabric of white that defied description, shimmering like crystal flame and holding the light captive. His form was definitive, yet His face was hidden within a corona of such blinding, focused brightness that to look upon it felt like trying to grasp infinity. But His hands, outstretched slightly in a gesture of welcome—she saw them clearly. At the centre of each palm, deep and radiant, were the nail scars, glowing arcs of gold that were the source and focus of all the light surrounding them.
Her knees weakened instantly. All her strength, all her desperate human resolve, evaporated into profound awe. She fell forward, not out of weakness, but in absolute, worshipful submission. "My Lord," she breathed, the title heavy with a truth she had always known, but now felt as reality.
The Man of Light approached, His steps soundless across the boundless field. He was the only object in the infinite space that felt solid, real, and anchored. When His fingers, tipped by the glowing scars, lightly touched her brow, Thecla felt a peace she hadn't known was possible ripple through her entire being like an irreversible tide. It was a cleansing, a healing, a sudden certainty that broke the grip of all fear.
"The city you call Shinshigan," He said softly, "was built upon remembrance and pride. It glittered, but its heart grew hollow. The works of men began to echo louder than the whispers of Heaven."
She trembled as she listened. Around them, the light shifted, forming visions in its folds — towers rising and falling, rivers running red, and the Shomon Hotel — a dark spire bleeding shadow into the world.
"The decay you see," the voice continued, "is not of stone, but of spirit. The Host feeds upon pride and despair, twisting what was made to be pure. Its breath brings silence where joy once sang."
Thecla felt tears gather in her eyes. "Then what can we do? Marcus is still out there… trying to save everyone. But the darkness keeps spreading."
The Lord's light pulsed gently.
"I have already brought salvation," He said, "but salvation is not the absence of pain — it is the triumph through it."
As He spoke, the light around them bent, forming rivers of gold that flowed toward her feet, rising in spirals. Within their glow, she saw glimpses — Marcus driving through the mist, Lila clutching the pendant, Elias whispering prayers under his breath.
"The time of choice has come," the Lord said. "The light you bear was not given for guidance alone. It is the final key. It is the sword of My sacred will, made manifest in your world."
The visions of her friends vanished, and the space focused entirely on Thecla and the Divine.
"When the heart of corruption reveals itself, it will seek to devour you completely—to make you doubt My promise, to poison the memory of My love, and to claim the very hope in your breast. But the light will purge anything that stains My sacred will, anything that is rooted in the lie of the Host's power."
Thecla looked down. The pendant around her neck was no longer just a jewel — it was a seed of the same light that filled this realm. Its glow matched the scars in His hands.
"I'm afraid," she whispered,, the word escaping her before she could hold it back, shame rising instantly
He smiled — not with lips, but with light. "Courage is not the absence of fear, Thecla. It is fear, offered to Me."
The space around her began to tremble. The harmony deepened into a powerful chord that vibrated through her chest. The light grew brighter, sharper, until it pierced even her closed eyes.
"My child," said the voice, "tell them this: The end is not the fall — it is the cleansing. The light will not destroy what is Mine. It will renew it."
Then the brilliance cracked — reality seeping back through like ink through paper. Thecla fell backward as if pulled by gravity. The sound of the choir faded, replaced by thunder.
When she opened her eyes again, she was back in the hotel.
The room was shaking violently. Dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling.
The windowpane that had been cracked was now completely shattered, glass shards sprayed across the floor like frozen rain.
Outside, the sky had erupted. Great, monstrous clouds churned, and jagged streaks of violet lightning sliced the darkness, striking the upper floors of the hotel itself.
The pendant at her throat blazed like a captured star, its intense glow cutting a beam through the dim, oppressive corridors of the hotel.
"The light will purge anything that stains His will…" she whispered, clutching it to her chest. "The heart must be found… and destroyed. "
She stood, her legs trembling from the psychic shock but her spirit infused with an ironclad resolve. The peace had gone, replaced by an urgent, necessary terror. She could feel it now, the pulse beneath the hotel floorboards—faint, but undeniably alive, like a sleeping beast that had finally begun to dream of conquest.
She turned toward the interior of the hotel, where Anne slept fitfully and where John kept silent watch, unaware of the cosmic storm that had just raged around her.
"Lord," she whispered, "guide Marcus… guide all of us. And give me the strength to stand ready."
The pendant pulsed once — a single, perfect heartbeat of light.