Zalika Tanzanight was running out of time. A train awaited, but the ritual, sacred and vital, could only be performed here, within the hallowed confines of the Cathedral where the spirits dwelled. Or, to be more precise, beneath the Cathedral, beneath the crypt, deep within the ancient necropolis.

  Zalika descended a worn marble staircase to a heavy metal plaque sealing the entrance. Engraved upon its surface were the names of the deceased bishops who had overseen this very church. A sharp pang of guilt pricked Zalika’s conscience; her father’s name was conspicuously absent, for she hadn't yet found the time to commission its engraving. She wondered if, one day, someone would bother to etch her name onto this hallowed list, the first woman to be included on this cold iron.

  “Grace, where are you?” Zalika’s voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the silence of the Cathedral. A small nun, a flutter of dark robes, scurried down the marble staircase, bowing with a blend of respect and fear. “Your Excellency, how may I serve?”

  Zalika knocked impatiently on the plaque. “Open this up.”

  Grace looked into Zalika’s eyes, a flicker of trepidation there. “Again, Your Excellency? Are you sure this is safe?”

  Zalika took a deep breath, placing a surprisingly comforting hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, child.”

  Grace, summoning her courage, placed both hands on the plaque and whispered a prayer: “Aperio portas.” A holy light, mysterious and vibrant, pulsed through Grace’s hands as the plaque rumbled, retreating to reveal the shadowed entrance to the crypt. “Lux, intra,” Grace whispered another prayer, and the oppressive darkness before them receded, lanterns along the corridor bursting into golden light.

  “It is not modest to show off, Grace,” Zalika said, dropping the torch she had brought, hating that she needed to rely on someone else. Zalika hadn’t been blessed with divine gifts like Grace, but Grace was sisterless and The Head of the Church, Zalika knew, was meant for one with political power, not mere spiritual abilities.

  The crypt stretched before them, a long, vaulted passage carved from dark, unpolished stone. Niches lined the walls, each holding the skeletal remains of forgotten saints or revered citizens, their bones bleached white, their epitaphs eroded by time and damp. The air was thick with the scent of dust and ancient sanctity, a stillness so profound it felt like a presence. Faint, ornate carvings, depicting celestial beings and stylized prayers, adorned the ceiling, barely visible in the lantern light.

  The pair reached the end of the passage, where a heavy, unadorned seal blocked a staircase descending further, into the true necropolis. Zalika looked at Grace; she didn’t need to vocalize her command, they had been here many times. Reluctantly, but without protest, Grace stepped forward, drew a small, silver knife, and gently pricked her finger, allowing a single drop of blood to bloom on the seal. “Fiat via,” she whispered another prayer. The blood evaporated, and the seal glowed a brilliant, pulsing red before dissolving completely, revealing the dark descent.

  Zalika never truly understood the meaning of Grace’s prayers, but she was always impressed by their efficacy. Grace had made Zalika and the church incredibly wealthy. In exchange for coin, Zalika allowed Grace to pray for and heal others, a practice that made Zalika immensely popular with the citizens. Every Sunday, her Cathedral was filled. Last week, even Tansy Mossbrook, the city’s renowned doctor, had come to observe the healings, scribbling notes on countless pages.

  “Stay here,” Zalika ordered Grace.

  Grace couldn’t help but make a request, her voice soft. “Please, Your Excellency, can’t I come down, just this once?”

  Zalika’s look, sharp and unyielding, conveyed her answer more powerfully than any words. She descended alone into the necropolis.

  The necropolis was a vast, subterranean realm of bone and shadow, far older than the Cathedral above. It was an ancient burial ground, a silent testament to a time when both titanic beasts and the land’s original inhabitants found their final rest here, long before the colonists had ever arrived. Enormous, petrified skeletons of creatures unlike anything seen on the surface lay alongside simpler, human-like remains, all arranged in silent, sprawling patterns. The air was heavy, humid, charged with an almost palpable energy that hummed against Zalika’s skin. Carved into the rough rock walls were primitive pictographs, depicting strange rituals and forgotten gods, their meanings lost to the ages. Too terrified to remove it, and too disgusted to leave it in the center of the city, the forefathers of Cape Lumous had made a pragmatic decision: build the church on top. Now, the final resting places of the city’s elite lay in uneasy proximity to those of the land’s ancient, primal inhibitors.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Zalika felt another pang of guilt as she passed the empty space reserved for her father. She tried to push away the thought of the Great Calamity, how all the men had been twisted into zombies. Was her father’s corpse still roaming the wasteland? Could Grace’s divine power reverse it, bring him back? Zalika snapped out of it, forcing her mind back to her purpose as she approached the ancient altar where the two beings she had come to meet awaited her. She loved one, yet despised the other. But they always came as a pair. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow, her father used to always say.

  “Angelica, Lilith, I don’t have much time. Let us get straight to it.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency. How may I serve?” Angelica’s tone was warm, sincere. A light, pure and luminous, far brighter than Grace’s, emanated from her pale skin. Her feathered golden wings were tucked neatly away, but Zalika had seen her in flight once, their span dwarfing anything human. Her blonde hair shone brighter than any of the Vicinage sisters, and Zalika believed Angelica possessed the strength to best all those sisters of electricity, even Lyria, rumored to have received great power before mysteriously vanishing. But Zalika knew she could never free Angelica from this prison; to do so would unleash Lilith as well, a disaster no city could survive. And so, a powerful seal bound them, a seal that could only be broken with prayer and blood. And though these two could pray, their transcended bodies held no blood.

  “Aw, what does poor little Zalika need help with today?” Lilith’s voice was a mocking sneer. Her skin was a dark, light-absorbing grey. Her bat wings, though small, were perpetually outstretched, and the faint stench of sulfur that clung to her made prolonged proximity unbearable. Zalika wanted to ignore Lilith, but her father had always advised that wisdom came from consulting both light and dark. Zalika wasn’t sure the rest of the church would agree with this view, but because of it, she listened to the demon’s counsel.

  “As you know, my family has discovered Ether in our eastern mines. Our sources say the Petalcrests want to ban it. So, do we sell it to the Snowdrifts, or do we protest the ban?”

  Angelica was the first to offer her opinion. “The only option is to sell it. Trade will bring your families closer together. The Snowdrifts have the means to responsibly distribute this new power to the rest of the city, sell and let them negotiate with the Petalcrests, this way the greatest good will be achieved.”

  Lilith laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. “Oh, Angelica, you are naive. If you sell to the Snowdrifts, they will use the new power to take over your mines and rob you of any coin. The Northern families despise you Southerners and will never see you as equals. The only option is to take advantage of the element of surprise and attack first. Eliminate them before they eliminate you.”

  Angelica was quick to rebut. “Are you mad? If you start a war, it will bring nothing but pain. Not just to your families, but to everyone. It is the most selfish thing you can do, because we know you will just hide here and let others fight for you.”

  “Relax, Angy. It will only be a war if the two sides are equal. Zalika, I mean Your Excellency, will be smart and will persuade many of the other families to join her cause. If all the Western and Southern families unite, the North will be forced to abdicate their positions. Besides, Zalika has access to the secret that would guarantee her success.”

  Zalika was confused. “What secret?”

  Angelica soared into the air, rage burning in her eyes, her tucked wings flaring. “You promised you wouldn’t mention that, Lilith!”

  “Oops, guess I forgot.” Lilith gave a devilish giggle, a wide, unholy grin spreading across her face.

  “What secret?” Zalika didn’t like repeating herself.

  “There is a ritual you can perform,” Lilith hissed, relishing the dramatic pause, “to raise these ancient beasts and warriors from the dead.”

  Zalika recoiled. The city was already fighting the undead in the wasteland; to harness that power for herself would be political suicide. But if she could do it covertly, maybe it would be a potential solution. But how to keep it from coming back to her?

  “You are forgetting the most important part, Lilith. Tell her everything,” Angelica demanded, her voice tight with fury, poised for battle. Zalika hoped Lilith would provoke her just a little more; she longed to see Angelica in action.

  Lilith, realizing she had to obey Angelica if she wanted to keep her head, added: “Whoever performs the ritual, dies. It is a life for a life kind of a deal.”

  “See, Your Excellency, you wouldn’t be that desperate, now would you?” Angelica’s tone was laced with challenge.

  Lilith smiled, her gaze piercing, as if reading Zalika’s very thoughts, moments before Zalika uttered the words.

  “Well, that isn’t really a problem,” Zalika said, her voice chillingly calm, “because I don’t think I’ve told you two about Grace.”