The torchlight danced off the stone walls of the Hall of Judgement.
Freya stood at its center, her white cloak trailing behind her like a banner of purity—though the blood stains near its hem told another story. The sword at her hip was ceremonial in name only. It had tasted more than its share of heretics.
And yet, her hands trembled as she read the latest report.
"The Vault was desecrated. The Saint's seal—defiled. No relic taken. No witness."
But there was a witness.
Her.
Because only one soul in the world would touch that place… and leave only a message.
And Kael had always preferred symbols over words.
[Flashback – Years Ago]
Freya had laughed beside him once, under the moonlight. "You're too dramatic, Kael," she'd said. "You think too much in metaphors."
He'd smirked. "And you never think in enough. That's why we need each other."
She'd kissed him that night.
[Present – Now]
She crumpled the report in her fist.
Freya turned to the gathered Inquisitors in the chamber—cloaked figures bound in silver and white.
"We begin a purge."
A murmur rippled through them.
"We hunt the Ashen Flame. He walks among us."
One voice, hesitant: "Are we certain? The Saint is… dead."
Freya's voice turned to ice. "Saint Kael died a hero. This thing? This flame in human skin? He's something else."
No one questioned her again.
[Meanwhile – Kael, in the undercity]
Kael sat in a crypt beneath the city, where the Church buried its "unclean"—half-bloods, outcasts, magicals who died in silence. The bones whispered louder than sermons up above.
A girl no older than twelve sat across from him, covered in soot. Ember eyes. Demon blood.
"Why'd you save me?" she asked.
Kael didn't look up. "Because you don't deserve to die just for being born wrong."
She tilted her head. "But I'm part demon."
His golden eyes locked onto hers, glowing in the dark.
"So am I. A little."
[Aboveground – Freya's Orders]
The Church began raiding the slums. People disappeared. Homes burned in the night. The streets whispered of a ghost in black armor. A Saint turned savage. A god returned for blood.
Freya read each report with growing dread.
Because for every atrocity the Church committed in the name of Light…
Kael answered in kind.
[Final Scene – Freya in the cathedral's garden, alone]
Moonlight bathed the rose bushes. This had been his favorite place once.
She knelt, whispering a prayer—not to the Light.
But to him.
"Please… Kael… whatever you've become…"
She closed her eyes.
"Don't make me kill you."