A Church

The streets of Soluna shimmered beneath the light of the planet’s twin suns – one golden, one silver – casting long overlapping shadows that danced between the high towers. Emi walked beside Orion, her camping boots tapping against strange, smooth stone that seemed to hum faintly underfoot. Even the air was different here. It was crisp, but laced with some kind of weight, as if saturated with invisible forces all emanating from a single source.

Orion kept pace with her, silent for a while before saying:

“Even here, back on Soluna… my power hasn’t fully returned. Not yet. But I can feel it stirring. It will come back soon.”

She glanced up at him, noticing how the sun glinted against his leather armor and crimson scarf, which had subtly changed in hue since they arrived. Richer, more fulfilled, like they were back where they belonged.

“Are you taking me somewhere?” she asked, squinting around. They’d passed bakeries carved into pillars, strange flower stalls with glowing petals, and even a troupe of musicians playing instruments with invisible strings.

“You’ll see,” was all he said.

Eventually, the path curved and opened into a plaza, growing quieter by the minute despite the crowds.

And standing before them – was the Church.

The one Church of Soluna.

It towered like a mountain carved from celestial stone, spires of silver and obsidian reaching into the clouds. The facade was etched with thousands of symbols, none she could read, all of them pulsing faintly like constellations caught in stone. She had seen this from afar when she first arrived, but now that she was up close – she truly felt like she was but an ant at the foot of something the heaven above was keen to hide.

Stepping inside, she felt the vast silence stretching for miles.

The moment Orion stepped through the grand archway, all eyes turned. The air shifted.

There were hundreds of them – those tall, radiant citizens of Soluna, garbed in robes, armor, and veils. They all bowed low, in eerie unity. No one spoke, as no one needed to.

Emi felt her throat dry up. She stepped quietly beside a column, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t just reverence.

This was worship.

She watched as Orion approached a tall man near the altar, much taller than Orion himself, draped in heavy vestments adorned with threads of gold and silver. They exchanged quiet words before the head priest bowed deeply and stepped aside.

Then, with a mere flick of Orion’s finger, his own clothes shifted.

A white robe wove itself around him like smoke solidifying, embroidered with accents of starlight and ancient runes and emblems. His shield and mace vanished. He stepped foot toward the altar, knelt, and bowed his head.

Here, their prayer began.

Emi didn’t understand the words – that somehow sounded more like sounds than anything intelligible, echoing of rhythmic music, a language that made her skin crawl. But it was beautiful, eerie, and not meant for her ears.

Or perhaps it was something she simply had to get used to. As she simply could not stop watching.

Orion stood up after a long silence. Turning around to the stone table before him, was a single loaf of bread – pure white, as if like a gem glowing in the dark. And on the side was a chalice filled with a golden liquid that seemed to catch and hold the light of both suns.

The congregation rose in unison, and all began to line up.

One by one, they came forward. Orion, their king, silent and serene, tore small pieces of the bread and dipped them into the wine, placing it gently into their waiting hands. Priest, ruler, and servant all at once.

Emi watched in quiet awe as the seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes stretched beyond. And still, somehow, the bread didn’t shrink. The wine never lowered.

There had to be hundreds here in this church, yet the chalice remained full, and the loaf appeared as whole as when it began.

Now getting lost in the moment, petrified by something she could not explain – she could do nothing but watch.

Watching this king who prayed, but not just a king – but a Dark Lord.

A god who fed his people.

And somewhere in the quiet of the church, in the endless line of luminous citizens, Emi began to realize:

This wasn’t just his world.

This was his home.

An hour passed.

Or perhaps it was days. That’s how it felt to Emi, sitting quietly in the pews in this foreign place. The slow rhythm of the ritual, the scent of incense that smelled like burning starlight, the way every voice whispered with purpose, it stretched time like taffy. She wasn’t bored, exactly. Just… overwhelmed.

Eventually, the congregation began to file out. Graceful, silent, like shadows melting into the evening sun outside. The murmurs of reverence faded. The heavy doors creaked closed behind the last of them.

Only the priests remained.

They moved with quiet discipline, gathering the empty vessels, folding the altar cloths. Orion stood beside the table still, his priestly robe trailing like light-soaked snow behind him.

Then, he lifted his hand.

“Go,” he commanded. “Wash, and rest.”

There was no protest, no hesitation.

The priests bowed and disappeared into the lower halls.

And just like that, it was just the two of them.

Emi stepped down the aisle, her footsteps strangely loud in the stillness. The light through the stained-glass windows painted her skin in colors she didn’t recognize. Blues that pulsed like veins. Reds that shimmered like blood on gold.

She approached slowly.

Orion stood at the altar, his head bowed as if he hadn't moved. The bread and chalice were gone now. Vanished, or perhaps never real to begin with.

Emi swallowed, unsure of how to speak.

What words could even fit in a place like this? She thought to herself.

She stopped a few feet from him, staring up at the solemn figure who looked so unlike the young man she would so often walk home from school with. Same silver hair. Same steady eyes. And yet, here – she finally realized what it meant for him to be a king.

“I…” she started, voice thin. “I didn’t realize it was like this.”

He turned to her, asking gently:

“Like what?”

Emi glanced around the massive cathedral, then back to him.

“I thought… you were the Dark Lord. I thought… this place would be… ruined. Ash and fire and thrones made of bones or something.”

Orion gave a faint exhale, barely even a smile, but for someone like him, it might as well be the best laugh he had felt in ages.

And it was something Emi had learned to be able to pick up from his reserved demeanor.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

Shaking his head, he said:

“Nothing… nothing. It’s just… I used to do this when I was a child, assisting the head priest here.”

“I… didn’t know you had this in you,” Emi whispered.

“I guess… I haven’t done it in a long… long time. Perhaps…”

A pause, Emi tilted her head.

“Perhaps what?”

But Orion dismissed it, trying to smile with his heavy stoic face.

“Nothing to worry about.”

Before their conversation could continue…

The quiet of the church shattered.

The grand doors at the entrance slammed open with a thunderous crack, echoing through the cathedral like a cannon blast. At the same time, every side door – those leading deeper into the heart of the temple, its chambers, its sanctified corridors – all bursting open with coordinated precision. The sound of bootsteps followed, fast and numerous.

Emi flinched as the rhythm of marching feet swallowed the stillness. From every entrance poured in soldiers. Dozens at first. Then hundreds. A full garrison, each clad in the dark, silvered uniform of Soluna’s elite guard – soldiers of the crown.

His crown.

They moved without speaking, like a living machine, locking into formation in seconds. Lines formed along the length of the pews, down the center aisle, up the choir stairs. Crossbows and longbows were drawn, strings creaking under tension. Blades unsheathed with an almost reverent silence.

All of them pointed at Orion.

And at Emi, who stood right beside him.

“No, wait!” Emi cried out, stepping closer to him.

Orion didn’t move. But she saw it.

The way his shoulders tightened. The almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. Not fear. Not pain.

Something worse.

Recognition. The signs.

The moment the first volley fired, he raised one hand – not with haste, but with precision – and the world around them shifted.

Every single arrow stopped mid-flight. Frozen.

Hundreds of them, suspended in the air like deadly shooting stars, hovering mere inches from their intended marks. Some trembled, quivering against the force that held them. A few splintered from the strain.

But none reached their targets.

The glow of the Starheart flared faintly behind his eyes. Emi could feel the ripple of pressure around him.

And still, Orion did not speak.

The soldiers held their formation, unmoving. Showing no signs of fear of their Lord.

Then from the crowd of soldiers came the sound of a single pair of footsteps. Too light, too calm to approach their god-king.

A figure stepped through the entrance, past the frozen arrows and parted ranks of traitors, the long hem of the cloak brushing across the sacred stones like spilled ink. The figure walked slowly, purposefully, until standing before the altar, just beyond the frozen storm of arrows.

Hand rose.

Pulling the hood back.

And here – was her face.

The face of Sky.

The soft violet of her eyes was no longer playful. Her expression bore no teasing smile. Instead, her beauty seemed sharpened, refracted like glass. Something about her presence, once elegant, now glinted with a cold authority.

“Hello, old friend,” Sky greeted him.

There was no warmth in those words.

Only cold breeze, and a touch of venom.