The cathedral lay in broken silence.
Dust drifted through shafts of fading daylight. Shattered glass glittered on the floor like fallen stars. The rift in the ceiling had closed to a thin, glowing scar; no more angels descended. The remaining heavenly host had withdrawn—wounded, diminished, retreating to whatever shattered halls still stood beyond the sky.
Elias knelt beside Lucian.
The boy's breathing was shallow, ragged. Silver hair clung to his sweat-damp forehead. The white robe was torn and stained with ash and blood—his own and others'. Bruises bloomed across his cheekbones and throat where golden light had burned through skin during the clash. Yet his face, even now, held that same gentle openness that had once convinced thousands he was blessed.
Elias reached out—hesitant—brushing silver strands from Lucian's eyes.
Lucian stirred.
Hazel eyes fluttered open—dim, exhausted, but unmistakably his own.
"Eli…" The word was barely a breath.
"I'm here."
Lucian's small hand lifted—trembling—found Elias's wrist. His fingers were cold.
"I saw… everything." His voice cracked. "Him. Inside me. All the years. All the prayers. I thought… I thought I was saving people."
Tears slipped down his temples into his hair.
"I wasn't."
Elias swallowed hard. "You were used. Like the rest of us."
Lucian shook his head—weakly. "No. I let him. I wanted to be needed. I wanted to be… good."
His gaze drifted upward to the cracked dome, to the faint golden scar still pulsing in the stone.
"He's still here. Waiting. Watching."
Elias felt the golden cracks on his own skin pulse in answer—faint, foreign, but present.
"I know."
Lucian's grip tightened—sudden, desperate.
"Then help me end it."
Elias froze.
Lucian's eyes—clear now, human, terrified—locked on his.
"Kill me. Before he uses me again. Before he opens the gates. Before he makes me hurt anyone else."
The words landed like a blade between Elias's ribs.
"I can't—"
"You can." Lucian's voice broke. "You stopped him once. You can stop this. Please."
Elias looked down at the boy—fifteen years old, small, fragile, carrying the weight of a fallen angel and centuries of lies.
Behind him, the others watched—silent.
Elara's hands clenched at her sides. Behemoth stood like a monolith, face unreadable. Liora's shadows curled close to Lucian, protective for the first time.
Elias lifted his right hand.
Black flames flickered along his fingers—small, cold, obedient.
Lucian closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered.
The flames grew—slowly, reluctantly—coiling toward Lucian's chest.
But before they touched skin—
Lucian's eyes snapped open.
Gold flooded in—bright, furious, absolute.
The boy's body arched.
Golden wings erupted once more—smaller now, tattered, but still radiant.
Lucifer's voice rolled out—deep, beautiful, enraged.
No.
The black flames recoiled as though burned.
Lucifer sat up—Lucian's body moving like a puppet jerked upright. One hand clamped around Elias's wrist—golden light searing through skin.
"You will not take him from me."
Elias tried to pull away—couldn't.
Pain flared—white-hot, blinding.
The golden cracks on his own body ignited—spreading, burning, linking him to Lucian like chains of light.
Lucifer leaned close—Lucian's face inches from Elias's—gold eyes blazing.
"You think mercy saves him? Mercy only prolongs the suffering."
He released Elias's wrist.
The boy collapsed again—wings vanishing, gold fading, hazel returning in a rush of tears and gasps.
Lucian curled into himself—sobbing, small, broken.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
Elias staggered back—hand pressed to his chest where the golden cracks still glowed faintly.
The cathedral was quiet now—truly quiet.
No angels. No flames. No shadows moving without permission.
Only four vessels and one shattered saint.
Elias looked at the others.
Elara stepped forward—slowly—kneeling beside Lucian. She laid one hand on his shoulder. Water gathered in her palm—cool, soothing—washing blood and ash from his face.
Behemoth moved to block the broken doors—standing guard.
Liora crouched near Lucian's head—shadows softening around him like a blanket.
Elias stayed where he was—watching.
Lucian's sobs quieted to hiccupping breaths.
Then—soft, barely audible—he began to speak.
Not a prayer of the Church.
Not Lucifer's words.
His own.
"Lord of Light… whoever you really are… if you're listening…"
His voice trembled.
"…please… let it end. Let us go. Let him go. Let Eli go. Let it all… just… stop."
The final words hung in the air.
No answer came.
No golden light flared.
No rift reopened.
Only silence.
And in that silence, the golden cracks on Elias's skin dimmed—faintly, slowly—but did not vanish.
Lucifer was still there.
Watching.
Waiting.
But for the first time, the boy had prayed without him.
And the cathedral—broken, bleeding, holy no longer—held its breath.
Outside, the plaza had gone quiet.
The war had paused.
But it had not ended.
And somewhere far above, beyond the closed scar in the sky, an indifferent eye blinked once.
Curious.
For the first time.
End of Chapter 23