The Luminarch Cathedral rose out of the ruined district like a second sunrise.

Even from a distance, it dwarfed the surrounding city. A vast golden structure of spires, domes, and bladed arches, it pierced the clouds so high that for a moment it seemed less built than summoned. Only the Sugardome surpassed it in scale, and even that felt arguable when the light hit the cathedral’s walls just right.

Its gilded surfaces caught the morning sun and threw it back in sheets of pale fire, so bright it almost hurt to look at directly.

Around the entire complex shimmered a translucent force field, a faintly humming veil of gold-white mana that stretched from tower to tower and curved overhead like the shell of some sleeping celestial beast.

Beyond it, the city remained broken.

Half-eaten by plague and panic.

Inside it, the cathedral stood untouched.

A sanctuary, at least in theory.

A fortress, in practice.

The Gwennan rattled toward the outer checkpoint and slowed beneath a row of saint-carved pylons.

Paladins stood guard in polished white-and-gold armour, their helms tucked beneath their arms, their halberds upright and gleaming. They looked less like soldiers and more like ceremonial statues brought cruelly to life—immaculate, motionless, impossible to read.

As the van rolled forward, runes along the checkpoint arch flared one by one, scanning the vehicle in strips of light. For one tense moment, the hum of the barrier deepened, and Celeste caught Plum sitting up straighter beside her, notebook halfway raised as if she planned to document their disintegration in real time.

Then the final rune turned green.

The barrier opened in a soft iris of light.

The Gwennan cleared the checkpoint and carried on up the long approach road, its tyres crunching over pale stone instead of broken asphalt.

No one in the van spoke much now.

The cathedral steps came into view at last—broad, gleaming, almost absurdly long, leading to doors tall enough to admit giants. People were already gathered there, not in the scattered, drifting way of worshippers, but in tense little knots that made Celeste’s stomach tighten.

Robed clergy moved in quick murmuring clusters. Men and women with clipboards hurried from one end of the landing to the other. Several junior priests looked flustered enough to burst into flames from sheer administrative panic.

Something was happening.

And Celeste, with the excellent timing fate so often granted her, had apparently driven straight into the middle of it.

Silver’s Arcbracer chimed.

He glanced down.

Lysander’s projection flickered into life above his wrist before Silver had a chance to lower the volume.

“Ah, Silver,” Lysander said smoothly. “I’ve asked them to ask Celeste a few questions when you arrive.”

The van had already stopped.

The doors had already opened.

Everyone heard him.

Lysander continued, perfectly unaware of the timing catastrophe unfolding on the other end.

“She should be met at the gate. Hopefully they will be gentle.”

Silence.

Every head turned toward Silver.

Silver’s expression did not change, but something behind his eyes sharpened.

Lysander’s smile faltered.

He looked past Silver’s shoulder through the projection and seemed to realise, with visible horror, that he had just said all of that to an audience.

“Ah.”

A pause.

“How unfortunate.”

The projection vanished.

Silver slowly lowered his arm.

Ray’s voice came out dangerously flat.

“Silver.”

“I am certain,” Silver said, too quickly, “there is a perfectly tedious explanation.”

Mezzo’s eyes narrowed.

“Funny how those keep happening around you.”

Celeste didn’t speak.

Her ears had dipped slightly, and her hands had curled around the strap of her bag.

At the top of the lower stair, Supreme Paladin Commander Diana Lockhart spotted the van as the group climbed out.

She was a striking Persian cat, all elegant cream fur and hard military lines, her white-and-gold armour fitted so cleanly it seemed grown rather than forged. At first glance, she looked as controlled as the paladins behind her.

Then she saw Celeste.

Something flashed across Diana’s face—fast and sharp as a blade’s reflection.

Not dislike.

Not even alarm exactly.

Fear.

Or something near enough to it.

Her long tail twitched once behind her before she mastered it.

“Commander Celeste,” Diana said as she descended two steps to meet them.

Her tone was polite.

Professional.

Warm, even, in the way a person might greet a guest while actively praying they would not set the curtains on fire.

Celeste winced inwardly.

She knew that look.

It was the look people wore when they were already having a terrible day and then saw her arriving at speed.

“Hello,” Celeste said carefully.

Diana’s smile flickered, strained around the edges.

“We’re… honoured by the visit.”

That pause did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Ray climbed down from the van with the expression of someone who had smelled trouble before even opening the door. Mezzo hopped out after her, squinting up at the ridiculous height of the place.

“Subtle,” he muttered. “Very humble. Tiny church.”

Plum was already scribbling.

Celeste’s gaze drifted past Diana and over the landing.

More robed figures.

More clipboards.

More tension.

A pair of acolytes hurried by carrying sealed document tubes as if the contents might explode. No one looked relaxed. No one looked pleased.

Before she could ask what was going on, another figure emerged from the grand doors.

At first, Celeste thought the shadow itself had stepped outside.

The woman descending the stairs was a Hybrid black panther and Camazotz, tall and elegant, with sleek dark fur, and ears that twitched once at every whispered conversation on the landing. Her eyes were vibrant red, bright in a face so composed it looked almost carved.

The paladins moved aside for her.

The clergy stopped talking.

Even Diana seemed to become more still.

The woman carried no visible weapon.

Somehow that made her worse.

Her robes were not white and gold like the others, but deep black edged with Luminarch silver, the fabric patterned with faint scripture that shifted when the light touched it. A narrow collar of gold sat at her throat, and at her waist hung a chain of tiny crystal confession seals.

She came to a stop before Celeste.

Then smiled.

It was not reassuring.

It was the sort of smile a locked door might give if doors had opinions.

“Knight-Commander Celeste Astallan,” she said.

Her voice was smooth.

Dry.

Almost pleasant.

Almost.

“I am Maven Eldritch, High Inquisitor of the Third Radiant Inquiry.”

A pause.

“How lovely. You arrived without needing to be fetched. That saves everyone a great deal of awkward walking.”

Celeste blinked.

Ray immediately shifted closer.

Maven’s pale eyes moved to her.

“And this must be the protective one.”

Ray’s jaw tightened.

Maven looked back to Celeste.

“How nice. I do enjoy patterns.”

Diana stepped in quickly.

“High Inquisitor Eldritch has been assigned to review recent concerns.”

“Concerns?” Celeste asked softly.

Maven tilted her head.

“Such a small word, isn’t it? Useful, though. Much less alarming than suspicion, theological instability, anomalous mana expression, possible doctrinal breach, or public miracle contamination.”

Celeste went pale.

Maven’s smile widened by a fraction.

“But please don’t look like that. I only want to ask you a few questions.”

“Alone?” Ray snapped.

Maven turned her head.

Slowly.

“Yes.”

Ray took one step forward.

“No.”

Mezzo folded his arms.

“She doesn’t go in alone.”

Maven looked at him next.

“Another protective one. How efficient. Did you rehearse this, or is loyalty naturally this repetitive?”

Celeste raised a hand slightly.

“Please…”

Her voice was already thin.

Maven’s gaze returned to her.

There was no cruelty in her face.

That was what made it worse.

Just interest.

As if Celeste were not a person standing frightened on cathedral steps, but a fascinating mechanism that had begun making unexpected noises.

“It will be a conversation,” Maven said. “Questions. Answers. Possibly tea, if no one has poisoned the good cups again.”

Diana shut her eyes briefly, as though this was not the first time Maven had said something deeply unhelpful in public.

Celeste swallowed.

“What sort of questions?”

“The sort people ask when a Hybrid girl claims impossible heritage, displays impossible magic, survives impossible battles, and inspires a settlement before lunch.”

Maven’s eyes gleamed.

“Ordinary things.”

Silver, standing just behind the group, had gone rigid.

His hand twitched at his side.

Not much.

Barely enough for anyone to notice.

But he had noticed.

The moment Maven said alone, something sharp had moved through him.

The instinct came fast.

Violent.

Unexpected.

Step forward.

Stand between.

Remove the threat.

His eyes flicked to Celeste.

She was trying to hold herself together.

Trying to be brave.

Trying not to look as frightened as she was.

Then her panicked eyes met his.

For one fragile second, Silver almost moved.

Celeste looked at him like she wanted help.

Like despite everything, some part of her still thought he might give it.

The thought struck him somewhere soft and horrible.

Then the memory rose.

Her voice.

Nid wyt ti’n deilwng i orchymyn i mi.

His knee hitting the floor.

His body obeying before his mind could choose.

Silver’s expression shut down.

Cold slid over his face like a mask being lowered.

He looked away.

Celeste saw it.

Of course she saw it.

Something in her face fell by a fraction.

Ray saw it too.

Her hands curled into fists.

Maven watched the exchange with faint interest.

“Oh,” she said softly. “That was informative.”

Silver’s eyes cut to her.

Maven smiled.

“Don’t worry. I won’t mark it down as a confession. Yet.”

From behind her, another figure descended the upper steps.

Arch-Luminar Tamsin Emilio.

The carbuncle priest moved with the serene composure of a man who had perfected looking calm while entire institutions caught fire around him. His robes were cream and gold, embroidered with fine sunburst thread at the cuffs, and though his expression was mild, there was something about the way the clergy around him shifted when he approached that made it clear he carried real authority.

Not far behind him stood Dawn Prelate Marvin.

He did not come forward.

He looked away.

That, more than anything, made Celeste’s nerves tighten.

“Ah,” Tamsin said smoothly, opening his hands as though welcoming an expected guest rather than intercepting an armed Knight-Commander on the cathedral steps. “Celeste. We were wondering when you might visit.”

Celeste’s ears dipped slightly.

“You were?”

“The Church,” Tamsin said, “needs to speak with you.”

The words were so mild they almost disguised the weight underneath them.

Celeste glanced at Diana, whose discomfort had become nearly painful to witness.

Trying to keep her voice steady, Celeste asked, “Yes, of course, but… what do you need?”

Maven answered before Tamsin could.

“Just a few questions.”

She paused.

“For you alone.”

Ray stepped forward immediately.

“No.”

Her answer cracked through the air so fast even Plum looked impressed.

Tamsin turned to her with saintly patience.

“This is standard.”

“Standard for what?”

“For an escalation,” Tamsin said, still calm. “Things have changed since your last visit. Procedures have become more… careful.”

That was priest language, Celeste thought dimly, for we are already halfway to deciding something unpleasant.

Mezzo folded his arms.

“She doesn’t go in alone.”

“She does,” Tamsin said, the softness in his voice becoming its own kind of wall, “if the Church requests it.”

Ray looked ready to bite someone’s face off.

Celeste, meanwhile, could feel the eyes on her from every direction—paladins, clerics, assistants, guards, probably several saints in stained-glass form judging her from the windows.

She hated this.

Hated that it felt like a summons.

Hated that everyone around her seemed to know more than she did.

Hated most of all that saying no here might make everything worse for the Knights.

So she nodded, though the movement was small.

“All right,” she said.

Ray turned on her.

“Celeste—”

“It’s fine,” Celeste lied.

It was not fine.

They all knew it.

But she was already stepping forward.

The cathedral doors opened wider, exhaling cool incense-heavy air from within. Tamsin moved aside to let her pass, one hand extended in invitation.

Maven turned gracefully and began walking beside Celeste.

“You’re doing very well,” she said. “Most people look much more guilty by now.”

Celeste’s voice came out faint.

“I’m not guilty of anything.”

“How refreshing.”

Maven’s smile did not change.

“Then this should be extremely educational.”

As Celeste crossed the threshold, she glanced back once.

Ray stood rigid with fury.

Mezzo looked ready to start a holy incident.

Plum clutched her notebook like she might weaponise it.

Topsy’s ears had flattened.

Even Pitch had shifted subtly forward, as if distance alone offended him.

And Silver—

Silver stood very still at the edge of the steps.

Expression cold.

Unreadable.

Celeste disappeared inside.

The doors began to close.

Outside, Ray moved before the last echo had faded.

She strode straight toward Silver and, with zero ceremony, reached out and jabbed the Arcbracer controls hard enough to make the darkened projection spark in protest.

Silver stared at her.

“How dare you.”

Ray got right in his face.

“Whatever the Commander just walked into,” she said flatly, “we are the ship that goes down with her.”

Silver’s expression turned wounded in that elegant, expensive way only nobles managed—like insult itself was a breach of etiquette.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t make this worse.”

He placed a hand over his heart.

“Ray, your faith in me is almost poetic.”

“I see what you’re doing,” she snapped. “And I swear to every saint left standing, if you try to sink her to position yourself better, I’ll make sure you sink with us.”

That finally wiped the amusement from his face.

“How dramatic.”

“No.” Ray’s voice dropped lower, deadlier. “You think I want power? I don’t give a damn about titles. I want my friend to live.”

Silence.

Silver looked at her for a long moment, unreadable.

Then he glanced past her at the others.

And found no refuge there.

Mezzo had gone still in the dangerous way he did when the jokes ran out. Topsy’s usual brightness had vanished entirely. Plum, for once, was not writing. Even Arcade, half out of the van and still carrying equipment, wore an expression that said very clearly he had heard enough to start choosing sides.

Pitch stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed on Silver from the shadow of the vehicle, saying nothing and somehow making that worse.

They were all looking at him the same way.

Above them, the cathedral’s golden spires vanished into the cloudline.

Below them, the team stood waiting in the shadow of its doors, while somewhere inside that vast holy machine, Celeste was being led into questions no one outside could yet hear.

And for the first time since arriving, even Silver had the good sense not to smile.