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A knock at the door startled Father Lucas awake. Groggy and still more asleep than alert, he mumbled, “Who could it be at this hour?”
When he opened the door and saw Orion standing there, concern crept into his voice. “Were you too late to help Melissa?”
Orion shook his head. “I helped her. But we have another matter to discuss.” His tone was grim, making it clear this was going to be a long night. “We found the Usher.”
Father Lucas held his breath. “Please don’t say…”
“No, he’s not coming here,” Orion interrupted, offering a small measure of relief. “He’s near the township of Stennor.”
Lucas stepped aside, letting Orion inside. As he lit a few candles to brighten the dim room, he hesitated before asking, “What does Lady Rhaine have to say about this?” His voice carried the hope that she had reconsidered her decision.
Orion shook his head, shame heavy in his voice. “Lady Rhaine refuses to budge. She’s willing to let these people die.” His words carried a quiet fury, his resolve hardening with each syllable. “I saw firsthand the destruction of Dren,” he continued, his fists clenching at the memory. “How can I stand by and let this happen again?”
Father Lucas had asked himself the same question. He let out a weary sigh as he sat at the table. “You’re at a crossroads, Orion,” he said, his voice heavy with thought. “And I don’t think I’m the one who can tell you what to do.” He paused to wipe the sleep from his eyes before continuing, “The real question is—what kind of person are you? What decision can you live with?”
Orion sat in thoughtful silence before finally speaking. “I can’t just sit back and let these people be slaughtered,” he said, his voice steady with realization. “Maybe I can get some of them out in time… even if it means I die trying.”
Father Lucas studied him carefully. “Then you’re willing to be arrested by the Church if you fail?” he asked, wanting Orion to be certain of his decision.
Orion met Lucas’ gaze without hesitation. “If I fail, then I’ll accept whatever punishment the Church decrees,” he said. “But with every step toward the executioner, I will condemn them—curse them for being cowards in their duty to protect their own people.”
Father Lucas felt a surge of pride at Orion’s resolve. “Then let me bless you, Brother Orion,” he said, rising to his feet.
He placed a firm hand on Orion’s head and closed his eyes. “I ask the Creator to watch over this shepherd as he tends to His flock. Grant him the strength to see this through, and may he save the people of Stennor.” His voice was steady, filled with conviction.
When he opened his eyes, Lucas traced the sign of the Creator on Orion’s forehead with his fingers. “Praise the Creator.”
Orion stood, his expression resolute. “Thank you for everything, Lucas. If this is the last time we see each other, I want you to know that I have the utmost respect for you. You are far better than the Council of the Church,” he said, clasping Father Lucas’s hand in a firm shake.
Lucas held onto Orion’s hand for a moment longer. “To be so young and have the courage to defy the Church in such a way… No, Orion. It is I who respects you.”
With that, Orion departed into the night.
Left alone, Father Lucas returned to his chambers, kneeling before the statue of the Creator. Bowing his head, he whispered, “I did what you asked of me. Orion is going to confront the Usher—just as you ordered. Please… keep my people safe.”
He closed his eyes, the weight of his actions heavy upon him.
“Forgive me, Orion.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A commotion stirred at the gates of Trendell as a bound rider on horseback approached. The guards tensed, recognizing the figure slumped against the saddle. It was Father Eli—the priest Tyler had interrogated about the Church’s movements. Under relentless torture, Eli had revealed everything he knew. Once satisfied, Tyler had mutilated him—gouging out his eyes, severing his nose and tongue—before tying him to a horse and sending him back. A note was pinned to his back with a knife, its message scrawled in crude, mocking letters:
"Come find me. —Tyler"
"That’s Father Eli!" one of the church members gasped.
They rushed to pull him from the horse, carrying his battered body toward the nearby hospital. But Eli thrashed in their grasp, his broken mind unable to comprehend safety.
Sister Roselle, one of the attending nurses, knelt beside him, her voice soft with desperation. "Father, please," she pleaded, pressing a gentle hand to his trembling arm. "Let us help you."
Eli thrashed again, his body reacting on instinct, but the softness of Sister Roselle’s touch was different—it wasn’t like Tyler’s. His breathing slowed, the raw panic in his movements fading into weary resignation.
"We need to clean your wounds, Father," Roselle said gently. "And we need to remove the knife as well."
At the mention of the knife, Eli shook his head violently. He gestured frantically with his hands, signaling that he needed to write. Understanding, Roselle hurried to fetch parchment and a quill.
Eli groaned as he forced himself to steady his trembling hands, his body wracked with pain. With labored effort, he scrawled on the parchment. When he was finished, his message was chilling.
At the center of the page, he had drawn the twisted symbol of Annihilation.
Beneath it, in shaky letters, he had written: "Silver Falls."
One of the church members sprinted toward the Council chambers, Father Rowland following closely behind. He needed to hear for himself what the Council would decide.
Inside, the Council spoke with unwavering authority. "We will dispatch a thousand more troops to reinforce Lady Rhaine. Her new orders are clear—she is to kill Tyler Langston, the Harbinger."
Couriers were summoned immediately, their orders strict: Silver Falls was now off-limits to all common folk.
Father Rowland stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with unease. "How can the Council expect Rhaine to kill the Harbinger? The Scriptures warn that it can wear the guise of sinner and saint alike."
The Council’s patience had worn thin. "We are well aware of our own Scriptures, Father Rowland," one of the elders snapped. "And we grow weary of your insubordination. Lady Rhaine will take the forces at her command, along with those en route, and seal off Silver Falls..."
A heavy pause hung in the air before the final decree was given.
"Then, she will burn it. Every building. Every resident."
The vision of the Church in ruins flashed through Rowland’s mind once more. And now, hearing the Council’s decree, the truth crashed over him like a tidal wave.
"This Council is insane! You’re all being manipulated by dark forces!" Rowland bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber.
Gasps rippled among the gathered clergy.
"Arrest that man!" one of the Council members ordered, his tone sharp and final.
Guards surged forward, seizing Rowland by the arms, but he thrashed against their grip. His fury was unshaken.
"You are the one who should be arrested, Grandfather Lewiston!" he roared, his voice filled with righteous fire. "You are in league with Hell itself!"
His words rang through the hall even as they dragged him away, his resistance only making their grip tighten. With every step toward the prison cell, Rowland knew one thing with certainty—this was no longer the Church he had sworn to serve.
Later on that evening, Father Rowland was found dead, he died under mysterious circumstances
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