The bells of the High Capital tolled like war drums.
Slow.
Heavy.
Ominous.
From the moment Aiden stepped off the teleportation platform, the weight of a thousand gazes pressed against him—whispers sliding through the air like blades.
"Is that him…?"
"The new Prophet…"
"The one the Pope summoned personally."
Aiden ignored them all.
His cloak fluttered behind him, black turning silver beneath the morning sun as though stitched with starlight. His steps were calm—eerily calm in a street filled with tension so thick it strangled the lungs.
Because the capital was shaking.
Not visibly—politically.
The religious noble family, every church faction, remaining knight order and mage sect… all were bracing for something monumental. The summons the Pope issued was not routine.
It was a declaration.
A shift.
A storm.
Aiden smirked faintly.
Perfect timing.
