The church of Skariz was not a temple anymore, not really. It had been rebuilt from ruin and fire, its glass shattered, its pews mismatched and scorched. But for the Knights of Light, it was home, what was left of one.
Dozens stood before the altar: men and women hardened by years of hiding, of fighting shadows with shadows. Talon faced them, his silhouette framed by what remained of the stained window. Outside, rain pressed against the roof like restless fingers.
He raised his voice, deep and clear, carrying through the hall.
"The Valval Priesthood tells you the Light judges," he said. "That it burns the wicked and saves the pure. But the Light does not choose. It does not bless, or condemn. It simply is."
His gaze swept the crowd, sharp as a blade.
"They've stolen something holy and made it a weapon. Every man they execute, every village they erase, they claim the Light willed it. But the Light is blind to sin and faith alike, it shines on all, or on none."
A murmur spread. One woman began to nod. Then another. The noise swelled, hands clapping, boots striking the floor, voices shouting his name.
Talon didn't smile. He let them shout, but his eyes stayed cold. Passion was good for morale; it did little for survival.
When the applause faded, he stepped down from the altar, cloak brushing the cracked floor. The candlelight caught the scar running along his jaw, a pale line like a map of the battles he'd lost.
In his office, he sank into the chair behind his old oak desk. The air smelled of paper, dust, and damp stone. He traced the map of Dromo with two fingers, following the jagged coastline until they stopped on the mark he'd circled in red: Bondrea.
They couldn't stay in Skariz much longer. Too many whispers, too many faces showing up at night with stories of soldiers searching door to door. The Priesthood was moving inland, closer every day.
He closed his eyes. We'll have to move before they see us coming.
Then came the noise: footsteps in the nave, doors bursting open, voices shouting his name.
"Talon! You need to see this!"
He was on his feet instantly, pushing through the corridor until the scent of blood hit him. The hall was chaos. Dozens were arriving, some limping, others carried by their comrades. Their armor was torn, their faces pale with exhaustion.
He recognized a few from the southern front. Others he'd never seen before.
"Klud!" Talon caught a man by the shoulder, holding him steady. "What happened? Where's the rest of your unit?"
Klud's breath came in ragged bursts. "They found us," he rasped. "We barely made it out. At least ten of us didn't."
Talon's jaw tightened. "How did this happened?"
Before Klud could answer, a voice rose from behind, smooth, sardonic, unmistakable.
"Oh, come on, don't start scolding him. He did what he could," said Digiera, stepping out from the crowd. Her dark coat was soaked through, her lip split, a smear of blood across her temple. "If you're looking for someone to blame, you're looking at her."
Talon's eyes locked on hers. "I am looking at you," he said quietly.
Her smirk faltered just a little. "We were ambushed. Someone talked. Someone always does. But we got most of them out alive."
"Most," Talon repeated, voice like stone. "You were in charge, Digiera. You were supposed to keep them out of sight, not lead a parade into Bondrea's sewers."
Digiera's shoulders lifted in a careless shrug, though her jaw twitched. "Next time I'll ask the Valval Priesthood for their schedule before I move, shall I?"
Klud flinched at the tension. Talon didn't raise his voice, but the air in the hall turned heavier.
"Enough," he said finally. "We'll discuss your tactics later. Tell me what I need to know."
Digiera hesitated, then leaned closer. "They were ready for us, Talon. They knew we were coming. Someone on the inside warned them.
"Who?"
"I don't know, and i know this looks bad" She said" But…" Her smirk returned, faint but real. "There's one thing you'll want to hear."
Talon folded his arms. "Go on."
"The girl that was with the old man you sent," Digiera said. "She's alive, and she's not just alive. She used it."
Talon's eyes narrowed. "Used what?"
"The Light," she said simply. "The real thing. I saw it with my own eyes. The Priesthood calls it divine. I call it terrifying."
For a moment, no one breathed. The only sound was the dripping of rain through the roof.
"Gemma?...The one with Aros?"
"Yes"
Talon stepped back, the faintest flicker of something crossing his face, hope, maybe, or disbelief. Then he nodded slowly.
"After everything we've lost," he said, "finally, a reason to move forward."
He looked over the wounded again, at their faces streaked with grime and faith and fear. "Get everyone patched up," he said finally. "We wait for the rest to return. When they do, we decide our next move."
Digiera tilted her head. "No Bondrea?"
Talon's jaw tightened. "Bondrea's compromised. Whatever happened there, the Priesthood knows. If we walk into that city now, we're walking into a grave."
He looked past her, to the cracked stained glass where the rain drew silver veins across the colors. "We'll find another place to stand," he murmured. "One they don't expect."
Digiera smirked faintly, though her eyes betrayed fatigue. "You've always liked gambling with ghosts."
Talon ignored her tone. He turned toward his office, shoulders heavy with command. The murmurs of the wounded filled the church behind him: tired voices clinging to hope.
The Light had returned, but not as the Priesthood knew it.And for the first time in years, Talon wasn't sure if that was a blessing… or a warning.