The marble floor of the Basilica of the Blessed Apostle Peter felt as cold as ice beneath Paulus’s feet. Before he opened his mouth to speak, he bowed his head deeply, clasping both hands in front of his chest. Amidst the oppressive silence, accompanied only by the distant roar of the rain outside, he whispered:

  "Lord, may my mouth speak only the truth. Amen."

  Paulus took a long breath and raised his head. His eyes were now as sharp as an eagle's. In the front row, surrounding the throne of Pope Simplicius, sat the senior bishops, including Felix and Gelasius, watching with scrutinizing gazes. Meanwhile, on the other side of the hall, Theodore sat among the senators allied with him, looking like a flock of vultures circling their prey.

  Paulus stepped forward, his hand pointing toward the map of the Ravenna coastline stretched out in the center of the hall.

  "You call the destruction of the fleet in the Bay of Ravenna an abomination," Paulus's voice echoed sharply. "Yet you deliberately close your eyes to the fact that the ruined ships were the war fleet of Julius Nepos, which for months has been choking the throats of the people. They were blockade ships sent to ensure that not a single grain of wheat could enter the port of Ravenna!"

  Theodore immediately stood from his seat, his face flushed with forced fury.

  "Liar!" Theodore shouted. "You weave fables to cover your wicked sorcery! You used dark forces to attack the food transport ships sent by Nepos to aid Ravenna in the dead of night!"

  Amidst the commotion, Bishop Felix raised his hand. His authority instantly silenced the hall.

  "Paulus," Felix said in a heavy tone. "Your accusation is a risky one. However, do you have any concrete proof that Nepos's ships, which you attacked that night, were not food carriers as Theodore claims?"

  Paulus turned slowly, looking directly into Felix's eyes before shifting his gaze to Theodore. "The proof lies at the bottom of the sea, Father. Those ships were laden with weaponry, not food."

  Hearing this, Theodore burst into laughter, a laugh filled with contempt and condescension. He turned toward the senators and bishops as if Paulus had just told a ridiculous joke.

  "Proof at the bottom of the sea?" Theodore mocked with sharp derision. "If you are so certain that Nepos's ships contained weapons and not bread, then by all means! If you want physical evidence, go to the bottom of the sea before us yourself! Dive into those freezing waters and see the wrecks of those ships with your own eyes! Find those weapons if you are truly honest, Paulus! Or can your sorcery also allow you to breathe underwater like a sea monster?"

  The hall erupted in mocking laughter from the senators supporting Theodore. They felt Paulus had backed himself into a corner by offering an impossible challenge. The sound of the Pope's staff striking the marble floor rang out several times to quiet the crowd.

  Paulus did not retreat a single inch. He allowed the laughter to subside, standing tall with a composure that unnerved Theodore.

  "Laugh all you wish," Paulus's voice sliced through the settling silence. "But reality will not be altered by laughter. For the survival of every citizen in Ravenna who now endures hunger, Emperor Romulus Augustus, upon the strategic counsel provided by Magister Vitus, has made a courageous decision. He ordered the forces to confront and break Nepos's blockade by any means available. That was not sorcery; it was a legitimate act of self-defense against those who seek to kill a city through starvation!"

  The oppressive silence returned to the basilica. In the midst of the senior bishops, Bishop Faustus stood up. His wrinkled face was stiff, and his sunken eyes stared at Paulus with a gaze that demanded a definitive answer.

  "Set aside the matter of physical evidence at the bottom of the sea for a moment, Deacon," Faustus's voice was hoarse yet commanding. "All of Rome has heard the reports of the green fire that appeared in the bay of Ravenna. A flame that water could not extinguish and that consumed iron as if it were dry straw. How do you explain such a thing? How can you prove that it does not originate from the darkness?"

  Paulus did not answer immediately. He turned his head toward Gelasius. The bishop was now watching Paulus with a look of intense trepidation. It was a clear signal for Paulus to be extremely cautious; a single slip here could be interpreted as a confession of heresy.

  Paulus took a breath, straightened his back, and looked across the hall with a defiant gaze.

  "If the accusers call it the fire of hell simply because they do not understand it," Paulus began, his voice now vibrating with a risky conviction. "Then I will say in this holy place that the light is Ignis Dei. The Fire of God."

  As if lightning had struck inside the room, a bishop from Theodore's ranks leaped to his feet. His hands trembled as he pointed toward Paulus with a finger full of wrath.

  "Blasphemy!" the bishop screamed, his voice piercing the ceiling of the basilica. "You dare to associate the works of the devil with the holy name of God? You have insulted the Lord in His own house!"

  The situation exploded into a riot. The rows of senators and priests on Theodore's side began to stand up, shouting words of condemnation. Cries of "Blasphemer!" and "Burn the follower of the devil!" echoed wildly, bouncing between the giant marble pillars.

  Bishop Felix rose with a face pale with horror. He stared at Paulus with a look that was no longer merely inquisitive but full of a lethal warning.

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  "What is the meaning of this, Deacon? Are you aware of what you have just uttered?" Felix's voice thundered above the noise. "Account for your words this instant! You are standing on the brink of excommunication or worse!"

  Gelasius stepped forward, his hand raised high to dampen the commotion. "Silentium! Allow this Deacon to account for his words!"

  After the noise subsided, Paulus remained standing tall. He did not look like a defendant, but rather like a prophet unveiling a secret curtain.

  "It is true that I called it Ignis Dei," Paulus said, his voice steady. "For that is what Father Johannes said to me the day before his tragic death. He saw that light not as a curse, but as a sign."

  Theodore snorted, his short laugh sounding bitter. "Ignis Dei? Since when does God send fire that burns men in such a cruel manner? God is love, Paulus, not a destroyer!"

  Paulus turned slowly, staring at Theodore with a cold gaze.

  "If you question the cruelty of that fire, Theodore, then ask the same of the sword at a soldier's hip. Ask the tip of the arrow that pierces the heart of a father and his son. Ask Constantine the Great, the Sword of God, who slaughtered thousands to unite this empire under the sign of the cross. Why did they kill? Is it because their hands held iron that it is called justice, yet because our hands held light it is called sorcery?"

  Paulus took a step forward, his voice lowering.

  "War has never known the word politeness. It always claims victims and it is always thirsty for blood. Death does not become holy simply because it comes from a blade of steel, and death does not become forbidden just because it comes from a green spark. This fire is merely a mirror of the intention of the man who wields it. If it is used to destroy a blockade that strangles the innocent, do you think that is the devil at work, or the hand of God releasing the noose from the necks of His people?"

  Paulus looked at the bishops one by one, his voice now as sharp as a dagger.

  "You condemn the way we won this war, yet you will gladly eat the bread that enters the port thanks to that fire. Do not speak to me of morality while you allow the people to die of hunger simply because you are afraid of something you do not understand."

  He reached into his robes and pulled out a small glass vial containing a thick, dark liquid that shimmered strangely under the dim light.

  "God has given us the power to conquer matter. Emperor Romulus commissioned a scholar of nature’s secrets, a man named Theron, to unearth what lies hidden within creation. Through the blending of earthly elements, we have birthed an extension of His will."

  Paulus walked toward a large bronze basin filled with seawater, which had been placed in the center of the hall at his specific request before the synod began.

  "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," Paulus uttered in a low, vibrating voice.

  He poured a small amount of the oil onto the surface of the seawater. At once, without the need for a spark, the water exploded into a blaze of green fire that licked the air. Its emerald light reflected off the marble walls of the basilica, creating terrifying shadows. The fire was not extinguished by the water; instead, it seemed to dance fiercely upon it, emitting a hissing sound like whispers of death.

  Senators cried out and scrambled backward. Senior bishops covered their faces, while Felix stood frozen, witnessing a flame that defied the laws of nature.

  "Behold!" Paulus shouted amidst the roar. "The water that usually extinguishes has now become the fuel for truth. This is not sorcery, but knowledge that dissects the majesty of God's creation. Ignis Dei does not come to burn the faithful, but to ensure that the kingdom founded upon this rock shall never again kneel before the barbarians!"

  Gelasius stood transfixed. He gazed at Paulus no longer as a young deacon, but as a figure radiating an overwhelming authority. Beside him, Felix could only stare in total silence. Meanwhile, in Theodore's ranks, a new terror began to rise.

  "Therefore now, under the gaze of God and before this Throne of Peter, I stand not merely as a defender, but as a prosecutor!" Paulus cried out. "In the name of Romulus Augustus, the Sovereign Emperor of Rome, the Successor to the Throne of Constantine, Liberator of the Eternal City, Defender of the Faith, and the Sword of Christ!"

  Paulus pointed his finger directly at Theodore.

  "I, servant of the Emperor and servant of God, hereby lay a counter-indictment against our accusers! Theodore has sold his soul for gold. He has brought foul lies into this house of God, attempting to subvert the legitimate Emperor for the sake of a castaway coward! Theodore and his witnesses have violated their sacred oaths! According to imperial law and the law of God, they are convicts who deserve the penalty of death!"

  An explosion of fury broke out. The senators supporting Theodore leaped from their seats.

  "Heretic!" they roared. "Death to the sorcerer!"

  "Blasphemy! Seize him!"

  "Guards! Secure Deacon Paulus! Secure His Holiness the Pope!" Gelasius shouted in panic.

  Guards in bronze armor rushed in, forming a human barricade. Paulus did not move an inch, staring directly into the eyes of Theodore as the storm raged.

  Pope Simplicius raised his hand, and the sound of his heavy staff striking the marble floor rang out like a cannon blast.

  "The synod is adjourned!" the Pope's voice sliced through the commotion. "We shall continue this trial tomorrow morning. Clear this place! Immediately!"

  The guards forced the lingering crowd through the massive doors, their protests fading into the rain-drenched distance. Soon, only the inner circle remained in the hollow silence. Simplicius remained silent for a long time, his face illuminated by the flickering emerald glow.

  Gelasius stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the basin with a mixture of awe and intense trepidation. "Deacon," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "This light... it does not waver. How does one extinguish such a flame? Or are we to let it burn until it consumes the very air of this Basilica?"

  Paulus turned toward the stone pillars that lined the hall, pointing to the bronze vessels of sand kept at their base.

  "It will not fade on its own, Your Grace," Paulus explained calmly. "Water will only feed its hunger. To silence this flame, one must deny it the very air it breathes. Use the sand kept near the pillars, the same used to smother oil that spills from the lamps. Only earth can bury the light of the Ignis Dei."

  Simplicius looked from the fire to Paulus, then finally nodded to the guards.

  "Do it," he commanded.

  Two guards hurried to the pillars and seized the bronze vessels used to handle oil spills. They poured the sand into the heart of the blaze. A sharp, piercing hiss filled the hall. The green fire struggled, licking against the grains of sand, but as the layers smothered it, the emerald light faded rapidly. Thick plumes of dark smoke rose toward the ceiling. In seconds, the room was plunged back into a cold, grim darkness.

  Pope Simplicius turned his gaze toward Paulus, his voice heavy with an undeniable weight.

  "From this moment on, Deacon," the Pope declared, "you are forbidden from lighting any fire such as this again without my explicit command."

  Paulus bowed his head in solemn acknowledgment.

  "The day is done," Simplicius said to the remaining officials. "Tomorrow morning, I shall deliver my final judgment. Go now, and pray for the wisdom of this Church."

  The Pope walked away, followed by his inner circle. Paulus offered a deep, respectful bow. Once the path was clear, he followed from a distance, leaving the smoke-filled hall behind to prepare for the dawn of the final trial.