"Ignatious," Aubin whispered, as reverently as he'd speak the name of one of the Great Prophet's Ascended Followers.
His eyes were fixed on the blade, on the burning suns that adorned the sheath, and on the figure-eight of interlocking suns embroidered on the young man's antiquated robes, a symbol that hadn't been worn by any member of the Inquisition in living memory.
It couldn't be him. The High Inquisitor Ignatious had disappeared more than eighty years ago, during the Brothers' War, after the Demon Lady of the Vale launched an attack that killed dozens of Inquisitors and Templars in a single night. The Church had mourned him as a martyr, a hero who had fallen in battle against the greatest evil the faith had ever faced.
But if it wasn't him, then who was the young man carrying the Holy Flame Blade as if it weighed nothing, wearing robes that hadn't been seen in a hundred years, and summoning Holy Fire with a casual ease that no living Inquisitor could match?
