The Church of Ligitaris announced itself three streets early.
Twin spires cut above the surrounding roofline, their pale stone so saturated with morning light they seemed made of it rather than merely reflecting it.
As he drew closer, the carved symbols along the outer walls came into focus — flowing, intricate patterns he was beginning to recognise.
The same family of shapes as the diagram in Zayden’s diary.
The same lines as the tablet in the hidden chamber.
Threads he hadn’t yet fully traced.
At the apex of the central spire, the large emblem gleamed.
A radiant heart embraced by wings of light.
A brilliant star at its crown, rays reaching upward.
Celestial rings encircling the whole design.
Two translucent hands formed from light, reaching upward from below.
He’d seen this exact symbol in the Black Lexicon.
In the ruins.
On those underground tablets that had no right to exist.
It shouldn’t be displayed openly on a house of worship.
Something moved this symbol here.
Something with a reason.
He filed the observation and walked through the gate.
He was still composing himself at the entrance when a cold voice cut through the morning air.
“Zayden Everhart.”
He lifted his gaze.
Officer Harry Carl stood before him, filling the gateway, those sharp eyes moving across him with the precise, unhurried attention of a man who had learned long ago that people always gave themselves away eventually.
This was not part of the plan.
He kept his face neutral, a mask of quiet ease.
“Yes, sir. We’ve met before.”
A faint, humourless smile touched Harry’s lips without reaching his eyes.
“I thought you’d be at the academy. Or perhaps you’ve come seeking absolution before Celestial Angel Luminaris?”
“I haven’t done anything that requires absolution,” he replied evenly.
Harry said nothing for a long moment.
Then his gaze dropped to the bag at Zayden’s side.
A faint golden glow bled through the fabric.
Harry’s eyes sharpened immediately — recognition, quick and precise.
“Oh.” Something shifted in the officer’s expression.
“You’re here for something important.”
Of course he noticed.
Men like Harry Carl don’t rise through ranks on luck.
Without another word, the officer turned and walked into the church.
After a measured breath, Zayden followed.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the world changed.
Golden light poured through towering stained-glass windows, bathing the vast hall in warm, sacred radiance that moved and breathed with the pace of something alive.
The air felt lighter — purified, almost electric with quiet power.
Polished wooden pews stood in perfect reverent rows on both sides of the wide central aisle.
At the far end, the majestic statue of Celestial Angel Luminaris dominated everything — flowing white robes, both arms spread wide in eternal, unhurried welcome, a face carved into the expression of absolute freedom.
A handful of worshippers knelt before it, heads bowed in private silence.
Near the altar, Officer Harry Carl stood speaking in low tones with a white-haired priest.
They were already discussing him.
He was certain of it.
He approached with measured steps and bowed his head with genuine respect.
“May I speak with the servants of the Divine One?”
The priest turned.
His expression was gentle but piercing, the way certain kinds of stillness could be.
“Yes, child. Speak freely.”
Zayden opened his bag slowly.
The Ligtirs badge revealed itself, spilling soft golden light across the faces of both men.
“I woke yesterday morning and found this beside my bed,” he said, carrying the composed confusion of a young man genuinely at a loss.
“I always thought these were old myths. But after everything that has happened recently, it felt right to bring it here, before the Celestial Angel.”
Officer Harry Carl said nothing.
The suspicion in his eyes deepened like afternoon shadows.
The priest took the badge in both hands and examined it with reverent care.
“This is no ordinary occurrence,” he murmured.
“Ligtirs badges do not simply appear. They answer only those who carry powerful will, unwavering purpose, and a spirit that has genuinely understood what it means to be free.”
Not in the Black Lexicon.
Either the book withheld it, or it only answers what I directly seek.
“Nevertheless,” the priest continued, “even divine blessings must be verified. You will undergo investigation and an eligibility test. Officer Carl will take you through the process.”
“I understand. I’ll cooperate fully.”
Neither man showed hostility.
Only caution.
Only quiet, watchful restraint.
Somehow that feels far more dangerous than open suspicion.
Before Harry could move him along, he made one careful request — may he ask the priest one question first?
Harry’s jaw tightened.
“We don’t have—”
“It is fine,” the priest said quietly.
The officer fell silent.
Even Harry defers to the Church.
Noted.
He turned to the priest.
“Please, sir — tell me about the nations and the churches. I understand so little about the wider world.”
The priest studied him for a moment with those still, clear eyes.
Then he rested both hands on his staff and spoke with the unhurried certainty of someone who had explained this many times and found it newly worth explaining each time.
“We stand in Amber City, an outer settlement of the Nation of Everlight, in the Third Epoch, Year 689 — the Age of Innovation. The Bright Mountain Ranges shelter us. Above us all stands the grace of Celestial Angel Luminaris. The Celestial Angels are the divine messengers of the One Above — nine of them, one for each of the nine great nations, each with its own central Church, distinct culture, and elemental affinity. Everlight’s capital is Luxhaven, where the Grand Church of Ligitaris stands. Its branches extend across the land to guide and protect all those who live within reach of the light.”
Nine nations.
Nine Angels.
Nine elements.
The entire world turns on the same axis.
“That will do for now,” the priest said gently.
Zayden bowed.
“Thank you, sir.”
Deep beneath the church, a narrow stone chamber lit only by thin cracks of silver near the ceiling.
The sacred warmth of the hall above felt like a distant memory.
Harry Carl stood across from him, silent as carved stone.
He pinched his fingers together — an invisible vibration rippled through the air.
A signal.
He’s calling someone.
“Finding a Ligtirs badge beside your bed overnight is nearly impossible,” Harry said, voice flat and unhurried.
“Either you’re the luckiest man in Amber City… or you’re hiding something.”
“I understand why it seems that way.”
“The Mark Musk case is still open,” Harry continued.
“And you remain our primary suspect.”
The investigation never truly closed.
Of course it didn’t.
The chamber door creaked open.
Officer Manher Steve stepped through — and genuine surprise crossed his face the moment he registered who was sitting in the chair.
“This young man claims a natural Ligtirs awakening,” Harry said.
“Verify it.”
Manher stared.
“A natural awakening?” He shook his head slightly.
“Absurdly rare.”
Zayden sat still in the wooden chair as Manher moved behind him.
Gloves came off.
Tiny sparks of pale light danced at the tips of his fingers.
A faint silver mist spread through the room — a suppression agent.
Strength drained from his limbs like water through sand.
His body grew heavy and unresponsive.
He couldn’t fight this one.
Darkness swallowed him.
The moment Manher touched his consciousness, an overwhelming pressure surged through the connection — ancient, vast, entirely out of proportion to the body of a nineteen-year-old medical student.
Manher’s instincts screamed.
Then a faint pulse of warm light spread quietly through the dark between them.
The pressure vanished.
Manher staggered back half a step — the first ungraceful movement he had made in years.
He stood for a long moment in the silence of the chamber, looking at the still face in the chair.
His breathing was harder than the effort should have warranted.
What was that?
He felt, for reasons he could not explain or name, a strange and irrational familiarity toward the unconscious boy.
And somewhere deep within him, something ancient stirred — and did not settle back to sleep.
Every path offers a choice.
Some choices change a day.
Others quietly shape a lifetime.