Apostles' War

Lisieux, France – 9:42 PM

The gate closed behind them with a silver shimmer.

Elian felt the world shift.

Gone were the eternal skies of Eidalein — now replaced with a gray fog, the smell of rain-slick stone, and the distant toll of a church bell that didn't echo quite right.

Lisieux was quiet. Too quiet.

The city's old stone facades glistened in the mist. Shadows clung tightly to the corners of narrow alleys, and the once-bustling town center now looked abandoned. 

Windows were shut, curtains drawn. A cathedral loomed above the rooftops — Lisieux Cathedral, its twin spires piercing through the fog like silent watchtowers.

"No welcome committee," Leon muttered, adjusting the high collar of his coat.

"The veil's thin here," Enoch said. "Even the wind feels off. Like it's listening."

Elian stayed close behind the two, nerves taut. His sigil burned faintly beneath his glove, as if reacting to something unseen.

-------

10:12 PM – Auberge du Rosier (The Rose Inn)

They found a small inn not far from the cathedral — warm lights still glowing inside, though the rest of the street was silent.

A small brass bell rang as they stepped through the door.

Behind the desk, a hunched old woman with kind eyes and a heavy shawl looked up — startled at first, then almost... relieved.

"Three rooms?" she asked, voice low and trembling.

"One is fine," Leon replied. "We're just here on pilgrimage."

The woman hesitated. Then gave a slow nod. "You're here for her, aren't you?"

Enoch's gaze sharpened. "Her?"

The woman looked around, as if afraid the walls would hear.

"The statue of Saint Therese... it cries now. But not tears."

"Then what?" Elian asked quietly.

"Something black. Thick as ink. And the choir... they hum even when no one's inside."

She slid them a key. "Be careful. Even your prayers sound wrong in there."

As they turned toward the staircase, she added one last thing:

"Don't look too long at the stained-glass saints. Their eyes don't blink anymore."

10:54 PM – Upstairs Room

The Apostles gathered in silence. Outside, the cathedral loomed through the window — its lights flickering like dying candles.

"Leon," Elian asked, sitting on the bed's edge, "what do you think happened?"

Leon folded his arms. "Grinshades. More than just mockery this time. They've embedded. The church itself might be compromised."

"We'll go in at dawn," Enoch said. "For now, rest. You'll need clarity of mind."

But Elian found no peace.

Even in the quiet of the room, he could feel them — watching. Not through the walls, but through memory itself.

As if something was peeling back the stories behind every holy image in town, rewriting them with new lies.

He looked at his reflection in the glass.

And for a moment, the version of himself staring back was smiling far too wide.