1. Prologue

Telomere, Scallia Republic, Northern region of Rohana Federation, 2057 S.C. 171st day

A heatwave bore down on the city of Telomere, surpassing the previously recorded maximum, measured 50 star-cycles ago. In this city of around 200,000 people, it appeared the entire city was neglected, as people could be seen cooling off at the fountain in front of the administrative building.

From this six-story building, built of red and gold bricks and adorned with the stark black banners of Scallia and the Rohana Federation, a figure of a man could just barely be glimpsed behind the closed windows of the top floor. He was observing the scene unfolding in the forecourt below.

Alex Luriano, captain of the Telomere branch of the National Guard, was furious. Beads of sweat trickled down from beneath his short gray hair, pooling in dark stains on the red fabric of his uniform. The problem for Alex loomed over him. A metal fan with four wooden blades turned at an insignificant speed, producing a high, shrill screech at every turn.

Faced with the choice between sweating profusely or damaging his hearing, Alex chose the former.

"Where is that mechanic? I sent for him two hours ago. This is becoming unbearable," Alex growled under his breath. His eyes drifted to the window, drawn by the carefree sight of children and parents. He was envious. Then his gaze shifted to the sky, a clear blue with barely any clouds, wrapped in a pattern of millions of neon crosses, faintly pulsing with a golden glow.

Tired of standing, he decided to sit in his chair. Unfortunately for him, the seat and backrest clung to him, which made him sweat even more.

"Two more days and the season changes," Alex muttered, his voice dry as the air itself, "Finally, the temperature will start to drop. I don't recall the temperatures ever being this high. And maybe it’s the heat dulling my senses, but I’d swear there were fewer crosses in the sky a star-cycle ago."

Tired of standing, he then decided to sit in his chair. Unfortunately for him, the seat and backrest, crafted from animal leather, clung to him like a second skin, which made him sweat even more.

His thoughts of cooling off were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

Finally! He rejoiced.

"Come in!" Alex shouted, preparing to give the mechanic a piece of his mind.

But through the door, a soldier entered. Alex's face darkened, anger yielding to disappointment in a heavy sigh.

"Apologies, Captain, but mail has arrived for you," the soldier murmured with his head bowed, as he extended a yellow envelope.

Alex rose from his chair and took the envelope. His eyes lingered on the bold red letters, which had the word 'classified' stamped across their surface. His grip tightened as he held the envelope that was sealed with wax bearing the insignia of the Church of Harmony.

"You understand, soldier, you’ve never seen this letter," Alex said, his voice cold. "And our conversation never took place. Now, find Lieutenant Sergei and bring him here. Tell him it’s urgent."

"Understood, Captain," the soldier replied with a salute. He then bolted from the room, with his steps echoing faintly behind him.

For a moment, Alex remained still.

Alex had forgotten about the heat. The clammy chill of cold sweat sliding down was from anxiety.

What business could the Church have with me, the captain of a modest town? I had spent most of my career in this tiny office. He started questioning himself.

His modesty mirrored the surroundings of his workspace: a wooden desk bearing the engraved emblem of the Scallia Republic; two small flags dutifully representing Scallia and the Rohana Federation; a worn leather chair; two scuffed wooden cabinets with glass doors... And the broken fan. From what he’d heard about the offices of other captains, the room was unremarkable.

And Scallia itself is a republic along the northern edge of the vast hemispherical barrier that encloses Rohana and its surrounding territories, including sea and land. Among the states of Rohana, it held the distinction of being the quietest, maintaining its neutrality, a position that kept it primarily out of the Church’s gaze. Above its domain, the sky shimmers with millions of crosses spanning the dome barrier. The barrier becomes reflective at lower altitudes. No one has ever breached it, either to escape or to enter. Depending on the opinion, people call it a haven, or a prison, built by the gods they call creators.

By getting lost in his thoughts, questioning historical facts, Alex barely registered the knock at the door until it echoed a second time.

"Enter," he said in a cold, restrained voice.

"I heard you were looking for me, Captain," said a tall, thin soldier with crimson hair and an equally crimson mustache.

"Can we drop the formalities for today, Sergei?" Alex sighed.

"So, it’s that bad?"

"You can see for yourself," Alex replied, handing over the envelope. Even though it was still sealed, Sergei immediately recognized the gravity of the situation.

No words were needed as the fear in their eyes spoke volumes.

"What would the Church want with us?" Sergei frightfully asked.

"I don’t know. Has there been any activity I haven’t been informed about?"

"Nothing," Sergei said, shaking his head. "Things here are as dull as ever. You know our assigned forces are barebones - just enough for patrols and basic reconnaissance."

"I don’t like this at all," Alex muttered through clenched teeth.

Then the silence came as both men knew what had to come next. Alex reached for the envelope. His fingers hovered for a moment before pressing down and cracking the wax seal. Inside the envelope were several papers and photographs.

"Sergei, go fetch yourself a chair from the other room," Alex said, his voice trembling. "I’ll see if I can pour us a drink."

As Sergei stepped out, Alex approached the cabinet. Alongside folders of various reports, Alex kept a small collection of drinks. He pulled out an old wooden bottle of mead, its surface engraved with coils of a dragon’s body. It was a drink he usually reserved for special occasions. But today, it was the only drink that might help him relax. He hoped the taste would evoke fond memories, freeing him from the grip of fear in which he now found himself.

Sergei returned with a chair and placed it next to the armchair. Together, they set to work sorting through the reports and photographs, sorting them out across the desk. The photographs were stacked, and the immediate detail of the top one drew their attention. It was a photograph of open village gates with a sign above them bearing its name - Marcialla.

"That’s one of the villages under our jurisdiction, isn’t it?" Alex asked.

"Yes, two hours’ drive north of here. The last settlement before the barrier, if memory serves. Their trade is medicinal herbs and potions, mostly." Sergei replied.

Both men briefly remained silent.

"You don’t think... they’ve fallen into heresy, do you?" Sergei finally asked with unease.

"Let’s not jump to conclusions. In all my service, I’ve never received a single complaint about how that village operates. Let’s see what the reports actually say," Alex retorted.

Alex picked up the first sheet of the report. His eyes widened as he read the title.

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Massacre in the Village of Marcialla

Report written by: Bishop Francesco Gambassi

An abrupt summons arrived from the local parish demanding my immediate presence in Marcialla. When I arrived at the gates of the village, instead of being met by the local guards, I found the gates wide open. I entered the village accompanied by a dozen soldiers and three priests. The streets beyond them were empty. An eerie silence hung in the air, invoking a sinister aura.

Before proceeding further into the village, we knelt and uttered prayers to the Creators for protection and strength, then advanced down an alley that appeared to be the quickest path to the village center. It didn’t take long to encounter the first signs of an incident. Black stains, like soot, marred the walls of certain houses, but there were no indications that anything had been burned. There was no smell or charred remains, nor was there any smell that might suggest burning or provide clues about the substance.

Following the trail of black marks, we reached the heart of the village. The doors of the ramshackle homes stood wide open. Two soldiers inspected a few of the houses, but they were empty, showing no signs of struggle. It seemed as if the villagers had left their homes in a hurry.

Uncertain of the situation and wary of a potential ambush, I sent two soldiers back to the nearest observation post to summon reinforcements. The rest of us continued slowly. Anxiety gripped our bodies, but with faith in our Creators, we pressed on.

And then, we saw it. A scene so grotesque, it could only be described as something out of the forbidden texts about the Abyss. There was no doubt this was the work of monsters. In front of us lay piles of bodies, arranged in lines to the left and right, creating a clear path to the local church.

I’m not sure how to describe the bodies. Their condition defied comprehension. They looked as though every drop of blood had been drained from them, leaving the skin as a mere shell. But what troubled me more was the lack of blood. There wasn’t a single drop anywhere. Upon closer inspection, I noticed black holes piercing through the clothing and skin. It seemed as though something had emerged from within, burning its way out. Each body bore dozens of such marks.

May the Creators forgive me, but I struggled to hold my faith. I didn’t know what to say; my prayers were caught in my throat. All I could do was stand in silent agony, staring at the scene. Around me, others fared no better; one priest even fainted.

After a moment of silent observation, we knelt to pray. If we ever needed the Creators’ protection, it was now. Every protective prayer we knew was uttered. In the end, we prayed for the souls of the dead, though we didn’t know if they had already been cast into the Abyss. For the sake of Harmony, I hoped that, despite this tragedy, they had found peace in the Creators’ heavens.

With the path to the church open, we made our way to its doors. Unfortunately, whatever had befallen the villagers had likely also reached the clergy, judging by the shattered, blood-stained doors lying on the ground.

Inside the church, we encountered a similar scene. The clergy’s bodies were displayed on the altar, in the same state as the villagers in the square. But the violence hadn’t stopped there. The perpetrator had desecrated the sacred space. Frescoes and tapestries on the walls were torn and shattered. In place of the central tapestry behind the altar, the perpetrator had left a message, which had been scrawled in blood, I cannot say whose.

“My dearest Icarus, I have finally found what we were searching for, but I have lost everything because of it. Please forget me.” At the very bottom of the message was a name carved in small font - Heron.

Reinforcements arrived shortly after. The village was quarantined, and forensic teams were summoned to gather evidence. Their findings, along with photographs of the scene, are included in this report. The investigation now lies in the hands of the Church’s criminal division, with all relevant institutions to be informed.

From dust we were created, and to dust we shall return.
Bishop Francesco Gambassi, 2057 S.C., 155th day, Season of Nadia

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Alex set the letter down and took a long swing of mead, and his gaze met Sergei’s, shadowed by unease.

"Why weren’t we informed about this directly? Aren’t we the closest outpost?" Alex cried.

"No," Sergei replied, shaking his head. "The 10th Scallia Brigade is closer to the village."

"Gaah!" Alex growled, slamming his fist against the table. "Classified reports from the Church of Harmony. No doubt the investigative team will demand to station themselves here."

"Alex, calm down. If they come, we’ll adapt some rooms to accommodate them," Sergei said, trying to maintain composure.

"Sergei, I’m not concerned with accommodations. I’m concerned with this classified nonsense. What are we supposed to tell the soldiers?"

"We’ll leave that to the representative from the investigative team," Sergei replied. "We don’t even know what we’re allowed to say yet."

Alex sighed, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. "You’re right. Let’s go through the rest of the report."

The next document consisted of the forensic team’s findings. The black marks on the houses were classified as black dust of unknown origin. As for the wounds, it was concluded that the penetration had occurred from the inside. Whatever created the holes had emerged from within the victims’ bodies.

And then there was the matter of the blood. Samples were taken from the walls and from what little remained in the victims’ bodies. It was just enough to attempt identification. The blood did not match any of the victims.

Even more disturbing was the analysis of the message left in the church. The forensic team concluded the perpetrator had likely cut their own fingers to extract blood for writing. Fingerprint impressions embedded within the letters of the message lent credence to this theory.

"Dear Creators," Sergei gasped as he looked at the pictures, while Alex finished reading the forensic report.

Only one neatly folded piece of paper remained.

Alex unfolded it reluctantly. The moment his eyes fell on the top of the page, his breath hitched. Sergei froze, his gaze locking on the emblem emblazoned there.

It was unmistakable. The insignia bore the mark of Rohai, known to every soul across Rohana and beyond.

The silence was shattered as Sergei let out a piercing scream. Alex recoiled, stumbling out of his chair and throwing the paper away from himself. Tears streamed down his face.

"What sin have we committed to warrant such punishment from the Creators?" Alex cried, his voice cracked.

Sergei and Alex embraced each other, crying, seeking comfort. Their terror was not unfounded, as receiving a letter from the Rohai was unthinkable. The last recorded instance had been 250 star-cycles ago, when a letter was delivered to the city of Mako. It had been a proclamation: the Creators would judge them for harboring heretics.

A day later, after the letter was delivered to Mako, the heavens darkened to an ominous red, and the crosses shifted their hues to a searing orange. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Among the crosses, a circular gap of blackness appeared. From within it, a blinding beam flashed from the skies, leaving behind nothing but black dust where the walls of the city had once stood. The gap disappeared, and the crosses moved to their normal formation. Later, above the scarred earth, a floating island was raised, and a new city was established, for the ground beneath could no longer sustain life.

The Rohai never communicates directly. Their will was always conveyed through the messengers of the Church of Harmony. And they are a rare occasion to be seen in public, save for the conclaves, when a new Rohai journeyed across the cities of the Rohana Federation to bless its officials and rulers.

After what felt like an eternity, Alex steadied himself, his trembling hands reaching for the letter, focusing his eyes on what the actual text was. He feared that if Rohai had turned their gaze upon them, then their fate would mirror that of Mako’s.

His thoughts turned to his wife and daughter, waiting for him at home. The day before, he had chastised his daughter for leaving her things scattered about. It had spiraled into an argument, ending with her fleeing to her room in tears. Now, the memory cut him deeper than any blade. How insignificant it all seemed now.

All Alex wanted now was to hold them, to tell them how much he loved them, to beg for forgiveness for his harshness. If the Creators had any mercy left, perhaps, in death, they could forge a new beginning.

Alex forced himself to read, avoiding letting his tears mar the paper. After a few moments, he began laughing like a madman and turned to Sergei, kissing him on both cheeks. Sergei, who until that moment had been in a state of lifelessness, was utterly bewildered as he felt Alex’s kisses. He pushed himself away from Alex's embrace.

"Have you completely lost your mind at the end of our existence?" Sergei roared, shoving Alex away with a force born of confusion and fear.

"Sergei, my friend, my colonel..." Alex gasped, his words tumbling out in fragments as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart thundered in his chest, a drumbeat of adrenaline and disbelief. Grabbing the bottle of mead, he tipped it back, gulping its contents with abandon.

Then Alex handed him the letter from the Rohai. Sergei began to read it, and his demeanor shifted as well. Tears streamed down his face as he lunged forward and embraced Alex tightly. The letter slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

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Beloved servants of the Creators,

Hear these solemn words, for a grave and monstrous act has transpired within the sacred lands of the Scallia Republic. The perpetrator of this heinous crime does not merely challenge our laws and values but threatens the very harmony of the Rohana Federation, the life we hold dear under the watchful gaze of the Creators.

Thus, I declare this with divine urgency: the truth of the massacre in the village of Marcialla must remain veiled in secrecy. The Church, in its infinite wisdom, has appointed its shepherds to guide the people toward a narrative befitting the order and sanctity of our land. It is your sacred duty to provide them with every measure of support they require, that their mission may be fulfilled in harmony and righteousness.

Let it be known, without question, that those who seek to spread whispers of the forbidden truth shall face the Creator's wrath—a wrath swift, unyielding, and righteous. To you, the stewards of military might, I entrust this holy charge: root out the seeds of heresy, silence the tongues of falsehood, and protect the innocent by whatever means are required.

Should you falter in this sacred task, the heavens themselves shall bear witness to your failure. The skies will run red, a tapestry of judgment woven from the blood of the guilty and the innocent alike.

From dust we were created, and to dust we shall return.
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"Alex, do I have your permission to call it a day?" Sergei asked, his tone lighter than it had been in hours.

"Of course, my friend," Alex replied, a soft smile spreading across his face. "Go home, take some time to clear your head. I’ll be heading out soon myself. I need to hold my wife and daughter, to tell them how much they mean to me. The Creators have given me a second chance, and I intend to make the most of it."

"No, no," Sergei interrupted, shaking his head with a grin. "Do you remember that waitress I told you about? At the inn, a few days back? The one who seemed interested in me, but I couldn’t summon the courage to say anything? Well, if this isn’t a sign from the heavens to ask her out, I don’t know what is."

Alex laughed—a genuine, hearty laugh as tension disappeared from the air. He embraced Sergei, and together they walked out of the office. They knew tomorrow's hardships would begin, but for today, they’ll praise this small path of hope.