CHAPTER 101: SINNER

Sylas’s face tightened, his fists clenched, but he said nothing. With a furious scowl, he spun on his heel, storming out of the foyer, his men trailing behind him like shadows.

Hitoshi let out a long breath as the tension finally dissipated. He glanced down at the chessboard, a small smile on his face as he moved his piece to take Serina’s king.

"Checkmate," he murmured with quiet satisfaction.

"Indeed it is," Aric said, a glint of something dark and triumphant in his eyes.

_______

The following day.

East of the imperial city of Valeria stood the Church of the Holy Flame, a towering monument of stone and bronze that had watched centuries pass under its shadow. Its spires climbed toward the heavens like fingers reaching desperately for something beyond mortal grasp.

Beaten by time, each block seemed stained with secrets, the cracks between them whispering prayers that had long since turned to dust.

Darkened windows framed in bronze told stories of gods and saints through washes of amber and cobalt light, casting colored patterns across the carved marble floors.

The heavy iron doors, scarred and dented from generations of hands pushing and pulling, creaked as the faithful entered. They came in quiet reverence, heads bowed, robes brushing the floor as though in apology.

Inside, incense thickened the air, smoky plumes curling toward the vaulted ceiling high above, where painted gods gazed down. Bronzed statues of the divine lined the walls, their sculpted eyes seeming to judge and weigh every soul that dared to enter.

Aric slipped in unnoticed, settling at the very back, far from the flickering candles and muttering priests.

He watched the worshipers—some kneeling at pews, hands clasped tightly, eyes shut in desperate prayer. Others leaned forward, whispering confessions or pleas, their words lost in the cathedral’s cavernous echo.

Desperation lingered in the air—a trembling kind of hope, or perhaps fear, that seemed to hum through every bowed head.

Around him, whispers rose and fell as people poured out their despairs, their longings, their sins to gods who hadn’t answered in lifetimes. Some prayed for forgiveness, others for fortune, many for lost loves or ones they feared were slipping away.

The priests moved through the aisles like shadows, draped in robes, hands folded as they murmured words of consolation.

Aric’s gaze drifted to the bronze figures mounted along the altar—gods of wisdom, wrath, compassion, judgment. The shifting light made their features seem alive, as though the gods themselves were watching, silently taking stock of each whispered prayer.

His eyes lingered longest on Kanairo, the god whose bronze face bore both fury and calm—a god who both took lives and protected them, who offered strength but demanded obedience.

Aric imagined the god’s disdain for all those kneeling below, their empty hands lifted in prayer.

Lost in thought, he did not notice the priest until the man settled beside him.

The old priest sat quietly, robes dragging across the cold stone floor. They remained in silence for a time, both watching the worshipers—one with faith, the other with something colder.

Where the priest saw salvation, Aric saw weakness.

The silence broke at last, the priest’s voice low but gentle.

"Have you sinned, child?"

Aric tilted his head, a bitter expression ghosting his face.

"Yes," he said simply, the word carrying more weight than he chose to reveal.

The priest nodded, his expression softening as he gestured faintly.

"You may tell me your sins," he offered. "So their burden may be lifted from you. That is why we are here."

Aric let out a short, humorless laugh, his gaze distant.

"My sins are too heavy," he murmured. "They’re... burdens I must carry alone." His words fell flat, the resignation of one who had already made peace with damnation.

The priest was silent, perhaps choosing his words with care, or weighing the depth of the prince’s sorrow. At last he asked,

"Will you at least stop sinning, son?"

Aric’s answer came without hesitation. His gaze never left the bronze gods.

"No," he replied softly, almost tenderly. "I must sin many more times. My only hope is that the gods might forgive me in the end."

The priest let out a quiet chuckle, unexpected and weary. His shoulders shook slightly, the humor bitter and knowing.

"The gods?" he said, almost conspiratorially. "The gods no longer reside here, son. All that remains is greed and pretense."

Aric turned, studying the deep lines of the man’s face, the weariness in his eyes. Here was someone who had served faithfully, only to see the hypocrisy behind the veil.

"You know," Aric said, voice light but cold, "sooner or later, you all will die." The words slipped out with casual certainty, as though he were stating a simple fact, not delivering a threat.

The priest’s faint smile turned wry. He shook his head and replied, "Let me guess—" his eyebrow arched, "you are the one who shall save us from our doom?" He exhaled softly, his tired smile unbroken. "I have been a priest long enough to know that words are the most hollow of offerings."

A shadow crossed Aric’s expression. His voice dropped, low and measured.

"I may not save you from your doom, priest," he murmured, leaning closer. "But I can most certainly quicken it."

The priest did not flinch, though his eyes flickered with something unreadable—a mix of resignation and, perhaps, the faintest glimmer of fear. He turned away, back to the altar where the gods sat in their eternal silence.

All around, the murmurs of prayer continued—the pleading for mercy, for love, for deliverance. The weight of so many whispered hopes pressed in like a suffocating fog.

Aric scanned the faces of those gathered—young and old, desperate and serene, each clutching to the illusion of something sacred, something that might save them.

And yet, as he looked back at the priest, he saw the truth written plainly in the old man’s face.

There was no salvation here. Only hollow rituals and empty promises. The gods had abandoned them long ago, leaving behind nothing but statues and stories.

"What do you offer, fourth prince?" the priest asked.

Aric smiled.