"Your authority is forfeit and your connection to the light is severed."
Duriel slammed the butt of his staff onto the dais. Threads of pure light erupted, snaking around Elian, the Deacon, and the temple guards who had aided him, binding them instantly. A collective gasp went through the bound men as the familiar warmth of their connection to the Church of Light vanished, leaving them feeling hollow and powerless. The glowing sigils on their robes faded to dull grey.
"Lysaria,"
Duriel turned his gaze to the former Vestal, who still knelt, stunned, beside Lila and Sherry.
"Though excommunicated by corrupt authority, your heart remained true to the Light's core tenets: justice and compassion. Rise."
Lysaria rose uncertainly, tears still wet on her cheeks.
"Take these prisoners," Duriel commanded, gesturing to the bound churchmen. "Escort them to Luxia. Ensure that they face the judgment by the Central Council."
Duriel then glanced towards Sherry and Lila, who stood protectively near the now-revived children. A brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment passed from the Herald – recognition of their courage, perhaps, or their alignment with true justice, regardless of their origins or lack of formal power.
With a final, sweeping gaze over the stunned city, Duriel, Axia, and Thymia ascended, the overwhelming white light gathering around them before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a clear sky and a profoundly altered reality.
The silence held for a beat, then broke as the revived children, their trauma seemingly washed away by Thymia's blessing, rushed forward with cries of relief, throwing their arms around Lila and Lysaria.
"You came back for us!" Elara sobbed into Lila's cloak. "We were so scared!" Finn added, clinging to Lysaria's leg.
Lysaria hugged them tightly, burying her face in their hair, overwhelmed with relief and the raw injustice of what had almost happened. She looked up, her gaze falling on the bound, powerless Elian. All the pain, the betrayal, the horror coalesced into cold fury. She strode towards him.
"You," she spat, her voice trembling with rage, "You perverted everything the Light stands for. You are a disgrace."
Before she could say or do more, the air itself seemed to ripple. Several points in the square shimmered.
A series of brilliant golden teleportation sigils erupted in the square, forming orderly circles across the cobblestones.
Out of them stepped Archons, High Vestals, and Vestal Guardians of the Church of Light — clad in ceremonial whites and brilliant gold, armor gleaming with etched prayers, banners unfurled.
Their arrival was precise, controlled.
But barely had they finished stepping forward when—
CRACK.
Across the opposite side of the square, blackened portals of cold mist tore open, casting long shadows across the ground.
Members of the Dark Temple poured out — clad in muted silvers and deep grays, their armor absorbing rather than reflecting the light. Silent, efficient, and grim.
For a heartbeat, both sides regarded each other tensely.
Blades loosened in scabbards.
Magic flared just barely under sleeves.
But…
The battlefield they had come to fight over was already lost.
They were greeted not by violence, but by a ruined, sacred square — Church officials lying defeated, clerics stripped of light, and a silent crowd of citizens staring with awe and wariness.
At the forefront of the Light Church delegation stood a figure robed in woven gold and crimson threads, her bearing serene, her presence undeniable.
The Flame Matron herself.
The spiritual heart of the Church of Light.
She stepped forward — an elder woman whose steps were light, but whose aura commanded the weight of mountains.
Her gaze passed over the scene once, taking in the destruction, the broken clerics, the weeping children.
She did not speak immediately.
But when she did, her voice was neither cold nor furious — it was measured, quiet, and sharp enough to cut iron.
"Lysaria of the Inner Flame," she called.
Lysaria, though battered and shaken, stepped forward and bowed low on one knee.
"Present, Matron."
The other Archons and Vestals of both churches stood back, watching with unreadable faces.
The Flame Matron studied her for a long moment, her golden eyes missing nothing.
"Rise," she said finally. "And explain."
Lysaria slowly rose.
Her voice was hoarse at first, but grew steadier with each word.
"This gathering today… was meant to judge a group of orphans and their caretaker, accused of spreading a curse."
"The judgment was led by Verstach Elian. He declared the children cursed by unholy influence."
Lysaria recounted the events – Elian's accusations, the lack of investigation, the horrific 'Rite of Cleansing' using holy fire, and her own attempts to intervene alongside Lila and Sherry. She described being excommunicated and restrained.
"He murdered them, Matron," Lysaria's voice trembled, but held firm. "Burned them with the Light itself. It was only then… that the Maidens and the Herald appeared." She detailed the divine intervention – Axia's resurrection, Thymia's healing melody that cured the city, and Duriel's judgment upon Elian and his cohorts.
The Flame Matron listened without interruption, her expression unreadable. The surrounding Archons shifted uncomfortably. Across the square, the Dark Temple delegation watched with cold, assessing eyes.
When Lysaria finished, the Matron remained silent for a long moment, her gaze sweeping over the bound Elian, the revived children now clinging to Lila, and the watching crowd.
"Duriel," the Matron murmured, almost to herself. "The Herald of Judgment… returned after millennia." A strange light flickered in her ancient eyes. She turned back to the assembled Church members, her voice gaining strength.
"This is not a tragedy," she declared, her voice ringing with sudden conviction. "This is an omen! The Herald, unseen since the Age of Embers, walks the earth once more! His presence signifies a turning point, a reaffirmation of the Light's ultimate authority! Though corruption sought to stain our name here," she gestured dismissively at Elian, "the heavens themselves intervened to purify our path forward!"
She made it sound like a victory, a divine endorsement despite the horror that had unfolded.
"The Herald has spoken," the Matron continued, turning her sharp gaze back to Lysaria. "His command must be obeyed. Lysaria, despite your… unorthodox methods and associations," she glanced briefly towards Sherry, "you have been tasked by the divine. You will escort these fallen ones to Luxia. Ensure they face the Crown's justice, as the Herald decreed."
Lysaria nodded numbly, still processing the Matron's spin on events.
"Go now," the Flame Matron commanded. "Fulfill the Herald's will. The Church of Light watches. The new dawn begins."