The screaming tore through the cathedral like shattered glass.
Not fear—panic.
Celeste was already moving.
They burst into the main hall, boots skidding on polished stone now smeared with sticky, half-melted candy. Incense hung thick in the air, cloying and wrong, mixed with the sharp metallic tang of mana discharge.
Zombies.
Already dozens.
Once-holy robes twisted into sugar-gloss husks, jaws clicking, eyes glowing faintly as they staggered between pews.
“CONTACT—LEFT!” Pitch shouted.
The Knights moved on instinct.
Celeste slid low, katanas flashing, severing a paladin-zombie at the knees before rolling through and finishing it clean. Topsy’s rockets detonated overhead in controlled bursts, raining glittering fragments. Skye’s net-creature pinned three at once while Hughes slowed time just enough for Mezzo to tear through them in a blazing arc of fire and steel.
The paladins joined in—not hesitating now.
Mana lances flared gold and white as they formed defensive lines, shielding civilians, cutting down the corrupted with grim efficiency. One hauled a fallen nun clear while another locked shields with Ray to hold a collapsing aisle.
For a moment—just a moment—it felt like they were fighting together.
And then—
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
The shout cracked like a whip.
Supreme Knight Diana Lockhart stormed into the hall, armor half-fastened, cloak snapping behind her. Her eyes swept the carnage once—then locked straight onto Celeste.
“What did you do?” Diana demanded, fury and terror bleeding together.
Celeste froze. “I—we were responding to—”
Diana didn’t let her finish.
She turned sharply on Silver, voice dropping into something colder. “And you.” Her jaw tightened. “I told you to listen. I told you drop it.”
Silver flinched.
“I—” He swallowed. “I should have stopped this.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, he looked genuinely young. Guilty. Cornered.
At the altar—
Crystal.
She stood trembling before a priest, hands shaking as she held out a Zygurr candy, its surface pulsing faintly.
“Please,” she whispered, voice thin and hollow. “You need to take it. It’s part of the rite.”
The priest recoiled, horrified.
Behind her, more clergy lay collapsed—already changed.
“CRYSTAL!” Celeste shouted.
Crystal didn’t react.
Her eyes were unfocused. Glassy. Like she was watching herself from far away.
The paladins surged forward, weapons raised—not at the zombies.
At her.
“No—wait—!” Celeste started.
Too late.
Arch-Luminar Tamsin stepped into the space with chilling calm, voice carrying effortlessly over the chaos.
“Crystal Lockhart,” he said, flat and precise, “you are under arrest for conspiracy against the Church and the Council.”
Diana stepped forward instinctively. “She’s my daughter—she needs medical—she’s not herself—”
“Stand down, Supreme Knight,” Tamsin said without looking at her.
Diana’s voice broke. “Please. She’s been threatened. Blackmailed. You don’t understand—”
“We understand enough,” the owl priest said quietly.
Diana fell silent.
Her hands curled into fists.
Tamsin continued, relentless. “You distributed corrupted Zygurr candy to Radiants and mythic priests during communion. You accessed restricted relic inventories without sanction. You facilitated the creation of an unbound mythic-class zombie within cathedral grounds.”
Each word hit like a hammer.
Celeste felt sick.
“She’s not herself,” Celeste said urgently. “Something’s wrong—she’s—she’s not reacting—”
The paladins seized Crystal’s arms.
Crystal didn’t resist.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t even look up.
They dragged her away, feet scraping uselessly against the marble as if she’d forgotten how to walk.
As they passed Diana, she looked at Celeste.
Not anger.
Not accusation.
A look sharp with warning—and apology.
Then she straightened, jaw set, and followed her duty without another word.
The owl priest—pale, shaken, alive—bowed deeply to Celeste.
“You saved us,” he said earnestly. “Had you not intervened, she would have killed us all. You have our gratitude.”
Other priests murmured agreement.
Celeste nodded automatically.
The right response.
The expected one.
But her stomach twisted.
As Crystal was pulled past her, for just a heartbeat, Crystal’s eyes flicked up—
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Just confusion.
And something that looked like relief.
Then she was gone.
The hall fell quiet, broken only by the crackle of fading mana and the soft chiming of exp dissolving into the floor.
Celeste turned slowly to Silver.
“…Did I do something wrong?”
Silver didn’t meet her eyes.
“No,” he said quietly. “I did.”
Before Celeste could ask what he meant, the space around them shifted.
Paladins began ushering people out in calm, practiced motions—hands gentle, voices low, shields raised not as weapons but as walls. The surviving clergy were guided away from the altar, the wounded taken first, then the shaken. The chaos thinned into order with unsettling speed.
Arch-Luminar Tamsin stepped forward, voice carrying without effort.
“The hall is to be cleared,” he announced evenly. “Service will resume in the eastern chamber.”
A beat.
“Please proceed calmly. There is nothing more to see here.”
People obeyed.
They always did.
As the crowd moved, Celeste gathered the others instinctively near a cracked pillar—Ray pacing, Lumina tight at her side, Mezzo rubbing at a scorch mark on his sleeve, Hughes quiet and watchful.
“This was too clean,” Arcade muttered under his breath. “Too fast. Like they rehearsed it.”
Ray nodded. “Crystal was set up. Or steered.”
“And Tamsin,” Hughes added, voice low. “He took control immediately.”
Celeste opened her mouth—
—and stopped.
Skye was no longer with them.
She spotted him near the far aisle, moving not with the crowd, but with Elias—several paces behind, careful, quiet, eyes fixed on the priest’s back. Not following like a child.
Tracking.
Arcade noticed too.
He didn’t say anything.
He just shifted his path, drifting away from the group with the ease of someone who knew how to disappear in plain sight. Not close enough to be obvious. Not far enough to lose sight of Skye.
Celeste swallowed.
“…We regroup outside,” she said softly to the others. “No decisions here. Too many ears.”
They nodded.
As they moved, Celeste glanced once more toward the aisle where Skye and Elias vanished through a side door.
Something in her chest tightened.
The cathedral was quiet again.
Too quiet.
And whatever game had just advanced its pieces—
it wasn’t finished playing.
The church smells like cold stone and old incense. Not warm incense. Cleaned incense. The kind meant to leave no trace.
Arch-Luminar Tamsin Emilio stands at the front, hands folded, voice low and even.
“The names will be read,” he says. “Candles will be lit. Silence will be kept.”
A pause.
“Grief is not improved by noise.”
People nod. They always do.
Tamsin moves methodically down the aisle, lighting candles with careful precision. Each flame catches. Each wick burns the same. No hesitation. No reverence beyond procedure.
Skye stands near the back at first.
Then closer.
Then right where Tamsin can’t avoid seeing him.
“Arch-Luminar Emilio,” someone whispers as Tamsin passes. “Thank you.”
Tamsin inclines his head. “It’s my duty.”
Skye swallows.
“…Dad.”
The word lands softly. It doesn’t echo.
Tamsin doesn’t look at him. He adjusts a candle that’s burning unevenly.
“Please keep the aisle clear,” Tamsin says calmly, to no one in particular. “Others are waiting.”
Skye steps closer anyway.
“I— I didn’t know you were stationed here,” he says. His voice cracks despite his effort. “I’ve been trying to find you.”
Tamsin finally turns.
But his eyes don’t focus on Skye’s face.
They focus through him, like he’s checking sightlines.
“This service is for remembrance,” Tamsin says. “Personal matters should be addressed after.”
“I’m not a personal matter,” Skye says, a little sharper now. “I’m your son.”
A pause.
Tamsin nods once, faintly, as if acknowledging a weather report.
“Family bonds are complex,” he says. “They don’t always endure strain.”
“That’s it?” Skye asks. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
Tamsin steps past him, straightening a prayer ribbon that’s twisted.
“Pain doesn’t mean something went wrong,” he continues evenly. “It means something ran its course.”
Skye’s hands curl into fists.
“You lost me,” he says. “You didn’t even try to fight.”
Tamsin lights another candle.
“The courts made their determination,” he replies. “Prolonging conflict would have caused more harm.”
“To who?” Skye snaps. “To you?”
Tamsin exhales slowly—not a sigh. A controlled breath.
“Suffering increases when we resist outcomes we cannot change,” he says. “Acceptance is quieter.”
Skye steps in front of him now, blocking his path.
“Look at me,” Skye says. “Just— just look at me.”
Tamsin stops.
For a moment, Skye thinks he’s won.
Then Tamsin looks—not at Skye’s eyes, but at the space beside his shoulder, calculating distance.
“You’re standing where others need to pass,” Tamsin says. “Please move.”
Something in Skye breaks—not loudly. Internally. Like a support giving way.
“You talk like I’m already gone,” Skye whispers.
Tamsin finally meets his gaze.
There is no anger there.
No warmth either.
“Everyone leaves eventually,” Tamsin says. “Some sooner. Some later.”
He gently shifts Skye aside—not forcefully. Practiced. Like moving furniture.
Then he continues down the aisle, voice steady as ever.
“The service will conclude in silence,” he says to the congregation. “As it should.”
Skye stands alone between rows of lit candles.
All burning.
All indifferent.
And Arch-Luminar Tamsin Emilio never once turns back.
Skye doesn’t move at first.
Then he does—head down, shoulders tight—slipping out of the aisle and toward the side passage where the others have gone.
Arcade catches up to him just before the doors.
“Hey,” he says quietly, dropping his usual edge. “You alright?”
Skye shakes his head once.
“He didn’t even look at me,” he says, voice thin but controlled. “I thought… after all this time… he’d at least talk to me.”
His ears flatten. His jaw tightens hard, like he’s biting down on something sharp.
“He didn’t say my name,” Skye adds. “It was like I wasn’t even… there.”
For a second, it looks like he’s going to cry.
He doesn’t.
He blinks hard, straightens, and keeps walking—eyes fixed on the group ahead, on Celeste’s familiar silhouette, on the place where he still belongs.
Arcade slows.
He looks back down the aisle.
For just a heartbeat, he considers it—marching back, calling Tamsin out, lighting the fuse and seeing what burns.
His fingers twitch.
Then he exhales.
Not here.
Not now.
Not at the cost of Skye watching it happen.
Tamsin reaches the far doors and pauses.
Not turning.
Just long enough to say, to no one in particular—
“Order endures.”
Then he’s gone.
Arcade swallows, pushes the thought aside, and follows Skye.
Some confrontations weren’t about winning.
Some were about making sure the right person didn’t break alone.
