The door to the Confessional Room closed behind them with a deep groan. The sound lingered through the hall; the scent of burnt incense and blood hung in the air. Darius walked out first. He wiped the crimson from his gauntlets with a white cloth. He let out a tired sigh as he looked at the blood-soaked cloth.

  "Is this your first time having to interrogate? You've done well, thus far." Isolde said as she followed behind him. He had carried himself well over the past weeks. From the investigation to the interrogations, all had been conducted cleanly and swiftly.

  "Yes... But I've watched Garran enough times to know what to do and what to look for."

  She nodded her head in understanding. The proof was in his performance. He knew when to push and when to cut losses. He wasted no time with suspects who he knew would give him nothing, and pressed for hours on others, until he milked them for all they were worth. Most of all, he showed no remorse for those who did not show remorse themselves. Isolde folded her arms as she looked at Darius, still wiping the blood from his sleeves.

  Finally, she spoke. “An Archbishop.” Her voice was low, measured, but steeped in disbelief. “It’s absurd. An Archbishop running a spy network within the Sanctum?”

  Darius didn’t look at her. “Absurd?” he asked, “No. What’s absurd is that they had the arrogance to join the entourage to the Hallows. That takes a special breed of stupidity.”

  Isolde’s eyes flicked toward him. “Or confidence.”

  He gnced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Confidence?”

  “They must believe they can hide their corruption even there.”

  He stopped walking. “Even where?”

  Isolde hesitated—just enough for him to notice.

  She cleared her throat.

  “Even in the Hallows... no doubt that demons can detect the taint easier than our priest and Saints.”

  The silence that followed was immediate and thick. The torches along the hall hissed faintly, as if the word itself had soured the air.

  Darius turned toward her fully now, his voice low. “Demons?”

  Her gaze met his, unflinching. “Yes.”

  “You’re telling me,” he stopped to gather himself. He took a breath and continued.

  "You're telling me that demons are living in the Hallows—openly?”

  Isolde’s tone remained perfectly steady. “Under control.”

  “Under control,” Darius repeated, the words sounded unconvinced. “By whom?”

  “Morgan LeFaye. She seems to have leashed them.”

  He stared at her as if she’d told him the sky had turned bck. “You knew,” he said finally.

  “Of course, you knew. You spent time in the Hallows. Why... why didn’t you report it to the Sanctum?”

  Isolde's head tilted in disbelief at Darius's questions. She let out an annoyed scoff, “Come on, Darius. It's obvious why.”

  The muscle in his jaw tightened. “Obvious,” he echoed. “You think keeping that from the Pontifex is the obvious decision?”

  “Do you think the Sanctum could handle that truth?” she asked. “They’d call a crusade before they asked a question,” Isodle expined, and Darius will counter,

  "And rightfully so... demons..." Before Darius could finish his statement, Isolde would interrupt him.

  "I saw the hallows, Darius. The creatures lurking there...." She will let out a dreadful sigh.

  "The Sanctum would not stand a chance. Maybe... MAYBE, if they could convince the Empire to assist them, they would have a shot. But other than that...at best, it's suicidal."

  He exhaled sharply, turning away. The air seemed colder now, more oppressive. “Even so. Living among demons is madness,” he said. “You of all people should know that. You’re a Saintess, Isolde. There’s a difference between understanding and compcency.”

  "Well, I'm very compcent with keeping my life, and not being forced into war against my best friend. " Darius let out a breath tinged with a forced ugh, and Isolde continued.

  “Madness or not, it seems to work.”

  "For now."

  Darius said as he turned back toward her, studying her expression. There was no defiance there, no hesitation. Just quiet certainty. He realized, not for the first time, how much she’d changed since reconnecting with Selene. She used to speak softly to avoid stepping on authority. Now, she carried herself like someone who had outgrown permission.

  There was power in her now. Real power. It glowed behind her eyes when she spoke. Once, she might have hidden it. Now, she wore it openly. The others in the Sanctum whispered her name in the same breath as Augustine’s and Lucen’s. And Darius knew better than anyone that it was only a matter of time before the title of High Saint was bestowed on her.

  Still, it unsettled him.

  “You’ve gotten bold,” Darius said.

  “Bold,” she echoed. “No...just honest.”

  He gave a faint snort.

  They continued down the corridor, the tension between them shifting from sharp to contemptive.

  “You’ll see the Hallows for yourself soon enough,” Isolde said after a moment. “Then you can decide if it’s madness or divine irony.”

  “Divine irony,” Darius muttered. “That’s a poetic way of saying bsphemy.”

  She ignored the jab.

  Darius then tilted his head for a moment and then asked.

  "Why would I need to go to The Hallows? I'd rather not go there. I might get the itch for a crusade." Darius half-joked.... half. Isolde stifled a chuckle and expined.

  “If corruption can hide from demons. Or worse, if the demons refuse to expose it. Then only Devotion will be able to reveal the truth.”

  Darius stopped at that, resting his hand on the sword’s hilt. The metal glimmered faintly, almost as if the bde responded to the sound of its name. “Devotion... still kind of does its own thing. I'm just along for the ride at this point,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” Isolde asked. “It seems to listen to you well enough. Besides, I'm sure it won't want harm to come to its old home either.”

  Darius looked at Devotion and could feel the air around it warm.

  When they resumed walking. The quiet was broken, this time by Darius. “The spell Morgan and Selene used when Cursed Bounty attacked the capital,” he said. “That should work well enough. We just need to send word. Once they cast it again. There's no way they'll be able to hide from them.”

  Isolde shook her head immediately. “No. That spell, Darius. That spell surpassed the level of a Grand Spell by a rge margin. The scope of it...” she trailed off, rubbing at her temple. “It wasn’t just a location and a revealing spell. It was... immense in both Vaylora usage and complexity. It must have taken more from them than they showed.”

  Darius frowned. “They seemed fine after.”

  “They weren’t fine,” she said. “They are just smart and stubborn enough not to show their weakness. Don't you find it odd that neither of them actually participated in the cleanup?”

  The words hung between them for a long moment.

  Finally, Darius said, “Then what do you suggest?”

  She exhaled slowly. “We don’t know if whatever they’re using to hide themselves can fool that spell. But we do know it doesn’t fool Devotion.”

  Her gaze drifted down to the sword at his side again, to the faint line of crimson still etched into its edge. “It seems to hunger for truth the way demons hunger for chaos. Or maybe it just wishes to burn away all the taint. A fitting weapon for you.”

  Isolde still saw the look of hesitation on Darius's face. Her mouth curved into a sly smile. “Tell me, are you afraid to go to the Hallows, or afraid to see Selene there, standing beside the Crown Prince?”

  The words hit sharper than she likely intended. Darius’s jaw tightened. “That’s beneath you,” he said.

  “Maybe, but we both know who you wish was beneath you.”

  He didn’t answer; he just narrowed his eyes as Isolde.

  She smiled faintly, her tone turning dry. “Be honest with your Inquisitor.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said finally, more to himself than to her. “Selene will make her choice. I already know mine.”

  Isolde raised an eyebrow. “So you'll leave her alone, with a slick-tongued Crown Prince, to help her shape her choice?”

  His jaws flexed in frustration as the image of the Crown Prince's smug smile entered his mind.

  "I thought you and Lucen were friends." He asked.

  "We are..." She didn't eborate further.

  Darius huffed and turned to walk away, moving faster than before.

  “Go get Eryndor, I'm sure Aelun will be with him,” he said. “I’ll gather the rest of the company. We report to the Sanctum within the hour, and then we move for the Hallows at first light.”

  The courtyard behind the Sanctum’s northern gate was wrapped in fog. Bck armor gleamed in the rising sun. Fifteen Inquisitors of the Thorned Path, two Saints, and an Elf made their final preparations.

  Darius watched them from the steps.

  Calder tightened her sword and swung a halberd across her. “Shame we didn’t get to fight in the capital against those undead,” she said. “Maybe we’ll find some action in the Hallows instead.”

  Darius adjusted the strap of his cuirass and looked up at her with a wry half-smile. “You’ll find plenty to do there,” he said.

  A few of the nearby Inquisitors chuckled softly.

  Myrren was already mounted, her satchel bulging with journals and quills, every inch of her horse organized to the point of obsession. “Commander,” she asked, hesitantly raising her hand, “if time allows… will I be permitted to explore the Hallow’s library?”

  She froze immediately after, eyes wide. “Oh, gods... Is that bsphemy?”

  Across from her, Tomas made the sign of the Thorn and smiled faintly. “Seeking knowledge isn’t a sin, Sister. It’s what you do with it that earns damnation or grace. Absorb every bit of knowledge you can, and use it for the faith. No doubt the gods will bless you.”

  Myrren exhaled in relief, shoulders dropping.

  Kaelen rolled his eyes and tugged the strap of his saddle tighter. “Bah, you and your stuffy books. I’m just curious to see the pce that uppity witch grew up.”

  Jareth gave him a ft look but said nothing, reins coiled tight in his gloved hand.

  At the back of the group, Eryndor stood beside Isolde. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, his robes unsoiled. He had no horse.

  Kaelen squinted. “Wait. Where is his a mount? ”

  Aelun smiled faintly, tightening the reins of his steed. “Don’t worry about him. This is part of his training.”

  Kaelen spped his forehead and excimed,

  "By the gods. Don't tell me this runt can fly now, too?"

  Darius smirked, watching as Eryndor’s expression remained serene. The young Saint bowed his head once.

  When Darius mounted his horse, the air around him seemed to still. His company waited. “All right,” he said, his voice cutting clean through the fog. "Form ranks. We ride for the Hallows.”

  Isolde’s gaze flicked skyward. The wind gathered beneath her. “Try not to fall behind,” she said as the wind lifted her into the air and she shot across the sky.

  The Company began to move. The hooves of their mighty horses thundered on the ground as they pounded the pavement.

  Eryndor drew a steadying breath. Heat shimmered around his boots, faint tongues of blue fme licking outward before catching the air. The wind bent, and he began to move—long, gliding strides that kept pace with the mounted riders, each step leaving trails of fire that faded in the wake of dawn.

  Kaelen’s jaw went sck. “What the hell is this now?”

  Calder smirked, shaking her head. “Show-offs. Both of them.”

  Darius’s grin lingered. “Let’s move. The Hallows won’t wait for us.”

  Mist spilled onto the road as Darius's company rode forward in disciplined silence. Darius looked back at his group a final time before focusing on the road ahead. He had not even mentioned the Demons that dwelled in the Hallows. He had not found the words to tell them that they hunted corrupt Bishops in a city where demons lived freely. He could find no words that would quell their rage, nor any that would keep their faith from breaking.