The chapel of the Central Cathedral was a paradox of beauty and darkness, a serene sanctuary wrapped in the elegance of night. The walls were adorned with intricate silver filigree, spiraling like ethereal vines, catching the faint glow of candlelight and casting soft reflections across the room. Above, black-stained glass windows loomed, their surfaces fragmented with tiny holes. Sunlight, filtered through these deliberate imperfections, streamed into the chapel, creating beams of celestial light that shimmered like stars in a velvet sky. The effect was nothing short of breathtaking—a quiet, reverent sky born within the heart of the Cathedral, where light and shadow danced in harmony.
At the far end of the room, Captain Bolard sat with his head bowed, the subtle weight of his presence heavy within the quiet space. His figure was stoic, yet there was a deep solemnity in his posture, as though the burdens of countless years rested on his shoulders. Asher approached the pews cautiously, his footfalls softened by the thick, dark velvet carpeting beneath him. He slid into the seat beside Bolard, offering a moment of respectful silence. The air was still, save for the soft flicker of candles lining the chapel walls, their flames swaying like gentle whispers of unseen prayers.
Bolard eventually stirred from his quiet contemplation, lifting his head slowly, his eyes glinting with quiet intensity. Without looking directly at Asher, he spoke in a hushed voice that barely disturbed the tranquil atmosphere. "Done already?" His voice held a note of approval, though restrained, as if pride were a sentiment too dangerous to fully embrace in their line of work. "Spectacular! Let's have an office dinner tonight to celebrate your accomplishment. You're the first to reach step 8 since Jack!"
Asher looked over at Captain Bolard, a flicker of guilt stirring within him. His thoughts returned to the ring—its enigmatic power still pulsing at the edge of his consciousness, a secret he had not yet fully disclosed. He felt the weight of that omission now, the sense of shame pressing against his mind. But he forced a smile, a mask of gratitude to hide the deeper thoughts that churned beneath. "That sounds wonderful, Captain," he replied, his tone light despite the heaviness in his chest. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Before we go, could we visit the library? I wish to peruse the documents related to the ring. Perhaps they have some rare records here."
Captain Bolard turned to him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, his sharp eyes narrowing as he considered the request. "As you wish," he said, his tone carrying a faint warning. "But keep in mind, we must not look at anything we aren't meant to. The consequences for disobedience are severe... and impartial." His gaze darkened slightly, the unspoken threat lingering in the air like a cold draft. "Once inside, do not disobey the librarian under any circumstances. You won't get a second chance."
Asher nodded solemnly. "I understand, Captain." Rising to his feet, he followed Bolard out of the chapel, casting one last glance at the serene beauty that enveloped the room. The sight of the silver ornaments, the dancing starlight, and the vast, silent darkness felt like a sanctuary closing its arms behind him. The door clicked shut, the sound echoing softly in the hollowed halls of the Cathedral.
Asher followed Captain Bolard out of the chapel and into the dimly lit hallway. His eyes lingered on the suits of armor that lined either side of the grand staircase, each one an intricate masterpiece of silver plating and craftsmanship. In the past, he might have marveled at their lifelike quality, how they stood so poised and perfect that it seemed they could step off their pedestals at any moment. He wouldn't have been surprised if they had.
But the supernatural world had long since eroded his sense of wonder, replacing it with wariness. He knew better now. These weren't mere decorations to impress visitors. Asher would bet his last pound that those hollow shells were more than they appeared—deadly sentinels, ready to spring to life at a moment's notice. How terrifying a force would they be? Hundreds, maybe thousands, of these tireless warriors wielding swords, halberds, spears, and bows. Feeling no pain, needing no rest, and incapable of fear. The thought sent an icy shiver down his spine.
His feet pressed into the plush carpet as they walked, each step sinking slightly as if the floor itself were cushioned with luxury. Lavish. Everything about the cathedral exuded a sense of wealth and power that seemed almost obscene in its opulence. The carpet, so soft that it felt like walking on clouds, was only one reminder of how far removed the lives of these holy men and women were from the harsh reality outside.
As they proceeded, clergy members and fellow Emissaries passed them in the hallway. Asher kept his eyes low, unwilling to meet their gazes. His encounter with the Deacon had left him cautious, humbled by the staggering hierarchies of power within this world. He might have ascended to step 8, but it was a hollow achievement in the face of the true might that existed here. To these people, he was still an ant, scurrying beneath the shadow of giants.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, they arrived at their destination—the library. Captain Bolard raised his fist and knocked twice on the ancient door. It looked as if it had stood for centuries, weathered and worn, with the faintest cracks running along its surface. It seemed fragile, as though it might crumble into dust with a single touch, yet there was a sense of reverence about it, as if the door had witnessed the very founding of the cathedral itself. For a fleeting moment, Asher wondered if the Great Mother herself had passed through this very doorway. He quickly dismissed the thought. Sacrilegious, he chastised himself.
The door creaked open, and standing in the frame was a woman draped in silver robes, her figure shrouded in elaborate patterns that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Her black blindfold was striking against her pale skin, and in one hand, she held an open book, her fingers tracing its worn pages as if reading without sight. Her hair, a striking shade of deep purple, cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with the somber tone of the hallway.
The air grew still, and Asher felt a sudden weight settle over him, the aura of the library emanating from beyond the door. It was a place that held secrets—dangerous secrets. He glanced at Captain Bolard, who remained impassive, but Asher knew better than to think their mission here would be straightforward.
"Enter," the woman said, her voice smooth and eerily calm, as though she had long been expecting them.
Asher hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, his heart quickening with a mix of anticipation and dread. The library awaited, and whatever lay inside would bring him one step closer to the truth of the ring—and, perhaps, the peril that came with it.
Asher kept Captain Bolard's words close to heart, maintaining a solemn expression as he cast a sidelong glance toward the blindfolded librarian. He knew his place here, beneath her gaze despite her veiled eyes. There was an authority to her, something that transcended her appearance. As he waited for her to speak, he reminded himself to stay respectful and patient.
"What is it you seek, children?" the librarian asked, her voice laced with an eerie calm.
Children? The word felt misplaced. She couldn't be more than a few years older than him, if that. Her skin had the kind of soft, youthful glow that many would envy, and her figure—though cloaked in those heavy robes—seemed impossibly full of life. Still, something about her manner suggested a wisdom far beyond her years. Asher swallowed his initial irritation and chose his words carefully.
"I seek records of a relic," Asher began, his voice steady but edged with curiosity. "The Knight's Stella formally possessed it. It's a ring. What little I know suggests a strong connection to Florence Hesparee and Antoinette Figoris."
The librarian raised her hand to her chin, delicate fingers brushing across her face with a slow, deliberate motion. Her other hand, still clutching the book, drifted upward, revealing the silver band she wore on her ring finger. The amethyst embedded in it glimmered in the dim light, casting a faint purple glow that seemed to pulse with hidden power. She pressed the ring to her lips, whispering words so soft, so foreign, that only the air itself seemed to carry their meaning.
Asher held his breath, watching her intently. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air growing thick with an energy he couldn't quite name.
Finally, the librarian lowered her hand and turned to face him, her blindfolded eyes doing nothing to lessen the intensity of her gaze. Her expression, once neutral, now bore the weight of something far more serious.
"Why is it you seek the ring, child?" she asked, her tone devoid of judgment yet heavy with expectation.
The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring him to reveal not just his curiosity, but the deeper motivations behind his search. Asher felt a knot tighten in his chest. This was more than a simple inquiry. Her words cut through the superficial, as though she could see past the polite request he had formed and into the very core of his being.