Twilight colored the sky in soft mauves and golds as the Takahara family made their way down the village's main road. Aya skipped ahead, humming one of the songs from breakfast, still clutching her photo locket. Hana and Kaito leaned into each other, walking slowly, their steps measured and quiet. Ethan kept pace beside them, silent, one hand resting in his pocket, fingers brushing against the locket tucked beneath his shirt.
"Race you to the shrine steps!" Aya suddenly shouted, dashing ahead on bare feet.
"No sprinting after ginger cookies," Hana warned, though her voice was laughing.
Kaito chuckled. "She's got ginger in her blood at this point."
Ethan watched his sister zoom off like a comet, his lips twitching into a quiet smile. That little bundle of joy could outshine the sun some times. For a moment, everything felt endless—like this day would stretch forever.
The hush of evening was gentle—broken only by the distant laugh of children playing and the faint ringing of a church bell across the river. That bell wasn't from the village shrine. It belonged to the Church of the Seventh Gate—a grand, continent-spanning institution known for its unshakable doctrine, political influence, and divine authority. It guided not just faith, but law, governance, and even warfare.
As they crested a small rise, six figures approached along the path ahead.
They walked in a precise formation—three in front, three behind. Their black-and-cream robes shimmered faintly with golden thread under the fading sun. Embroidered over their chests was a seven-pointed symbol, each point meant to represent one of the sacred virtues of their doctrine.
The lead figure, unmistakably in command, was a tall woman with silver-streaked raven hair pulled tightly into a knot. Her eyes were piercing—gray with icy flecks. Sister Marielle radiated dignity, power, and quiet judgment. She held no staff, wore no armor, and needed no ornament to command attention. Her presence alone felt weighty, like the silence before a storm.
At her right walked Elijah—a striking man with windswept blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like a seasoned warrior trying to pass as a saint. There was charm in his expression, a gentle softness that flickered in contrast to the rigid formality of his uniform. Yet there was no mistaking the discipline in his step, or the silent authority he carried.
Behind them trailed four more clergy members:
A stoic woman with deep brown skin and jet-black braided hair, her robes more worn than the others, eyes scanning the surroundings like a soldier guarding royalty.
A pale, almost sickly young man with thinning red hair and a face full of quiet reverence, his hands constantly fidgeting with prayer beads hidden in his sleeves.
A middle-aged monk with weathered features and ink-stained fingers—perhaps a chronicler or historian, silently mouthing what appeared to be memorized texts.
And lastly, a quiet girl no older than sixteen, barefoot and expressionless, her eyes unfocused as though her mind was lost in prayer or another realm entirely.
Aya slowed down and slipped her hand into Ethan's.
"Mama… who are they?"
Hana slowed as well, her eyes briefly narrowing. "Church members," she said quietly. Her tone was neutral, but Ethan caught a flicker of caution beneath it.
Kaito gently squeezed her arm. "The Seventh Gate," he murmured. His voice was low, but clear enough to reach Elijah, who lifted his gaze briefly at the mention.
The group stopped as they neared.
Sister Marielle stepped forward. "Good evening," she said, her voice low and smooth, like distant bells in a windless sky. "I am Sister Marielle of the Seventh Gate. We are on pilgrimage westward, toward the capital."
Her gaze settled briefly on Aya's flower-lily. "What a lovely bloom."
Then her eyes shifted to Ethan—and paused on his crimson eyes.
Just long enough to notice. Just long enough to remember.
But she said nothing.
"We hope no disturbance passes our path," Marielle added. "We yield if your family prefers to pass first."
Hana offered a respectful bow. "Please, Sister. You may go ahead. We welcome your blessing."
A faint smile touched Marielle's lips. "Blessings upon your home and hearth," she said softly, then turned and addressed her companions in a language neither Ethan nor Aya could understand.
The group resumed their walk—orderly, silent, and yet heavy with unseen weight. Villagers nearby stepped aside instinctively, some whispering prayers under their breath, others simply bowing low with hands folded.
Once the church members were out of sight, Kaito finally let out a slow breath.
"A bit of power doesn't travel quietly," he muttered.
"Not when it spans continents," Hana said. "They don't just worship. They govern."
Aya tilted her head. "Are they good? Like heroes?"
Ethan hesitated. He squeezed her hand gently.
"They're… complicated."
Hana gave a small nod. "The Church brings food in famine… and fire in judgment."
Ethan said nothing. His hand moved to the locket hidden beneath his shirt.
The Church walked past them like shadows in daylight.
And for the first time, Ethan wondered what it would feel like… to be on the wrong side of sunlight.