Apostles' War

Eidalein – The Resting Place of the Twelve Lights

Beyond the veil of mortal eyes.

The bells of Eidalein stirred.

No wind blew, and yet the chimes rang—a sacred resonance echoing from the very heart of the sanctuary.

Inside the Mirror Chapel, Cardinal Caeli Vireon lifted their head.

Twelve golden threads stitched across their white robes—each representing a living virtue.

And now, one burned anew.

The thread of Kindness shimmered like fire kissed by dawn.

Caeli turned toward the Vault of Silence, where sacred relics lay dormant in crystal embrace.

Within one of the twelve sealed chambers, something flickered.

Not yet visible—but awakened.

The Seraphblade had stirred.

With solemn calm, Caeli summoned the Scripture of the Unseen. Pages turned on their own, guided by divine will.

"And when the hand of mercy burns, the First Light shall tremble the veil, and the lost shall see."

"Elian Reyes," Caeli whispered. "Your path begins."

Moments later, the Throne of Virtue glowed.

Six thrones ignited: Hope, Serenity, Justice, Faith, Humility, and Endurance.

Their Apostles arrived in radiant flashes, responding to the Sigil Resonance Call.

The thrones of Compassion, Imagination, Gratitude, Truth, Forgiveness, and Kindness remained dim—though the latter now pulsed faintly.

Caeli stood at the center of the twelve-sided dais.

"A sigil has awakened in Tagaytay. The bearer does not yet know his name, nor the burden he carries. But the light has returned."

Their voice, gentle and celestial, rippled through the citadel.

"He will be unguarded. Fear will chase him before we can."

They turned to the Apostle beneath the Throne of Serenity.

"Minato Kai—find him. Bring him here."

Minato bowed.

From beneath his sigil, the Stillwater Bell stirred.

------

Elsewhere...

The Obsidian Cradle

The festering throne beneath all heavens.

A fissure tore through the dark as Elian's sigil ignited, its radiant light piercing even the Underworld.

Centurion rose from his obsidian throne, the void behind his helm swirling like a black sun.

The awakening had begun.

The boy bore Kindness, the virtue Centurion most loathed.

Not because it was mighty—but because it reminded mortals they were not alone.

And that, Centurion would not permit.

"No," he murmured. "Let him see what kindness births. Let him hear it scream."

He lifted his clawed hand, and a tremor passed through the Cradle.

From the cliffs of silence rose the Wailing Hordes — shrouded silhouettes made of sound and sorrow.

Their mouths opened wide, but it was not their own voices they spoke with—

—they wept in the voices of lovers, parents, children long dead.

"Send them," Centurion growled.

"Let the boy's first lesson be despair."

The Wailing Hordes took flight, trailing shrieking winds toward the mortal realm.