Apostles' War

The Throne of Virtue, Eidalein – Noon

The twelve-sided dais shimmered faintly as the Throne of Virtue stirred with divine resonance. Though not all Apostles were present, eight thrones glowed softly in acknowledgment of their bearers.

Elian stood near the center, arms tense at his sides. He still wore the training robe Leon had given him — clean but slightly wrinkled — his sigil faintly glowing beneath the sleeve.

Before him, Cardinal Caeli emerged in full regalia — their white and gold robes like woven starlight, Scripture of the Unseen hovering at their side, pages gently fluttering though no wind stirred.

"A tremor has reached us," Caeli said, voice echoing with both clarity and grace. "From the old world."

They raised a hand — and a projection of a French city appeared above the dais, built on gentle hills and cobbled streets. Mist hung over old steeples.

Lisieux.

A once-holy cathedral had gone silent.

"They believed it to be mold. Then illness. Then madness," Caeli said, eyes heavy. "But the Vatican confirmed the truth an hour ago: Grinshades now nest inside the Cathedral of Lisieux."

Leon's face darkened.

Enoch, standing near a golden pillar, simply nodded — as if he had already sensed it.

"They've taken on the faces of priests and parishioners. And now... of saints."

Elian's chest tightened.

"You will go," Caeli continued, stepping forward. "Leon. Enoch. Elian. You three are best suited for this mission."

Elian blinked. "Me?"

"Yes," Caeli said, looking directly into his soul. "This is not merely to test you, but to align your light. You are not a sword alone — but part of a greater flame."

"Grinshades mock virtue," Enoch added. "They imitate faith. But cannot carry it. We must burn them out."

"And they wear holy faces," Leon whispered. "This mission is not one of wrath. But of clarity."

Caeli held up the Scripture — a new line appeared in glowing script:

"Send the three, where faces wear lies — and silence dares to sing."

"You leave within the hour," Caeli concluded. "No relics are to be summoned until the veil breaks. This will test your restraint."

As the meeting adjourned, the three Apostles stood together in quiet unity. A gate of silver light had already begun forming to the side — feathers drifting, bells softly ringing.

Elian swallowed his nerves.

"You've done the training," Enoch said quietly. "Now… we see if you remember."

Leon placed a hand gently on Elian's shoulder.

"Stay humble. Don't fight to prove anything. Just be who you are."

Elian nodded, his breath catching.

As they stepped through the Gate into the mortal world — into the shadows of Lisieux — the veil behind them closed with a chime.

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And deep below, in the Obsidian Cradle, a single Dark Apostle stirred — Nyxamé, the Crownless Queen, whispering with glee as she sensed what was coming.