Silver, Not Gold

Father Moses awaited her in the grand chamber. He sat in a meager throne against the back wall, his golden robes draping along the floor around him like flowering petals. The chamber’s stained glass windows cast shifting colors across the floor, fractured light reflecting off the polished marble.

The lenses of his mask extended and focused, regarding her with an appraising eye. The wires feeding from the wall to his head pulsed with holy light fed to his mind directly from the Lord. He was the Lords messenger, granted the second name of Metatron. The Lord communicated with the Brothers and Sisters directly using vision boards placed throughout the city, but Father Moses was tasked to translate the Lords wisdom when it was more personalized.

Father Moses waved his hand, gesturing for her to kneel. She obeyed, bowing gracefully before him, hands clasped in reverence. She waited in anticipation for his words to grace her.

"Sister Angelique. You have exceeded all expectations since your first Holy Transfusion," the Bishop intoned. "Top of all your classes. Your service has been exemplary, your devotion unwavering. And so, it is with great honor that we bestow upon you the rank of Silver Sister."

Her breath stopped and her smile dropped. Silver? Did he say Silver? Not Gold.

"My apologies Father. I may have misheard you." She said cheerfully. "You said Golden, right?"

"No, I said Silver." Father Moses stated flatly.

"I'm sorry, Gold?" she said unable to believe him.

"Silver, Sister Angelique."

"Maybe if you just said it with me? Gol-..." she said, Father Moses cutting her off.

"Silver..." He said calmly.

Angelique fought to keep her voice steady. "I... am honored, Your Grace."

Silver Sisters were considered the same rank as Golden ones on paper. There was one glaring and immutable difference. Golden Sisters remained in the city, allowed to continue working for the betterment of the Lord and his flock. Silver Sisters were assigned to one of the Seven Seraphim, following them to the surface.

Usually, Silver Sisterhood was a position you were groomed for from the moment of your first Holy Transfusion. The most exceptional of exceptions from the moment of personalization. It was unheard of for one to be promoted into that role unless one specifically requests it. Even then, it's pointless if there are no spots open.

Father Moses studied her, the multiple lenses of his mask adjusting rapidly as he examined every facet of her expression. "The Lord has chosen you, child. Your excellence has made you indispensable, yes, but you have a heart that quells the demons within. The one to whom you are assigned is unlike the other Seraphim. The Lord has deemed you his only hope."

Her stomach churned at the thought of going to the surface. The Lord thought her able and gave her this task, but she knew nothing of how to survive the dangers. She had no field training, no combat knowledge. She was a trained healer and cook, but her other abilities stood more in spiritual caretaking.

"Who am I to be assigned to?" She asked obediently.

The Bishop hesitated for the briefest moment, as if weighing the weight of the name before speaking it aloud.

"Isaiah."

Everyone knew of the Seven Seraphim. Warriors blessed beyond measure, the first line of defense against the things of the surface. Isaiah in particular was spoken of with equal parts reverence and fear. The man that holds the highest Malthisan kill count of any soldier, but his death count has also soared to the highest after the retirement of his previous Silver Sister. A man in constant defiance of his own mortality.

"He is currently on the surface." Father Moses said abruptly. "A transport ship will take you to him after your second Holy Transfusion."

"Second transfusion!?" Angelique gasped. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something stable to anchor her to reality. "Father I don't believe I'm the right person for this honor."

"You doubt the Lords decision?" the tone of his voice hadn't changed, but the heat of his words burnt through Angelique like hot iron.

"No, Father..." Angelique shrunk into herself.

"Brother Darius has your new robe." A smiling man steps to Angelique's side silently. "He will be part of the escort to your destination. After you change, head to the Reliquary for transfusion and meet him at the transport station."

She left the chamber with her new assignment weighing heavily upon her shoulders. Her mouth hung open in disbelief, unable to consolidate her thoughts. Brother Darius followed closely behind, robe in hand.

She had been on the path to Golden Sisterhood, a role that promised prestige, security, and a respected place among the faithful. It was not just about comfort—it was about being seen, valued, and contributing to the spiritual well-being of the city, untouched by the horrors of the surface. A life of comfort, serving the faithful from within the city walls. Yet here she was, being placed among warriors, forced to follow them onto battlefields, into blood and death. It was not what she had worked for. Not what she had wanted.

As the door to the chamber closed behind her, the thoughts and emotions overflowed. Her breathing sped up, becoming erratic as she struggled against her anxiety. She put her right hand against the wall, leaning forward to expel her breakfast on the floor.

"Are you alright Sister?" Darius asked in a soothing tone.

As if by divine guidance, three small Unproven with cleaning utensils, ran to Angelique's side. They quickly and efficiently cleaned the vomit, disposing of it in a small, portable waste basket. Angelique fell to her knees as the Unproven encircled her, looking after her well being. They rubbed her back and lightly tugged at her clothes in concern, their tiny voices wordlessly escaping their open mouths in coo's of consolation.

Angelique scooped each one in front of her, pulling them into a soft embrace. She trembled lightly as the three Unproven nuzzled their featureless faces against her lovingly. She patted their hairless heads softly, and the trembling stopped.

"Thank you little ones. I feel much better now." Angelique released the Unproven. They grabbed their equipment, waved to her, and scurried to their next destination.

Brother Darius extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet. "I know this probably isn't what you want to hear right now, but..." He held out her new robes waiting for her to take them and smiled warmly. "Your appearance inspires thoughts of sin."

Angelique laughed genuinely, swiping the robes from his hand. "Well, thanks Brother. That helps."

Angelique began her walk to the Reliquary, her new robes draped over her arm. Darius fell into step beside her, his usual easy confidence unshaken by her visible distress.

"You know," he said, glancing at her from the side, "you should feel honored. Not many are given a second Holy Transfusion. Most only dream of it."

"I know," she admitted. "I should be grateful. And I will be. I only spent my whole life working toward one thing, and it's not like that's changed. The path just... diverted a little."

The two walked through the grand halls. Towering statues of past saints and martyrs lined the walls, casting solemn glances upon the residents of the city.

"That's a good attitude to have." Darius said flippantly. "You're already sounding more like a soldier."

She glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Well I don't like that..."

"Sorry, sorry. You should get used to it in time," he chuckled, pointing at the robes in her arms. "Now, are you going to put those on?"

Angelique sighed and turned into a side chamber, slipping behind an ornate screen for privacy. She ran her fingers over the fabric—smooth yet durable, the embroidered sigil of the Order stitched into the tabard. As she pulled the form-fitting robes over her head, she expected the soft weight of cloth, but instead, it settled against her like reinforced leather. Testing the fit, she tugged at the sleeves and found them strangely resistant.

"This fabric... it’s different," she remarked, stepping out.

Darius gave an approving nod. "That’s because it’s armor. Well, the best we can get while still keeping you looking holy. Slash-resistant, pierce-resistant—it can withstand up to class 3 Malthisan claws. Still hurts like a bitch, but it keeps your guts in."

"Brother Darius! Watch your tongue." Angelique looked down at herself, taking in the way the fabric clung to her shape yet moved with her like a second skin. She looked in mirror hung on the wall, whispering a small confession of vanity to herself. "My appearance inspires thoughts of sin."

"Sorry, sorry. I forget how sensitive the dwellers can be." Darius said sarcastically. "Are you done yet?"

She smoothed a hand over the sigil on her chest. The weight of it, the reality of it, was beginning to settle in. "Oh, yes. My apologies Brother."

Angelique came out from behind the partition and Darius let out a smooth whistle. "So you agree with me?"

"On what?" Angelique asked.

"Your appearance inspires thoughts of sin in you too." Darius smiled widely.

Angelique could feel the heat fill her face. She walked past him silently, her pace quicker than before. She hadn't expected him to hear her. Darius followed behind, chuckling to himself before taking a few quick steps to get in front.

"Anyway, I have some preparations to make before we depart." Darius spun in place before jogging away. "Come to the transport when your done. We leave as soon as you arrive."

"You shouldn't be running in here!" Angelique chided.

"Sorry, sorry." Darius turned a corner and his apology echoed along the walls before fading away. Now, left alone with her thoughts of doom, Angelique continued on her way.