Lumina had been walking with the others when she saw Skye.
At first, she thought she had imagined him.
The hidden corridors beneath the cathedral were too dim, too full of turning corners and old gold light, and everyone was moving quickly now. Ray was ahead with Diana, following Pitch’s last directions toward the prison vaults. Arcade and Plum were arguing in sharp whispers about which files counted as “most illegal.” Silver was walking too quietly behind them, which somehow made Lumina trust him less.
Then she saw Skye through a narrow side arch.
He was being led into a small chamber by Father Tamsin.
Not dragged.
Not forced.
Led.
That made it worse.
Skye looked nervous, but he was listening. His ears were low, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, but he had not run. Tamsin’s hand rested lightly against his shoulder, not quite affectionate, not quite restraining.
Lumina slowed.
No one noticed at first.
The others kept moving toward the deeper vaults.
Lumina looked after them.
Then back at Skye.
Her stomach twisted.
“Skye?” she whispered.
He did not hear her.
Tamsin guided him inside.
The door began to close.
Lumina slipped away from the group.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Just close enough to listen.
Inside, the chamber was smaller than the confession room Celeste had been taken to, but it had the same unpleasant shape to it. Circular floor runes. A chair bolted to the centre. Crystal lenses folded into the walls like sleeping eyes. Not active.
Not yet.
Skye stood beside the chair, glancing around with visible unease.
Tamsin remained near the door.
“You should not be with them,” he said.
Skye swallowed.
“The Knights?”
“The Knight-Commander.”
Skye’s ears twitched.
“Celeste?”
Tamsin’s face did not change.
“She is not what you think she is.”
Skye went very still.
Lumina pressed herself closer to the half-open door, heart beginning to beat faster.
Skye’s voice came carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“How much do you know about the Hybrid rebellions?”
Skye frowned.
“Enough.”
“No,” Tamsin said. “You know stories. Everyone your age knows stories. Riots. Camps. Bad laws. Good intentions corrupted. Depending on who taught you, perhaps monsters on one side and victims on the other.”
Skye’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s usually how people explain things when they want to make the victims sound inconvenient.”
For the first time, something almost like pride flickered in Tamsin’s face.
Then it vanished.
“Silas had a vision,” he said.
Skye stiffened at the name.
“A world of order and structure. No more fighting. No more rebellion. A unified world where everyone had a place, and everyone knew it.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“It sounded peaceful to frightened people.”
Tamsin turned slightly, looking toward the old runes in the floor.
“The Church’s last Pontifex believed in that vision. The rebellions were being fanned by Glwndyr and other radicals. They were spreading too quickly. Becoming impossible to contain.”
“So they blamed all Hybrids,” Skye said.
“They feared all Hybrids.”
“That’s not better.”
“No,” Tamsin said. “It is not.”
His voice remained flat, but something under it had worn thin.
“Silas wanted to unify Hybrids as Purebloods. Make them like us. Remove the difference, remove the rebellion.”
Skye stared at him.
“That’s not unity. That’s erasing people.”
Tamsin looked at him for a long moment.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It was.”
Lumina blinked.
She had not expected him to admit that.
Skye seemed thrown too.
Tamsin continued.
“But the old Pontifex considered another question. What if it was not enough for Hybrids to become Purebloods? What if all people followed the same thought? Not by fear. Not by law. By harmony.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
“There was an artefact,” Tamsin said. “Rare. Ancient. Said to contain the power of a star. A relic that could bring all peoples into perfect harmony under one purpose.”
Lumina’s chest tightened.
Skye whispered, “What kind of harmony?”
“The kind Silas believed would end rebellion forever.”
“That doesn’t sound like harmony.”
“No,” Tamsin said. “Perhaps not.”
“Silas sent the Silver Arrows to find it. The relic had been sealed in a vault beneath the Church.”
Skye’s brow furrowed despite his fear.
“What’s a vault?”
“Kymara ruins,” Tamsin said. “Repurposed. The original structures are almost indestructible. Later, we learned to make our own beneath major religious sites. Not as strong. But sufficient.”
Skye looked sick.
“You built prisons out of ruins.”
“Everyone builds with what history leaves behind.”
“That’s a very fancy way of saying yes.”
Tamsin’s jaw tightened.
“The artefact went missing. For years, we wondered where it had gone.”
He stepped closer.
“And now it is inside your commander.”
Skye’s breath caught.
Lumina’s hands curled into fists.
Tamsin’s voice softened.
Almost.
“It is dangerous, Skye. You know that. You sense more than the others do. You always have.”
Skye looked down.
Tamsin moved another step closer.
“It was not active when we found it. Not properly. Something woke it. Something changed. I need to know what Celeste said or did. I need to know when her core became active.”
Skye’s fear was obvious now.
But so was his answer.
“No.”
Tamsin’s expression stilled.
“No?”
“That’s up to her.”
“She may not understand what she is carrying.”
“Then ask her when she isn’t tied to a chair.”
Skye stared at him.
“Why don't you help insted of this? You have paladins.”
Tamsin paused.
Skye’s hands tightened at his sides.
“The Church has paladins. Weapons. Buildings. Supplies. Mana systems. You have enough people to lock down half the city when you want to scare someone.” His voice wobbled, then strengthened. “Why aren’t you helping more with the zombies? We could stop all this!”
Tamsin’s expression did not change.
“They are not the real problem.”
Skye blinked.
“What?”
“The zombies are background noise,” Tamsin said. “A violent offshoot. Horrific, yes. But not substantial in the larger pattern.”
Skye stared at him as if he had just calmly announced the moon was optional.
“People are being eaten.”
“I know.”
“They’re being converted.”
“I know.”
“Children are hiding in basements. Whole streets are gone. Celeste nearly dies every other week trying to stop them, and you’re saying that’s background noise?”
Tamsin’s mouth tightened.
“I am saying the young often mistake the visible wound for the disease beneath it.”
Skye’s ears flattened.
“That is stupid.”
Tamsin’s eyes sharpened.
Skye swallowed, but did not stop.
“You are stupid.”
The silence that followed was immediate and dangerous.
Lumina, listening by the door, clapped both hands over her mouth.
Tamsin looked at Skye.
Really looked at him.
Something old and parental flashed through his face—not love, not exactly, but the reflex of a man who had once expected obedience and had just been answered back by his son.
His hand twitched.
His shoulders shifted as though he might stand taller, cross the space, snap at him to stop backtalking.
Skye flinched before Tamsin had even fully moved.
Tamsin froze.
Because Skye had known.
Not guessed.
Known.
He had felt the thought before the body obeyed it.
For one naked second, shame crossed Tamsin’s face.
Then it was gone.
“You know nothing,” he said.
Skye’s voice came quieter now.
“I know enough.”
Tamsin’s jaw worked once.
Skye looked at him, frightened but steady.
“I know what you see.”
Tamsin’s eyes narrowed.
“You see what’s coming, and you’re scared.”
The words landed harder than insult.
Tamsin turned away first.
Only by a fraction.
Only enough to prove the blade had gone in.
Then his voice became flat again.
Controlled.
Deadly in its calm.
“Fear is not always weakness. Sometimes it is memory doing its work.”
He turned back to Skye.
“And I remember more than you.”
Skye’s ears flattened.
“Your just another bad guy then. Hurting people to protect yourself.”
Tamsin closed his eyes briefly.
“I hoped it would not come to this.”
Skye took one step back.
“I hoped you wouldn’t say that.”
Tamsin lifted his hand.
Mana moved.
Skye twisted aside just in time, cards flashing between his fingers as a thin band of light snapped past his shoulder and struck the wall where he had been standing.
His eyes went wide.
“You really did it.”
“Skye—”
“You actually did it.”
Skye turned to run.
Tamsin’s mana caught him before he reached the door.
Gold-white threads wrapped around his arms and legs, yanking him backward. Skye cried out as he hit the chair hard enough to knock the breath from him.
The restraints came alive.
Cuffs locked around his wrists.
A band snapped across his chest.
The floor runes lit beneath him.
Lumina clapped both hands over her mouth.
Skye struggled, panic breaking through his voice.
“No—no, don’t—”
Tamsin stood before him, face pale and carved with restraint.
“It will not harm you if you answer.”
“That’s what people always say before hurting someone!”
The chair awakened.
A smaller confession array unfolded from the walls, crystal lenses turning toward Skye’s head.
Skye froze.
Terror stripped him young.
Too young.
“Tad,” he whispered.
Tamsin flinched.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Then he forced his expression still.
“I am sorry,” he said.
Skye’s breathing hitched.
“The truth array was based on Kymara technology,” Tamsin continued, voice low and rough-edged. “The Church refined it. Sanitised it. Gave it prayers and procedure until everyone could pretend it was holy.”
The lenses clicked into place.
“But it has other uses with the right frequency.”
Skye’s eyes widened.
“What?”
Tamsin looked down at the collar folded in his hand.
Small.
Silver-gold.
Threaded with old circuitry and prayer-script.
“With the right frequency,” he said, “and a collar, one can make a person do what they want.”
Lumina’s blood went cold.
Skye began fighting the restraints again.
“No. No, don’t—”
Tamsin stepped closer.
“Right now, I need to save your life.”
“You’re not saving me!”
“You don’t understand yet.”
“Stop saying that!”
Tamsin’s face tightened, grief and certainty twisting together until there was barely any difference left between them.
“She is coming,” he said softly.
Skye stopped struggling for one breath.
“Who?”
Tamsin did not answer the name.
He only looked toward the deeper chambers of the cathedral, toward whatever future had hollowed him out and taught him to call fear wisdom.
“When she comes,” he said, “all will be one again.”
Skye stared at him.
Horrified.
Heartbroken.
“Tad…”
Tamsin closed his eyes for the smallest moment.
Then opened them.
“When did you know Celeste’s core was active?”
Skye shook his head, breathing too fast.
“I don’t—”
The cuffs sparked.
Skye cried out.
Lumina’s eyes filled with horror.
Tamsin’s face twisted, but he did not stop.
“When did you know?”
Skye squeezed his eyes shut.
“When we went to see the Mythics,” he gasped. “At the Rustrows. They reacted to her.”
Tamsin’s jaw tightened.
“Is she dangerous?”
Skye’s breathing shook.
“No.”
The array pulsed.
He screamed through his teeth.
Tamsin stepped closer.
“Is she dangerous?”
“Only when her rune comes out!” Skye blurted. “She can’t control her mana fully then. But she tries. She always tries.”
Tamsin looked stricken for a heartbeat.
Then buried it.
“Is she planning rebellion against the Council?”
“No.”
“The Church?”
“No.”
“Is she using the Knights to gather support?”
“No.”
“Has she spoken of overthrowing the established order?”
Skye’s eyes flashed with frightened anger.
“She speaks about helping people. I know that’s very suspicious down here.”
The array sparked again.
Skye choked on a cry.
Tamsin’s hand clenched at his side.
“What else are you keeping from me?”
Skye looked at him then.
Really looked at him.
Tears had started down his face, but his voice came clear.
“I still love you.”
Tamsin went rigid.
Lumina’s breath caught.
Skye swallowed, shaking in the chair.
“I waited for you. I kept thinking maybe you’d come back. Maybe you were trying. Maybe you missed me too.”
Tamsin’s face broke.
Not fully.
Not loudly.
But something cracked through the stone of him so fast he had to turn his head away.
Skye saw it anyway.
Of course he did.
“Tad,” he whispered.
Tamsin closed his eyes.
For one second, he looked like a man standing at the edge of an abyss and realising he had dug it himself.
Then the moment passed.
He opened his eyes again.
“Is Celeste hiding something?”
Skye’s face crumpled.
Lumina moved.
She did not think.
She launched herself through the doorway with a cry, both hands blazing.
“Leave him alone!”
Tamsin spun.
“Lumina—”
She slammed into the side of the confession array.
Her mana burst outward in a bright, unstable shield, not refined, not pretty, but powerful enough to crack the nearest crystal lens straight down the middle.
The array shrieked.
Gold-white energy snapped loose from the chair and whipped toward her.
Lumina threw her shield up.
The blast hit it—
and bounced.
Straight back.
Tamsin barely had time to lift his own ward before the reflected mana struck him full in the chest. He staggered backward, robes snapping around him, one hand hitting the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
The restraints around Skye died.
Lumina grabbed his wrist.
“Run!”
Skye stumbled out of the chair, legs nearly giving way.
“Lumina—”
“Run now!”
They bolted down the corridor.
Behind them, Tamsin pushed himself upright, stunned, one hand pressed to his chest.
The broken confession array sparked and smoked around him.
For the first time, panic entered his voice.
“Little light.”
Lumina did not stop.
“Little light, come back.”
Skye glanced over his shoulder once.
Tamsin stood in the doorway, pale and shaken beneath the fractured glow.
“Come back,” he called again, softer now. “Come back.”
Lumina tightened her grip on Skye’s hand.
And kept running.
