Rain fell like a hymn of whispers, steady and soft, as if the sky itself feared to disturb the silence of Seraphad.
Inside the great cathedral, the scent of damp stone mixed with candle wax. Drizzles of water traced paths down the tall stained glass, warping the painted saints into vague, weeping figures. The chorus had ended their morning prayer, but the echo of their voices still clung to the high rafters like ghosts unwilling to depart.
Lucien stood alone near the back, just beyond the candlelight. He wasn't praying. His hands were folded, but his eyes were wide open, scanning, noting, memorizing.
Today, the cracks had begun to show.
The Inquisition had launched internal interrogations—priests being called in at odd hours, whispers of heresy, muttered suspicions. Acolytes who once shared bread now glanced over shoulders, voices hushed in the corridors.
Lucien didn't need to pull any more strings today.
He had simply wound the ones he'd already tied... and now the Church was tugging at them all on its own.
"Lucien."
He turned. Father Galen approached with a scroll tucked under one arm, his face drawn, sleepless.
"The bishop would like to see you," Galen said. "Privately."
Lucien nodded, his face calm, even as the flicker of anticipation stirred beneath.
---
Inside Bishop Aldric's Chamber
The room was dim, but warm—furnished in deep reds and golds, a soft fire burning in the hearth. Ornate bookshelves lined the walls, most untouched. Aldric stood near the window, fingers clasped behind his back.
"Close the door."
Lucien obeyed.
The bishop turned slowly. "You've been... observant, haven't you?"
Lucien didn't flinch. "I try to be, Your Grace."
"You suggested an internal threat," Aldric said, eyes narrowing. "And now, doubt spreads like ink in water."
He paused, studying the younger man with a predator's quiet curiosity. "You knew this would happen."
Lucien met the bishop's gaze evenly. "I only spoke what I believed to be true. If doubt is spreading... perhaps it's because it has reason to."
Aldric didn't answer immediately. Then, to Lucien's surprise, he gave a slight chuckle.
"Good. You speak with care. That will keep you alive in this place."
The bishop poured a cup of dark wine and handed it to Lucien.
"There are wolves in the fold," he said. "Some in the red robes, some in armor. And perhaps... some in shadows."
Lucien accepted the cup, masking the thrum of satisfaction in his chest.
This was it.
Aldric didn't trust his own clergy anymore.
---
Later that evening, Lucien returned to the lower chapel. A few flickering candles lit the space. Sera was there, kneeling beside a sick boy, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. She smiled faintly when she saw Lucien.
"You missed evening bread."
"I had to speak with the bishop."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you in trouble?"
"Not yet."
The boy beside her coughed weakly. Sera adjusted the blanket and sighed.
"There's something wrong in this place," she whispered, not looking at him. "People are scared. There's tension in the air like before a storm."
Lucien crouched beside her, watching the boy's labored breathing.
"What will you do," he asked softly, "if the storm breaks?"
Sera turned her gaze to him. "Then I'll stand in the rain. Someone has to."
A pause.
Then she added, quieter, "I just hope I'm not standing alone."
Lucien looked away.
If she only knew.
---
Later That Night
In a damp cellar beneath an old wine house, lit only by a single oil lamp, Lucien met with two strangers.
One was a scribe—a Church record-keeper with debts. The other, a young knight whose family had been excommunicated over a false charge.
"I can give you a way to clear your family name," Lucien said to the knight. "And a list of those who buried the truth."
He turned to the scribe.
"And I can make your debts disappear. But both of you must play your roles."
They exchanged uncertain glances.
Lucien leaned forward, voice low and calm.
"I'm not your enemy. But the ones who sit in gold and whisper justice while they bleed the innocent dry... they are."
He reached into his cloak and produced two sealed letters.
"Deliver these. Quietly. Then wait."
They took the letters. Nodded. Left.
Lucien sat alone a moment longer, listening to the distant sound of rain against stone.
The strings were no longer just tightening.
They were beginning to pull back.
And soon, they would snap.
---
Chapter 8: End