At 10 a.m.
in the city of Lumina—the capital of the Isola Empire—a mature woman walked toward a beautiful church.
The nearly all-white church was massive, stretching so wide it seemed endless.
Its exterior was beautifully decorated, radiating a warm, welcoming feeling.
The distressed woman had a visible bulge in her stomach.
Tear tracks streaked her face, and her eyes were bloodshot.
She headed for the wide-open doors of the church, where people flowed in and out.
Some were crying, some looked newly saved, and others just seemed empty.
The black-haired woman entered, her gaze sweeping the vast interior.
The ceiling soared above, with the walls decorated in scenes of people from all walks of life.
But she paid no mind to the sights; she was searching for someone specific.
Her brown eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on the person she sought.
A blond man with hazel eyes watched the congregation, a warm smile on his face.
Round glasses framed his features, giving him an intelligent look.
His smile seemed to radiate light, brightening the entire room—his very presence exuded positivity.
Nearly everyone gazed at him with smiles and awe, all vying for his attention at once.
“Priest Anvil, I had a dream about an eagle killing me.
Is it something bad?”
“Priest Anvil, please, can you touch my daughter?” a woman said, her voice filled with awe and devotion.
“Priest Anvil, my whole family got killed.
Can you pray for them, I beg you?” a crying man said.
“Priest Anvil.
Priest Anvil.”
People flocked to the priest like flies, bombarding him with questions.
Rather than swatting them away in annoyance, he answered every single one with patience and a smile.
The pregnant woman didn’t hesitate.
As soon as she spotted the priest, she shoved her way through the crowd, tears glistening in her eyes, desperation etched on her face.
When she finally reached the priest, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Hey, what are you doing?” a man screamed.
“Yeah, get off the priest, you whore!” another person yelled.
But the woman only clung tighter, burying her face in his chest.
Anvil looked shocked as the crowd’s insults grew louder.
Once Anvil recovered from his shock, he raised a hand to signal the crowd to calm down.
Instantly, the noise faded to silence.
Anvil gently placed a hand on the woman’s head and stroked her hair, his signature smile still in place.
She clung tighter to his shirt, her tears unending.
At last, Priest Anvil spoke.
The woman’s sobs didn’t stop, but she tried to speak between cries.
“S-six months ago.
Three different men assaulted m-me…
at the s-same time.” Some of the crowd’s curious looks turned pitiful as they watched the pregnant woman, already understanding where this was headed.
“When I finally got them in prison, I-I thought it was over, t-t-that…” She paused, a sob escaping her lips.
“That I could live my life normally.” Her sobs grew heavier, tears spilling onto the floor.
“It’s alright, take your time.
I’m not in a hurry,” the priest said, stroking her hair, his warm smile still on his lips.
The woman’s tears slowed, and she continued her story.
“Three months ago, I realised my belly had gotten bigger.
In desperation, I chalked it up to gaining weight, and I lived in that delusion for three months.
B-But one week ago, I realised there was no hiding it.”
Her face twisted with hatred, grief, revulsion, and every kind of conflicting emotion.
“I was pregnant with one of my assaulter’s children.”
Many in the crowd gasped in horror and pity.
Some even cried for her.
They all understood what this meant: in Lumina’s faith, abortion was forbidden—she was trapped with a curse she couldn’t undo.
The priest’s smile didn’t waver as he gently patted her shoulder.
“It’s going to be alright.
Never forget this: whatever you’re going through, God is the best of planners, and he won’t burden a soul with more than it could handle.” After the woman heard those words, she seemed to calm again as she stopped clinging to the priest’s shirt.
“Priest Anvil?”
“Yes.”
“Can I please hold your hand?”
“Well, of course.” He extended his hand.
The woman grabbed it, and as soon as she did, his eyes widened in shock before he masked it with a smile.
He glanced at the small purple stone in his palm and quickly slipped it into his pocket before anyone else could see.
He signalled to one of the nuns, who hurried over.
He whispered something in her ear, and she nodded.
The nun took the pregnant woman’s hand and guided her away.
“Thank you, priest,” she said, gratitude shining in her eyes before she disappeared.
Minutes after she left, the priest excused himself.
He slipped away from the reluctant crowd and made his way deep into the church, descending a staircase into the basement.
The same nun from before stood in front of a door, patiently waiting.
“Is she in there?”
“Yes, Priest Anvil,” the nun replied, her tone detached.
“Good.
Don’t let anyone in.” The nun nodded and stepped aside as the priest entered.
When he stepped inside, the pregnant woman was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, a young, grey-haired woman with hazel eyes lounged in a chair, tossing a small purple stone into the air and catching it.
Anvil approached and sat across from her.
The smile that had never left his face faded as he furrowed his brows.
“Who are you?” His tone carried a clear warning.
The woman stood and spoke without hesitation.
“Oh, where are my manners?” She bowed deeply.
“I greet the fifth seat of the council—the Seat of Passions—Oscar Lightheart.”
Priest Anvil—Oscar Lightheart—scrutinised the woman, but she continued without pause.
“My name is Raven—no second name—and I am the successor to the Second Seat of Destruction, Cosmoas Dusker.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes, killing intent radiating from him.
“The Seat of Destruction doesn’t have a successor.
Don’t lie to me again.
Now, who are you really?”
The woman couldn’t hide how the killing intent affected her; sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breathing grew heavier—but she kept speaking nonetheless.
“Seat-holder Oscar, with all due respect, you’re mistaken.”
“Am I mistaken?”
“Yes, Fifth Seat.
You might not have been informed yet, but I recently became a successor.”
Oscar furrowed his brows.
“You want me to believe that maniac took in a successor?
And a one-star at that?
He loathes weakness—yet he picked such a weak girl as his successor?”
“Yes.
Master said he saw potential in me,” she replied, unfazed by his tone.
He sighed.
“Well, that would explain how you know about the operation—but I’ll still need to check if you’re really the successor to the Seat of Destruction.”
“Sorry, sir, but I’m short on time.
I need to tell you why I’m here—and it’s urgent.” Oscar tilted his head.
“Urgent?
What’s so urgent a successor has to come here in person?”
“It’s about the Eight-Star Dragaoth family.” She paused, nervousness flickering across her face.
“Specifically, Regnar Dragaoth—the head of the Dragaoth family.” Oscar Lightheart instantly straightened.
Sweat broke out on Oscar’s forehead.
“What about him?” he asked quickly.
Raven hesitated, then answered.
“He’s found out about the Star Dust Group.” When Oscar heard those words, all the colour drained from his face—he nearly fainted.
A/N
Please leave a comment.
sry for the short chapter.