Apostles' War

Lisieux, Normandy – 4:11 PM

The sun hung low, casting golden light through the windows of Auberge du Rosier, but the warmth did little to settle the weight in Elian's chest.

They sat again in the common room, this time around a corner table shielded by drawn curtains. Their food sat untouched. There was no hunger—only focus.

Leon laid a sketched map of the cathedral across the table, the parchment pinned with a coffee spoon.

"We enter through the side cloister," he said, tapping the page. "It's abandoned at night and leads to the nave without triggering the external alarms. I've already disabled the lock ward."

Elian frowned at the intricate drawing. "Won't the priests know we're inside?"

Enoch shook his head. "I spoke with Father Regnault this morning. He gave silent consent. Said he'd keep the door open tonight.' They know something's wrong, but they're afraid to confront it."

Leon's voice remained low, firm. "This isn't just infestation. It's infiltration. Something is nesting inside the cathedral's soul — and the Grinshades are only the first layer."

"Grinshades mimic us, right?" Elian asked.

"Faces. Voices. Laughter," Enoch answered. "But they're not perfect. They can't mirror truth. If you feel yourself doubting who someone is… listen for the silence."

Leon nodded. "They can't speak the Divine Names. Even in disguise, they'll slip."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"I don't have a weapon," Elian finally said. "Not really."

"You have more than you think," Enoch replied. "Your presence alone disrupts them. You are the Seraphblade, whether you've drawn it or not."

Elian blinked, surprised.

Leon added, "Just don't try to be a hero. You watch our backs. Enoch and I lead the charge. If something goes wrong—fall back to the southern chapel."

"You won't be a burden," Enoch said gently. "You're an Apostle. That's enough."

The weight in Elian's chest shifted—not gone, but steadied.

6:56 PM – Preparing to Infiltrate

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the Apostles gathered their things in silence.

Enoch pulled on a dark cloak embroidered with faint threads of gold, while Leon tightened leather braces over his forearms. Neither carried their relics yet — but the air around them shimmered faintly, as if the possibility of power trailed in their wake.

Elian pulled on his jacket slowly. His hand still bore the glowing sigil — not as bright now, but warm. Watching.

Leon opened the window and let the cool evening air in.

"Tonight," he said, "we find out if the Grinshades are just scouts… or something worse."

And together, under the cloak of dusk, the three Apostles moved like shadows through the cobbled streets of Lisieux — toward a cathedral that had begun to smile back.