When Danica stepped out of the basent, dust still clung to the hem of her simple dress. She stood before Sir Ross and offered a deep, humble bow.
"I am the one you seek. I am Danica."
Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, yet in the stifling silence of the prayer hall, it rang with absolute clarity in everyone's ears.
Ross gave a curt wave of his hand. "Return the child to his ho."
A Templar stepped forward, seizing Jamie's hand. As the boy was dragged toward the exit, he twisted his head back, his eyes searching for her. Danica offered him a small, fragile smile and a tiny wave—exactly as she did every afternoon when she saw him off at the chapel gates.
Jamie's tears broke free again, hot and silent.
Father Anchi stood by the altar, watching the scene through a haze of numb despair. He let out a long, shuddering sigh.
It's over. Everything is gone.
"Remove the habit," Ross's voice cut through Anchi's spiral.
Danica did not hesitate. She reached up, slowly unwinding the white linen from her head. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, shimring faintly in the beams of light piercing the stained glass.
Beneath the hair, two small, elegant, curved horns were revealed.
A Succubus.
Ross stared at the horns, his face a mask of iron-cold indifference.
"Father Anchi and Sister Cecilia... they were under my charm," Danica lied, her voice remaining impossibly calm. "They were re puppets to my whims. They knew nothing of my nature. I beg of you, do not punish them for my sins."
Anchi's jaw tightened. He wanted to scream a denial, to tell the Paladin the truth, but the words died in his throat, choked by the weight of the girl's sacrifice.
Ross caught the flickering micro-expression on the Father's face.
"Chard?" he repeated, his tone dripping with a razor-sharp sarcasm. "Father Anchi, do you expect to believe such a convenient narrative?"
Anchi remained silent, staring at the floor. Ross turned back to Danica.
"In ordinary tis, perhaps I would have looked the other way for the sake of the parish's peace," Ross said, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "But the world has changed. The dead rise in the East, and the Empire will no longer tolerate the presence of the impure."
"The Father and the Sister shall be spared the pyre, but you... you are beyond the reach of rcy."
Ross signaled his n. "Place Father Anchi and Sister Cecilia under house arrest. Confine them to their quarters until further notice."
"As for the succubus..." Ross stepped into Danica's personal space. "I shall escort her to the oubliette myself."
Two Templars stepped forward, flanking Anchi. Sister Cecilia burst into the hall at that mont, skidding to a halt as she took in the scene.
"What is happening?!" she shrieked, her voice thin with panic.
"Sister Cecilia," Anchi turned to her, offering a weary, broken smile. "We've been found out."
"What—?!"
Before she could process the words, two Templars seized her by the arms. She began to thrash with a frantic, desperate energy.
"Let go! I am a Sister of the Faith! How dare you lay hands on !" she scread. "She did nothing! She only—!"
The guards smothered her cries with a heavy hand and dragged her out of the hall. Anchi was not treated with such violence; he was simply guided toward his room by two silent guards. He paused, casting one final, haunted look at Danica.
Danica t his gaze, wearing the sa gentle smile she had worn since the day she arrived.
"Father Anchi... thank you for everything. For the ho, and for the kindness."
Anchi wanted to explain his silence, to tell her he was sorry, but he couldn't find the strength. He was pushed forward, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
Soon, only Ross and Danica remained in the prayer hall. Ross reached into the spatial pouch at his belt and withdrew a set of heavy, cold iron manacles.
"Your hands," he commanded.
Danica complied, extending her wrists. Ross locked the chains with a practiced, tallic clack.
"Move."
Ross held the end of the chain, leading Danica toward the small dungeon at the rear of the chapel. It was a miserable stone cell, barely a few ters square, with walls of weeping granite. He shoved her inside.
Danica found her footing and turned to face him. "My Lord, may I ask one question?"
Ross didn't answer, but he didn't close the door.
"What will happen to Jamie?"
Ross paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "The boy?"
"Yes," Danica nodded. "Will he be implicated? Will he suffer for keeping my secret?"
Ross remained silent for several beats. "No. He is a child. He understands nothing of heresy."
Danica let out a breath of pure relief. "Then I am content."
Ross studied her, his brow furrowing. "You're concerned for him? Even now?"
"Of course," Danica smiled. "Jamie is a very sweet boy."
Ross stared at her for a long ti, as if trying to reconcile her nature with her words. "Do you realize what awaits you?"
"The pyre," she replied simply.
"Correct." Ross's voice was as cold as the stone. "In three days, I will ignite the fla in the town square before the eyes of all. You will be reduced to ash."
Danica lowered her head. "I understand."
Ross turned to leave.
"Wait," Danica called out.
"What now?"
"Could you... could you leave a light? I... I've always been a little afraid of the dark."
Ross stared at her, the silence stretching. Then, he reached for an oil lamp on the wall, lit it, and placed it in the corner of the cell.
"Thank you."
Ross said nothing more. He walked out and slamd the heavy iron door shut.
CLANG.
The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed like a death knell. Danica sat on the frozen floor, watching the tiny, flickering fla of the lamp. She hugged her knees, burying her face in her arms. She didn't cry. She simply sat there in the quiet.
Outside, she heard Ross giving orders to the Templars. "Maintain a constant watch. No one approaches this cell without my direct authorization."
"Understood, Commander."
The footsteps faded into the distance. Silence reclaid the dungeon. Danica looked at the lamp, the fla dancing with every draft.
"Three days, huh..." she whispered to the shadows. "Well, I suppose it's not too long to wait."
Late that night.
Inside the chapel, in Father Anchi's room, the priest sat at his desk, staring at a copy of the Holy Scriptures of Rostarn. He wasn't praying. He wasn't even reading. He simply flipped the pages chanically, one by one. From the beginning to the end, then back to the start.
In the room next door, Cecilia was face-down on her bed, her head buried under a pillow. On the floor beside her lay a cushion she had gripped so hard it had burst, scattering white fluff across the room. She was currently biting down on a second pillow, her teeth clenched to suppress a roar of helpless fury.
And in the dungeon, Danica leaned against the wall, watching the oil lamp as it began to sputter and die.
"I really should have stolen a sip of that vintage wine Anchi hides under the donation box," she murmured to herself.
She pulled her knees tighter to her chest and added:
"Even though he always swore it was a 'sacred offering' for the Spirits."
Outside the door, the Templar on watch let out a yawn and shifted his weight, his armor clinking in the darkness.
☆☆☆
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