The High Priest's chambers smelled of incense and age — a mix of sanctity and rot. The floorboards creaked under Lucien's feet as he stepped inside, candlelight casting warped shadows across the old stone walls.
High Priest Geroux sat hunched behind a carved desk, his hands folded neatly, as if in prayer. But Lucien had seen that expression before — not reverence.
Suspicion.
"Father Lucien," Geroux said, not rising. "Sit."
Lucien obeyed without hesitation. "You wished to see me?"
Geroux tilted his head. "You've been diligent. Punctual. Helpful. In fact, I hear you're often the last to leave the archives."
"I find peace in scripture," Lucien replied evenly.
"Peace?" Geroux leaned forward. "Or secrets?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any accusation.
Lucien didn't flinch. "If I've done something to concern you—"
"I said nothing of concern." Geroux smiled thinly. "Only that you've caught the attention of a few inquisitors. One, in particular. Young. Sharp. I believe you've met."
"Isolde," Lucien said without hesitation. "Yes. We spoke briefly."
"A brief conversation can ripple in deep waters," Geroux murmured, reaching for a quill. "I trust your intentions remain… pure."
Lucien looked the man dead in the eye.
"As pure as the Church's blessings."
Geroux laughed — a short, dry thing. "Good. We wouldn't want any wolves slipping into our flock."
Lucien smiled politely, rising. "Of course not."
As he walked out, the door shut behind him with a low thud, like a cell locking from the outside.
---
Courtyard – Moments Later
The cold slapped his face the moment he stepped into the courtyard. The snow had hardened into brittle sheets across the cobblestones. Templars passed without acknowledging him, their armor clinking in rhythm with their breath.
Lucien walked slowly, letting the High Priest's words settle in his mind.
He was being watched. That wasn't new.
What was new — was the attention had become official.
They wouldn't strike now. Not yet. But Isolde had planted a seed. And someone, somewhere in the upper echelons, had watered it.
He would have to accelerate things.
---
Later That Night — Cathedral Library
The ancient library was a maze of forgotten knowledge. Candlelight licked the edges of forbidden scrolls and dusty tomes, as Lucien traced a map etched into a piece of torn parchment.
Hidden tunnels.
Smuggler routes used before the Church became a fortress.
He marked one with a dull graphite stub.
Then the whisper came.
"You really do spend too much time alone."
Lucien turned. Isolde stood at the threshold, arms folded. No robes tonight. Just a dark cloak, a simple dagger sheathed at her hip.
"Are you following me?" he asked calmly.
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe I just find it interesting… how a low-ranking priest has access to maps locked behind four keys."
Lucien rolled up the parchment. "Curiosity is a blessing. Until it's not."
She stepped closer. "You're hiding something."
He didn't answer.
Her voice lowered. "I don't think it's something bad. Not yet. But you're… not like the others."
Lucien stood, walking past her toward the corridor. He paused only for a second.
"Don't follow me, Isolde. Not tonight."
She didn't move, didn't reply. But her eyes didn't leave him.
---
Underground Passage — Midnight
Lucien knelt beside an old archway deep beneath the cathedral. Moisture clung to the stone. Moss grew like rot in wounds.
He placed a hand on the wall. Counted the bricks. Tapped.
Hollow.
Good.
Behind it — a forgotten chamber, long buried, filled with relics the Church had hidden from itself. Some sacred. Some profane.
Some… powerful.
He began to dig, slowly and silently, with a rusted chisel.
Above ground, they watched sermons and lit candles.
Below, Lucien carved his path — not with steel.
With patience.
---
End of chapter 13