The streets were almost empty. Rain hammered the cobblestones, washing grime into dark rivers. Only the occasional patrol cut through the storm - soldiers in gray cloaks, rifles raised, banging on doors.

  From the alleys, Mary and I watched as one family was dragged out of their home. A woman clutched her child as two soldiers forced the father to his knees, shouting questions about harboring heretics.

  An officer stepped forward, pistol in hand, the muzzle pressing against the man’s forehead. “I’ll repeat one more time. Are you harboring enemies of the Empire!?” he roared.

  The man sobbed, choking on his own words as his wife begged, their children screaming into her skirts. The officer’s finger tightened on the trigger, fury spilling out into the rain.

  For a moment, I wanted to look away. But I didn’t. If the Empire was going to eat itself, I wanted to see the teeth.

  Mary’s hand flew to her mouth. “How can Lord Arthur allow this?” she whispered, horror in her eyes.

  I kept my voice flat. “The alternative’s worse. Better they get scared than gutted. He chose the lesser evil.” I nodded toward the officer. “The real question is - when the blood comes, will it be the heretics or the Empire doing the spilling?”

  She didn’t answer. Her lips trembled. Even when we moved on, her shoulders still shook under my coat.

  Soft heart. but it won’t last long. Better she sees the world as it is from a distance before it decides to show her personally.

  We slipped between alleys until the blackened frame of a half-burnt church rose ahead. The bell tower had collapsed years ago, and rain poured through the beams like broken ribs.

  Mary’s voice was small. “This place… seems to have been abandoned for years.”

  “Yeah.” I gestured at the ruin. “One of the orphans got possessed. Rudeus. Probably something the Nameless Ones left behind. Burned half the place down.”

  Mary turned to me, eyes wide.

  “In fairness,” I added dryly, “the nuns used to beat him for being left-handed. Said it was the devil’s mark. Guess he took it personally, and he became possesed.”

  Her mouth opened, but she said nothing.

  “Don’t worry,” I muttered. “His death was pretty quick, can't say the same for the nuns though.”

  The doors resisted until I put my boot through them. The air inside was damp and heavy with moss. The nave stretched ahead - half collapsed, pews warped, ivy crawling up the altar.

  Mary’s voice came soft. “Were you here? When it happened?”

  “No.” I nodded at the ruined left wing. “That’s where they kept us. Where they taught. Punished. Still better than starving in the gutter.”

  A short, humorless laugh slipped out. “Arthur’s name kept the beatings lighter. Rudeus didn’t have that luxury. So in all honesty, I don't blame him for doing what he did.”

  Mary bowed her head, fingers clutching the pendant at her throat. Her lips moved in silent prayer.

  “If the Almighty’s merciful,” I said quietly, “he’s somewhere better than this.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  We walked toward the pulpit. I froze when I saw a book - still open, untouched. I brushed off the dust and read the first verse aloud.

  “The crow wanders in loneliness until he finds his doves again.

  But he does not see - before he breathes their song, he will drown in their wings.”

  Mary murmured, “Nietche. Chapter twenty-five, verse nine.”

  I glanced at her. “You really do know your scripture.”

  “As the future Saintess, I’m expected to,” she said, voice tight.

  “Then come on. I’ll show you something better than scripture.”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  I smirked faintly. “When I was thirteen, I got bored. Thought it’d be funny to prank the priest.”

  Her eyes widened, scandalized.

  “I was thirteen,” I repeated, rolling my eyes.

  Kneeling, I pried open the boards under the lectern. A latch gave way, revealing a narrow shaft descending into darkness. A rusted ladder clung to the wall.

  “Instead, I found this.”

  Mary stepped closer, eyes wide. “Is that-”

  “Yeah.” I smiled faintly. “Looks like faith has its secrets too.”

  I leaned over the edge. “You want to go first?”

  She shook her head quickly. “I’d rather you did.”

  “Thought so.” I swung onto the ladder. “And no, I still won’t look.”

  Her silence was sharp, then the faint sound of her following. The hatch thudded shut, cutting off the storm’s voice.

  Halfway down, I found a torch wedged in the wall. “Well, look at that.” I flicked my lighter. “Guess smoking finally pays off.”

  The torch flared to life. Three meters below, black water churned.

  “Perfect,” I muttered. “Flooded.”

  Mary leaned down. “What do we do?”

  I exhaled. “Guess you’re riding on my back.”

  Silence. Then softly-“Alright.”

  I dropped into the water with a splash, cold slicing through me. “Cold as hell,” I hissed. “We better move before the tunnels fill completely.”

  I turned toward her. “Your turn.”

  Her weight settled against me, arms looping tight. She was shaking, and not from the cold.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “…I’m trying to be.”

  “Good enough.”

  The torchlight shimmered against the stone walls as I waded forward, letting the current push us.

  “Trust me,” I said. “I’m not brave, either. I just got good at pretending.” I adjusted my grip on her legs. “But if things go south, I’ll make sure you get out. At this point, it's the least I could do.”

  Her voice trembled near my ear. “…Why do you try so hard?”

  I paused, my eyebrows raised. "Huh? Weird question to ask out of the blue."

  She didn’t reply, waiting.

  I sighed, pushing myself through the water. "Don't blame you for asking though. I probably seem quite composed from the outside. Arthur tells me I act too old for my age, guess he's probably right."

  My eyes scanned the stone walls, thinking of an answer. After thinking for a bit, I abandoned my attempt to offer a composed explanation.

  “Because I’m a hypocrite.”

  The sound of water sloshing around was the only sound that accompanied me, my voice sounded more lonely than usual in such a decrepit place.

  “I tell myself I fight for humanity,” I said quietly. “But half the time, I’m trying to crawl away from it. Every day I see people who’ve traded compassion for conviction - men who claim to protect humanity after throwing theirs away. I used to think I was different. I’m not.”

  The words came slower now, rougher. “But every time I almost stop caring, something drags me back. Sometimes a person, most of the time figments of my past. Maybe that’s what’s left of me - the part that refuses to stop pretending. My past self I thought had been completely erased seems to cling on, much to my dismay.”

  Mary’s voice was small. “That sounds… lonely.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “But I’ve seen worse ways to live. I have no right to complain.”

  We moved in silence for a while, the water climbing higher. My torch hissed as droplets hit the flame.

  “If I have to die for what I believe in,” I said finally, “at this point, I could live with that. But I’m not eager to test it.”

  Her hands trembled faintly. “…I'd prefer if you didn't die.” Her words came out so quietly I almost missed them. “You’re the only one who doesn’t talk to me like I’m porcelain.”

  That one hit harder than I expected.

  “Then maybe I should stop breaking things,” I said, forcing a faint smile. “But… yeah. You’re not porcelain, Mary. You just haven’t learned how to wear the armor and mask everyone else does. That’s rare. Don’t lose it.”

  Her voice was small, almost a whisper. “You think I’m na?ve.”

  “I think you’re human,” I said. “Give it time. The world’ll try to fix that. Fight for as long as you can. I'll be here if you ever need advice.”

  For the first time since the storm began, I felt her laugh - barely a breath.

  “You do like to talk,” she said.

  “That’s because it’s quieter than screaming.”

  Her breathing seemed to slow, and for a moment the storm above felt far away.

  “…Thank you, Damian.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I murmured. “We’re still in the dark.”