Grand banners bearing Lumisiel’s sigil billowed in the summer wind, their white fabric catching the sunlight until it seemed to glow from within. Candles blazed in broad daylight, their steady flames untroubled by the breeze. Bells tolled from the cathedral spire, their deep chimes rolling through the streets like waves.
The square swelled with energy, not the tense anticipation of war but the vibrant pulse of a festival. Flower petals drifted from upper windows, catching in the hair of the crowd below. The scent of incense mingled with the warm aroma of baking bread from nearby vendors, and somewhere in the distance, a choir sang a slow, rising hymn.
Paladins stood in perfect formation at the base of the dais, shields polished to a mirror sheen, their armor etched with runes that caught the sunlight in brief, dazzling flares. Behind them, Saints and high clergy flanked the Pope, each bearing their own relics and symbols of Lumisiel’s favor.
High above, perched upon the cathedral’s highest arch, a white-feathered chimera watched the crowd with unblinking golden eyes. Its lion forequarters were draped in a mane of radiant plumes, its great wings folded tight, and its serpent-like tail curled and coiled as though tasting the mood of the square.
The Pope stood atop the dais, his robes a cascade of molten crimson trimmed in gold. He spread his arms wide, his voice booming with a clarity that carried to the farthest edge of the square.
“Rejoice, children of Lumisiel! The final chapter of this sacred crusade begins now!”
The crowd’s cheers swelled, flags snapping in the summer wind. He waited for the noise to crest, then raised one hand. At the gesture, the Paladins slammed their shields into the cobblestones in unison, a rolling crash of metal that silenced the square.
“Hear me, for I bring great news.”
The air seemed to hold its breath.
“Lumisiel has spoken. The time for a Hero has come.”
A wave of excited murmurs rolled through the crowd, banners snapping higher in the breeze. People grinned, clasped hands, and lifted their voices in eager chatter. Above, the chimera’s wings flared wide, casting sweeping shadows over the square, and it loosed a deep, resonant roar that seemed to reverberate in the chest.
“Years ahead of the Bloodmoon,” the Pope continued, his voice carrying over the rising energy, “and what does that tell us? It tells us their time has come. Lumisiel has granted us the only thing we needed… Time.”
Another cheer broke out, louder this time. His voice rose over the din.
“Lumisiel grants us the years to prepare for the final blow. Send word. In every city, every village, the children will gather, and from among them, the Candidates will rise to stand as Godsworn, the shield of our people. And from them, Lumisiel’s chosen blade. Our Hero. For all we know, the Hero may be among us now… perhaps your son, your daughter, destined to strike the final blow.”
As his words echoed, the cathedral bells rang of their own accord, pealing in perfect harmony. His tone hardened, cutting through the celebratory air.
“These demons, who once invaded our continent, who slaughtered our people and burned our cities, thought themselves beyond our reach. And now, we have driven them back. We repopulated our lands. We rebuilt what they sought to erase.
We will not wait for their corruption to return. We will train our Godsworn. We will march into the Void itself. By Lumisiel’s will, we will tear down their dens, slay their kind, and Lumisiel's hero, our Blade, will vanquish the Demon Lord!”
The Paladins brought their shields down again, and the crowd erupted, the name of Lumisiel rolling like thunder from thousands of voices. Above, the chimera loosed another roar, its tail lashing as golden light burst from the cathedral spire, washing over the square in a blinding, divine glow.