The desolate hues of dust and faded green vanished, abruptly replaced by an expanse of stark white and gold that reflected a blinding light.
The convoy slowed to a halt before a colossal pass. It rose like the arm of a titan, built from a milky, luminescent stone veined with flowing, intricate patterns of gold that climbed toward cloud-piercing walls. The air no longer carried the scent of earth and wind-blown grit, but a strange amalgam—cloying incense, the cold tang of metal, and a low, resonant hum, as if energy itself were vibrating.
A unit of the Auric Guard, their armor more ornate and capes embroidered with complex circular motifs, stood waiting. Their captain exchanged low, terse words with the leader of Erika's convoy. Then the visiting captain produced a palm-sized rhomboid crystal, fitting it into a corresponding slot on the great gate.
"By the Ring, we are guided. By the Light, we walk," the receiving captain intoned, his voice solemn.
"Hearts toward eternity, bodies bound by Law," Erika's captain responded, pressing a smaller, similar crystal to his own chest.
A deep thrum resonated through the air. The golden tracery on the massive, seemingly seamless gate flared to life, flowing with light as if given breath. Silently, the great doors slid inward, revealing the vista beyond.
Was this… the Holy Sanctum?
For the first time since her capture, Erika's numb gaze was forced to register the outside world. A boulevard wide enough for ten wagons stretched ahead, paved with polished white stone, impossibly clean. Buildings lined it, uniform in their grand, white-and-gold architecture, their vast crystal windows glittering under the sun. The streets teemed with people dressed in neat, bright clothing, their faces mostly wearing expressions of calm, even contentment. Vendors in designated areas hawked their wares—food, cloth, small artifacts that shimmered with a faint, enchanted light. Patrols of the Auric Guard marched in perfect step, and the crowds parted for them with reverence in their eyes, not the raw fear Erika had known in the village.
There was no mud here, no decay, none of the grinding struggle for survival that had defined her memory. Everything was order, plenty, even… levity. It felt a world apart from the golden pillar that had scoured her home from the earth.
Drawing little attention, the convoy moved onto a side lane. Just then, the curtain of Erika's wagon was drawn aside, and the captain in charge of her detail climbed in.
He observed her silent form for a long moment, then sighed. Reaching out, his fingers went to the emblem on her chest—the one that had pulsed with that faint, constant rhythm. His nail found an almost invisible catch on its edge and pressed.
A soft click.
The connection to her garment released. He lifted the emblem away and sealed it inside a lead-lined box, closing the lid with a definitive snap.
A sensation, indescribable, washed over Erika.
It was as if packed cotton had been ripped from her ears—the sounds of the world rushed in, sharp and almost painful. A weight she had grown accustomed to carrying vanished, leaving her body feeling strangely light, unmoored. The persistent thrum, that second heartbeat at her core, was gone. A silence she had forgotten belonged to her returned to her mind.
Fragmented thoughts cracked and shifted like a thawing river. Who am I? Erika… shepherd… the village… the light… destruction… the numb journey… the little sister…
She still did not speak or move dramatically, but the dead emptiness in her eyes shifted. A faint focus returned as she began, truly, to see the alien world outside the wagon.
The captain seemed to expect this. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a routine murmur. "Listen, boy. Whatever you were before, you're in the Sanctum now. The 'Light of All Lights,' the 'Wellspring of Law.' Bury any foolish thoughts you're holding onto."
He gestured outside. "You see it. The peak of civilization. The filth and chaos of the old days are gone. Here, obey the Law, and you'll find peace. Maybe even… honor."
His gaze drifted toward a particularly grand complex, above which a massive golden orb hovered in the air. "See that? 'Angel's descent,' where the angels slumber and replenish their sacred power. It's because of them this city knows eternal peace."
The convoy finally stopped before a quiet, yet imposing white structure. It lacked the ostentation of the main thoroughfare but radiated a solemn, serene authority. Above its door was carved a symbol of knowledge and piety: an open book, encircled by a simple ring.
"The priory, adjacent to the Clerical Division," the captain said, pulling the wagon door open and motioning for Erika to disembark. "You'll learn the foundational Laws here. Purify your mind and body. You'll stay until the Clerics decide you're ready."
Erika stepped down, her movements stiff. The smooth, cold touch of the white pavement under her feet felt unreal. She lifted her head, her eyes drawn into the priory's deep, shadowed portico, staring into the face of a future she could not yet see.
The silence within the priory felt like a separate world from the city's distant hum. The air was cool, carrying the clean scent of stone and the faint, ancient odors of wax and old parchment. The robed brother guiding her moved with a light, steady pace, the hem of his black robes whispering over polished flagstones without a sound.
Erika followed, her gaze drifting over everything. Soaring arches. Walls inscribed with intricate, orderly patterns of the Auric Mark. Unlike the harsh glare of the village altar, these emanated a constant, subdued glow, like the pulse of a sleeping giant. Occasionally, other figures in plain white habits drifted past with downcast eyes, silent as ghosts.
She was led to a simple room. A bed, a desk, a chair, a small kneeler for prayer. Nothing more. The window was set high in the wall, long and narrow, casting a cold shaft of light that illuminated dust motes drifting in slow motion.
"Wait here in contemplation until you are summoned," the brother said, and then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
Absolute silence enveloped her.
She walked to the center of the room and stood, uncertain. With the emblem removed, its constant pulse and warmth were gone, replaced by a strange lightness and… a deeper emptiness. It was as if a chain she hadn't fully felt had been cut, and only now did she realize she had almost forgotten how to stand freely.
Fragmented memories clashed in her mind: the wasteland wind, the soldiers' leering faces, the golden pillar that annihilated her home, the small, trembling figure by the fire, the heavy numbness of the wagon journey… and finally, the fleeting, concerned face at the window.
Why was she here?
Then, a sound—the faintest, most careful of footsteps, pausing just outside her door. A hesitant, gentle knock.
Erika's body went still. She didn't answer.
The door creaked open a sliver. The little sister's face peered in. Seeing Erika standing there, she seemed to relax slightly, though a nervous apprehension still lingered in her eyes. She carried a wooden tray holding a cup of water and a small piece of dark bread.
Slipping inside quickly, she closed the door behind her, moving like a startled creature. She set the tray on the desk, retreated two steps, and wrung her hands, staring at the floor.
"May… may the Light grant you peace," she whispered, the standard greeting.
She risked a glance upward, studying Erika. She seemed to note the faint light returning to his eyes, the fact he was actually looking at her, not just staring through her. It seemed to give her a shred of courage.
"I… I saw you arrive. They… they asked me to bring water and food to the new… learners." She gestured weakly at the tray, then dropped her gaze again. "This place… the priory… it's safe. You… you should rest."
Erika remained silent, but his eyes moved from her face to the cup of water. His throat was painfully dry.
After a moment, receiving no response but no dismissal either, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. "If… if you need anything, you can… tell the brother on duty. Or…" She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost to herself. "Or… if you see me… you could…"
She trailed off, as if realizing she had overstepped, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She gave a quick, slight bow, not meeting his eyes, and turned. As quietly as she had entered, she slipped out, carefully pulling the door shut.
Erika was alone again.
Slowly, he walked to the desk and picked up the cup. The cool water soothed his parched throat, a small, tangible comfort. He looked at the closed door, her unfinished sentence echoing in his mind.
Or… if you see me…
In this vast, alien, rule-bound city of light, within this cold stone cell, the little sister—whose name he still did not know—felt like the last, thin, unbroken thread connecting him to the world of suffering and reality he had left behind.
His fingers tightened around the clay cup, feeling its rough texture.
Silence remained his only shield. But beneath it, something had begun to shift.
Night drowned the Holy Sanctum, and the priory's silence deepened, thick enough to swallow sound. Erika lay on the hard cot, staring at the strip of city-tainted sky—a dull purple through the high window. The day's chaos had settled, but in the quiet, a deeper unease stirred.
Then—a tremor. Faint, rising through the stone of the bed. Not a physical shaking, but a ripple of energy.
He held his breath, listening.
A low hum at first. But then, fragments emerged. Voices, distorted as if through layers of rock and warding, seeping directly into his awareness. Hollow, echoing.
A voice he could never forget, light now, almost mocking—Preceptor Balthasar:
"…Yes, the child is secure. In the priory. All proceeded smoothly."
A pause, as if listening.
Then Balthasar again, with a knowing, cruel amusement: "Set your mind at ease. He will soon forget it all. The dirt, the sheep, those quaint primitive beliefs… all washed away by pure Light. Most struggle at first. They resist. Even you, my dear colleague, went through this once, did you not? Hah…"
The laughter twisted, ugly in the transmission.
"But in the end, they all understand. They cast those useless things aside. We know what they truly want—peace, order, the strength of belonging. It merely requires… time, and the right guidance."
A brief silence. Then Balthasar's tone shifted, shading into something raw. "Speaking of which… has the capital grown too comfortable? Our energy supply… bah, barely enough to maintain this eternal propriety. This meticulous accounting… tedious. It has been too long since I last tasted a proper, direct harvest. The sheer power of it… that was true fulfillment."
The connection severed. The hum vanished. The room was silent once more.
Only the frantic beat of Erika's own heart remained, pounding in the dead quiet.
He sat up sharply, his back slick with cold sweat.
The child… Him?
Forget everything?
Even you? The one speaking with Balthasar… had they been through this too?
And… harvest?
The word struck him like a poisoned needle. The city's daytime glamour—its order, its peace—shattered, revealing the abyss beneath, connected directly to the golden pillar that had consumed his home.
He wasn't here to learn.
He was here to be erased.
And this city of light, beneath its eternal propriety, was thirsty for more.
Erika curled inward, arms locking around his knees. Fear gripped him, cold and sharp. But deep within that fear, something harder began to form—a instinct to survive, a refusal of the force that sought to obliterate his past.
He would remember. The feel of dirt. The sheep. The searing gold. The face of the nameless little sister who had prayed for him.
He would not forget.