As the priest stepped out of the church, the hush that had wrapped the sanctuary unraveled into noise. Some tried to mimic the miracle they had witnessed, performing crude imitations. Others stood motionless, as if struggling to decide whether they had seen truth or trickery. A few dropped to their knees, whispering fervent prayers to a God who, if only for a moment, had seemed terrifyingly near.
But Julius did not look back.
He left the quiet hush of the chapel behind, stepping into the afternoon bustle that spilled across the road to the merchant square. The sounds of town life returned—boots on stone, voices haggling over prices, the distant bark of a dog.
Then he slowed.
A group of five blocked the narrow lane ahead—strangers, clearly. Not a familiar face among them. At their center stood a tall man wrapped in a dust-stained coat, its gold-trimmed edges catching the sun like a subtle warning.
Julius knew that coat.
It belonged to the Church of Light, The man stepped forward, his posture rigid with ceremonial pride.
Sulvyan: "I come in the name of oath, to serve the human realm—"
He stopped mid-sentence. Julius had said nothing, but the weight of his gaze was enough. Sulvyan exhaled, the edge of frustration creeping into his otherwise composed tone.
Sulvyan: "Julius. This is the seventh time. Her grace extends to you an honor most rare, and with it, the resources this village sorely needs. Yet even generosity has its limits. She will not wait forever."
Julius: (calmly) "Forgive my boldness, but I have no interest in honor. My duty lies here. With these people."
Allucard: "And what of them? Do they not deserve more than your presence? Her grace has offered supplies—for the entire duration of your absence. You could return in a moon's cycle with wisdom to guide them better than ever before."
Julius remained still for a moment, but something behind his eyes stirred—some thought he did not voice. His gaze drifted over the rooftops of Hollomere, beyond the crooked chimneys and ivy-cloaked beams.
Julius: "This village lacks not food or coin. The God we serve has seen to that. What it lacks is direction. Purpose. A place like this—hidden and strange—draws people from shattered paths. Some arrive seeking healing, others simply wander in and find they cannot leave."
His voice lowered, as if speaking to the village itself.
Julius (cont.): "But it is a place easily lost in delusion. Misunderstanding festers like rot here, hidden beneath smiles. To abandon it now would be to leave a flame alone in the wind."
There was a pause. Then, the sharp click of footsteps on stone.
A figure emerged from between two cottages—slim, robed in deep black, walking as though she had always been part of the conversation. She moved like a shadow dressed in grace, and as she approached, The chruch envoys stepped slightly aside, saying nothing. Her presence alone seemed to silence them.
Marie: (lightly, almost playful) "Julius."
The way she said his name made it sound like a secret.
Marie : "Is it pride that binds you here? If that's all, we could easily arrange for someone to tend to your little village in your absence."
Then, her tone shifted, losing its velvet sheen. It struck like a bell tolling at dusk.
Marie: "We leave on the night of the new moon. You would do well to think it through, priest."
Julius regarded her, and something in his expression flickered—recognition, perhaps, or something deeper. But if he knew her, he did not say so.
Julius: "So you're finally giving up? That's good to hear."
He turned without waiting for a reply. But her words had struck a nerve, and as he walked back toward the heart of Hollomere, his thoughts grew heavy. Her voice lingered in his mind—like the echo of a prophecy unspoken.
And for the first time in many months, he was uncertain.
Allucard: "Lady Marie… forgive my boldness, but I do not understand. What makes that man so important as to require your presence? And why would Her Grace be so persistent about him?"
Marie did not turn to look at him. Her eyes lingered on the path Julius had taken, though whatever thoughts moved behind them, she kept hidden.
Maria: "He is not."
The answer was sharp, final. But before Allucard could question further, she continued—choosing her words with careful precision.
Maria: "The true reason I came is of far greater consequence. Her Grace has received another revelation."
The weight in her voice silenced the group. Even the wind seemed to hush around them. But she said no more than that.
Maria: "Prepare yourselves. We march on the night of the new moon."
Another knight spoke up—his tone less deferent, laced with frustration.
Jack: "Then why not take him by force? If he's not truly important, why waste so much effort convincing him?"
A voice behind him cut in—older, raspier, yet calm with the weight of experience. Sulvyan, draped in the dull steel of a weather-worn captain, stepped forward.
Sulvyan: "Revelations are often cryptic. Fragmented. We are not always meant to understand them in full."
He gave a dry, sardonic chuckle as he adjusted the fur-lined mantle at his shoulders.
Sulvyan: "Force him? that might have been the wisest course—were this any other place."
He gestured with a nod toward the woods that encroached upon the village's edge, toward the crooked houses and strange, ancient soil beneath their feet.
Sulvyan: "But this is Hollomere. And nothing here answers to force."
The knight frowned but held his tongue. Even as they turned to leave, the unease sat heavy on his shoulders. This was madness. Seven attempts, wasted. They should have dragged the priest out by now.
As they made their way back to their temporary quarters, he slowed his pace, glancing toward the path Julius had taken.
"I'll catch up later," he muttered.
Sulvyan didn't even break stride. "Don't waste your time."
"Just a talk." Jack adjusted his gauntlet, flexing his fingers. "A man can be reasoned with."
Maria, walking ahead, exhaled softly. "A talk." Her voice carried the weight of quiet amusement.
Jack said nothing, only dipped his head in a half-hearted bow before veering off.
Sulvyan's eyes narrowed as the knight turned away from the group.
"Oi," he called out, stepping forward. "This isn't the time for foolishness. Stand down."
The knight didn't stop—just offered a curt wave over his shoulder.
"I'll just talk to him," he said, but there was a sharpness in his tone that betrayed other intentions.
Sulvyan moved to follow, but Maria lifted a hand—calm, precise, and without looking back.
"Let him go."
Sulvyan halted mid-step. His jaw tightened.
"He'll make a mess of it."
"Then Hollomere will clean it up."
She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch Sulvyan's eye. "We don't guide this place. We tread it."
Sulvyan grunted, displeased but said no more. The knight disappeared down the path, the heavy thud of his boots fading into the hush of the village.
The rest of the knights exchanged uncertain glances, but no one else moved. They'd seen enough to know—orders weren't always barked. Sometimes, they were whispered.