The next day after the incident.
The hall of the Radiant Sovereign Church had never felt so suffocating.
Candles burned in disciplined rows, their golden flames trembling as if afraid to breathe too loudly. The sigil of the Sun Throne shone above the altar — brilliant, flawless. Yet everyone in the chamber knew something had cracked.
The failed advancement ritual had spread across the capital like wildfire. And today, the other churches had come.
The massive doors opened without announcement.
First entered the delegation of the Church of Veil of Night — cloaked in deep indigo, silver-threaded constellations stitched into their garments. Their High Priest walked at the front, smiling faintly. Behind them came the Church of Juriticator, dressed in white and black, scrolls and scales embroidered over their robes. Last came the Church of Verdant Mother, their attire soft green, expressions unreadable.
The High priestess of Radiant Sovereign remained seated. She looked calm. Only her clenched fingers betrayed her.
A Judicator elder stepped forward.
“An advancement ritual was conducted within your cathedral.”
“Yes,” the High Priest replied.
“It failed.”
“It did.”
“And the participant lost control?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Who takes responsibility?”
“He acted against instruction. The ritual was not authorized,” the High priestess said carefully.
The Veil of Night priest Henson tilted his head.
“Not authorized?” he repeated lightly. “How… interesting. A member of your church attempts to advance beneath your sacred sigil… and you claim ignorance?”
“Seven years ago,” the Veil priest Henson continued, voice soft, “a Crimson Moon rose above this continent. A sign. An omen. Recorded in ancient texts. And yet your church issued no report.”
“There was no confirmed anomaly,” the High priestess Lysara said through clenched teeth.
“No confirmed anomaly?” the Veil priest Henson repeated, smile widening. “Or no confirmation you wished to share?”
The Juriticator elder frowned. “Why was there no divine consultation?”
“The gods did not command disclosure,” the High priestess said.
“Or perhaps they did not answer you,” the Veil priest Henson murmured. “Because if the Crimson Moon was ignored… and now a failed ritual causes loss of control, one might begin to see a pattern.”
“Are you suggesting divine instability?” the Juriticator elder asked coldly.
“I am suggesting,” the Veil priest Henson said smoothly, “that perhaps the Radiant Sovereign Church no longer hears the Sun as clearly as it claims.”
The Verdant Heart representative priestess Serelyth spoke softly.
“There is another matter. The girl present during the Rite of Revelation 2 years ago.”
“Miha,” the High priestess said sharply.
“Yes… Miha,” the Veil priest replied knowingly.
“Her Astral Essence were recorded,” the Judicator elder said.
“They resemble descriptions found in pre-Crimson texts,” the Verdant representative added.
“A potential vessel,” the Veil priest Henson whispered.
Far from the capital’s grand halls, the village was quiet.
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Elias sat on the low wooden steps outside his house, the evening air cool against his skin.
The small notebook rested in his hands.
The one the boy had dropped.
He still hadn’t returned it.
The pages were messy, filled with uneven handwriting and childish drawings of training poses, swords, and little stick figures fighting monsters.
On the last page was a sentence written much more carefully than the rest.
I will become strong enough to protect people.
Elias stared at the words for a long time.
His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the paper.
He remembered the boy smiling nervously beside him on the training grounds.
“I want to be like you,” the boy had said.
Elias swallowed.
“You were braver than me,” he murmured quietly.
A breeze rustled the trees nearby, carrying the distant sounds of villagers talking.
“Did you hear? The church declared her the Chosen.”
“The girl with four affinities?”
“Yes. Miha.”
Elias’s eyes lowered to the notebook again.
Of course she was chosen.
She had saved him.
She had comforted him.
She had always been stronger than everyone else.
He carefully closed the notebook.
“I'll keep it safe,” he whispered.
For a moment, he simply sat there, staring out at the darkening sky.
Then he stood up and went inside.
The night swallowed the quiet village.
And somewhere far away, in halls of stone and gold, people were already deciding the fate of children who had no idea their lives had changed.
“She is a child,” the High priestess said.
“All chosen begin as children,” the Veil priest Henson replied.
“If she matches the anomaly signature associated with the tier 1 Crimson Moon… she must be observed,” the Juriticator elder said firmly.
“Observed… or guided,” the Veil priest Henson added, tilting his head.
“Guided?” the High priestess asked, voice tight.
“Yes. Declared Chosen. Bound. Monitored. Protected. Controlled,” the Veil priest Henson said, eyes glinting.
The Juriticator elder rolled up his scroll.
“Until further review, Radiant Sovereign Church will suspend all advancement rituals. Miha will be placed under cross-church observation.”
“No,” the High priestess stood abruptly.
“Careful,” the Veil priest Henson said, smiling wider.
“She has committed no crime,” the High priestess said, voice trembling—not with fear, but with contained fury.
“Neither did the Crimson Moon,” the Veil priest Henson replied lightly.
“This is not punishment,” the Juriticator elder said finally. “It is precaution. If she is what we suspect… it would be dangerous for her to remain unmonitored.”
The High priestess hands clenched on the armrest. She could not defy them. Not openly. Not without risking a divine inquiry.
She exhaled, barely audible.
So… she will be declared Chosen.
“Exactly,” the Veil priest Henson said. “Bound by privilege. Guided by necessity. Four affinities. Stage Six from birth. The signs are undeniable.”
“Then it is decided,” the Juriticator elder said. “Cross-church observation begins immediately.”
The doors closed. The hall returned to silence. Above the altar, the golden sigil flickered for a fraction of a second — almost as if remembering a red sky.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Someone’s here!” Miha’s mother called.
A young messenger stepped forward, holding a sealed envelope stamped with the golden sigil of the Radiant Sovereign Church.
“This is for… Miha?” her father asked, taking the letter carefully.
The envelope felt heavy in his hands.
He broke the seal, unfolded the parchment.
Her mother leaned closer.
“Read it aloud,” she urged, voice trembling.
He cleared his throat.
“By decree of the High priestess of the Radiant Sovereign Church… it is confirmed that Miha…”
He paused, scanning the words.
“…is the Chosen of the Sun Throne. Her Astral Essence and affinity have been verified. She is to be guided and observed as the divine.”
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
Then her mother’s hand flew to her mouth.
“She… she’s the Chosen?” she whispered.
Her father’s eyes widened, and a rare smile broke across his face.
“She… our Miha…” he murmured, voice shaking with awe.
Miha’s mother’s hands trembled as she clutched the letter.
“Oh… oh my sweet girl. She’s… she’s destined for greatness,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
Her father nodded, his hands resting on the table.
“She’s always been special,” he said softly. “Even as a baby, even when she was tiny… she had a light about her.”
Her mother smiled through tears.
“The gods themselves have acknowledged it. Our daughter…”
“Our Miha,” he corrected gently, “the Chosen.”
They exchanged a glance, a mixture of pride, relief, and joy.
“She’s safe now,” her mother said firmly.
“The church will protect her, guide her.”
Her father nodded.
“And we’ll be here… always. Every step of the way.”
Her mother hugged him tightly.
“We have to tell Miha.”
Her father smiled, eyes glinting.
“Yes. But first… let us savor this moment. Our daughter… the Chosen of the Sun Throne.”
Tears of happiness ran freely as the letter lay open between them, golden light from the candle reflecting off the script.
A quiet knock echoed elsewhere in the church.
Cassian stepped aside from the altar. His gaze drifted toward the chamber windows, toward the training grounds beyond. His mind lingered on the boy who had faced the devil and survived.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t move yet.
But a single thought crossed his mind — clear, unavoidable:
The boy. He cannot be ignored.
Somewhere, unseen, a pair of eyes watched Elias, noting his reactions, his instincts, and the invisible power that had caused a devil to hesitate.
A quiet directive, unspoken, was already forming.
Observation had begun.
And this was only the beginning.
The best way to stop a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he is in prison.
