Judgement

My throat is sore.

Now that I had noticed the discomfort in my neck, I was more than a little annoyed. These were the Regent's servants - surely, this wasn't an accident? It had already been 15 minutes by now.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the same pearly white doors I had entered through, open up again. This time, there was nothing but silence as the crowd hurriedly silenced, as an intense wave of energy entered the room, engulfing the air.

It was slightly harder to breathe, and the air felt as though it had thickened around me. As all the people in here were blessed with divinity to varying extents, all could feel it as the presence entered the room.

I looked at Arthur, curious to his reaction. His reaction was the same as most, anxiously glancing at the entrance. It seemed as though even he was overpowered by the energy in the air.

Finally sneaking a glance to the doors, a figure draped in a flowing white robe inlaid with gold could be seen moving slowly through the center of the guests' tables. The robe concealed all but their frail, trembling hands, which clutched a wooden cane with weary determination. Their back was hunched, their skin weathered by age, and every step they took seemed arduous, yet none dared to speak.

A silent weight settled over the room as the figure advanced toward the stage. The air itself felt heavier, as though thick with unspoken reverence. Their sheer presence commanded obedience, and with each step, their authority seemed to intensify.

What was more shocking was their entourage, trailing behind them was a flock of floating mechanical eyes. Their means of propulsion were invisible, but the fusion of organic and inorganic matter was interesting to say the least. Each iris was etched with glowing, cryptic symbols, and the rest of the eye was encased in bronze.

That's pretty... wicked. Never seen something like that before.

All attendees bowed their heads, as the eyes started to dart to different people. They seemed to scan them, the symbols in their irises pulsing faintly. Their brilliance was undeniable, but so was their piercing, almost creepy interrogations. It was a weird sight to say the least - this holy figure, trailed by an entourage of mechanical eyeballs, but such was the culture of this ancient empire of steam, machinery and magic.

Then, to my discomfort, I felt one of those eyes turn its gaze upon me.

A strange, visceral sensation gripped my chest, as though I were being weighed, measured, and dissected all at once. Instinct told me to lower my head. Direct eye contact felt like an unspoken challenge, and I had no desire to test its or its masters patience. Even as the pressure seemed to fade and the gaze moved on, a lingering feeling of being watched remained, gazing at me from somewhere unseen.

By the time I felt safe to look up, the robed figure had finally reached the stage. As I slowly lifted my head, I could swear I saw the air itself part before their steps, and the light in the room seemed to flicker yet burn more vibrantly around them, as though agitated and excited.

At the foot of the emperor's sword, the Regent stood, lowering his head in a slight bow as the figure passed him without so much as sparing a glance. The mechanical eyes, which had spread out among the crowd, suddenly swarmed back toward the robed figure, moving with eerie synchronization - like children hurrying to their father's side, which almost made them seem living.

The figure muttered something, too quiet to hear, and the Regent lifted a hand, revealing a small device embedded with a grey crystal. A sudden force swept across the room, like a phantom wind. Hair and garments fluttered violently, yet the tables, cloth, food, and drink remained untouched. It was precise, deliberate.

Then, the Regent spoke in a clam yet authoritative town.

"Silence before the Hierarch."

His voice boomed, as if the device was a megaphone. A few nobles looked momentarily affronted, but the majority sat frozen, waiting for the next step of the ceremony, which at this point was tradition.

Ah, so he's a clergyman from the Church, and a Hierarch at that. No wonder everyone seems so excited yet tense, hes just one below the leader of the Church.

To be honest, I don't blame them for being tense. Executions for heresy aren't uncommon, regardless of rank.

I observed the crowd in silence, noting their reactions.

If I'm going to survive in this society, I need practical experience. I've studied its history, norms, and customs, but theory only takes you so far. Practice is what matters.

This was as good an opportunity as any. I had to admit, I was impressed. I'd never seen authority wielded with such weight, especially in a setting so seemingly refined. It proved one thing - hierarchy surpassed decorum in importance. Or perhaps, in this empire, such displays were the decorum.

Seeing the crowd sufficiently subdued, the Regent lowered his hand. He turned, bowing slightly once more to the Hierarch, before scanning the assembly. His gaze settled on a particular figure with golden hair.

"Mary Magdalene, you are the first to be tested. Kneel before His Blessed Hierarch and be judged."

So, it was an old man after all.

The Church held near-total legislative and civil authority within the empire. Its customs dictated the law, shaping even the will of the Emperor to how they saw fit.

This is a pseudo-theocracy, so it makes sense.

Mary stepped forward, and the very air seemed to pause in deference to her.

She moved with effortless grace, each step measured, her every motion exuding refinement. She was a vision - pristine, ethereal, untouched by imperfection. Her platinum-blonde hair cascaded down her back, its silken strands shimmering beneath the hall's golden light. The pure white of her dress flowed like liquid moonlight, fanning out around her as she ascended the podium.

When she knelt, it was as if she had rehearsed the motion a thousand times, every fiber of her being a testament to elegance. One hand rested on her knee, the other gently placed over her heart. A silent declaration of devotion.

The Regent stepped aside, leaving her alone before the Hierarch, as custom dictated.

If they spoke, none of us could hear it. The old man's presence was overwhelming, his aura heavy with mystery. For twenty-ish long seconds, the world itself seemed to hush, as though existence held its breath for him alone.

Then, the Hierarch reached into his robes and produced a small knife, no longer than a finger. Even from here, I could see its ceremonial craftsmanship - its hilt adorned with crystals that gleamed ominously.

Without hesitation, he drew the blade across his own index and middle finger. Blood welled up, dark and rich, yet none of it dripped. The deep crimson clung to his fingertips, defying gravity, glowing abnormally under the chamber's light.

He whispered something, then pressed his bloodied fingers to Mary's forehead.

Light erupted.

A blinding, searing radiance, overwhelming in its intensity. Mary's head jolted back ash she released divine energy in an unrelenting flood. It roared outward like an endless tidal wave, consuming everything in its path.

I heard nothing. The silence was deafening, yet the warmth that followed was intoxicating. Every ache, every ounce of fatigue vanished as though I were being rejuvenated from the inside out. It was bliss - pure, unfiltered peace, the kind that threatened to steal you away forever.

And then, just as swiftly, it was over.

As my vision returned, I saw the Hierarch still standing, unchanged, unmoving, as if none of it had happened.

Then, a voice. Deep, rasping, omnipresent. It echoed through the chamber, as though pouring from unseen speakers in every corner of the room.

"Mary Magdalene, Veilwalker on the Path of the Hallowed. We welcome you into the fold under His watchful eye. Rise, servant of the One True God. Serve Him faithfully, and never falter."

Many gasps and breaths could be heard as the shock felt electric. After he mentioned the word "Veilwalker", even Arthur could not hold himself to composure, his eyes revealing shock.

"A Veilwalker? Nonetheless in the path of the Emperor himself? In Emperors name, this moment will be one written down in history. I'm sorry Damian, someone has outshone you already."

Hearing this, I tried my hardest to suppress a smile.

Wow, maybe shes useful for one thing after all.

I understood his shock, as the murmuring got louder. Everyone seemed shocked, as if lightning had struck the room.

She was a Veilwalker, the most powerful and rare out of all Divine user types. Not to mention, she followed the same path of the Emperor. She was the first one to have this combination, since the Emperor himself.

As a member of the royal family, it was obvious she'd inherit the path of the hallowed, but to most people here, her being a Veilwalker was the greatest shock.

But despite Arthur's pity, I really didn't care. In fact, I was slightly delighted. The less attention I got, the better

Reflecting on what I knew, the chance of someone awakening as a Veilwalker was around one-percent, or even less. Than Awakened like me and Arthur stood at around ten-percent, and the rest were made up of the Marked.

From the brief knowledge I remembered, the Marked could channel Aetheris, what the church called Divine energy, through mediums. These were usually weapons, but weren't limited to them. I wasn't exactly sure were the line was drawn nor how they were created, but this level of Divinity was the most easiest to control, and least susceptible to corruption.

Me and Arthur, who were Awakened, could draw Aetheris from the air around us. We had more explosive potential, and could do everything the Marked could do. But with more power, came higher risk of corruption. As the closer you got with the Veil, the more you'd see and hear.

The most powerful and most cursed were the Veilwalkers. As the name suggested, they walked a fine line between our reality and The Veil. They could directly summon and draw their Divinity from the Veil, having the most pure and strongest Divine energy out of all three types. They were able to do what both the Awakened and Marked could do - and better in every way. But it came with the same drawback as the Awakened, but it was so much worse.

Maybe that's why she became so mad? Who knows, maybe shes a bit more sane now than she is later.

Mary opened her eyes, her breath steady. A smile graced her lips - not of pride, but of quiet joy. She exchanged a few brief words with the Hierarch, and for the first time, the old man's presence seemed less severe. Their familiarity was subtle, but it was there.

With a final, deep bow, she stepped away, gliding to the sidelines to watch the rest of the ceremony unfold. But as she walked down, it seemed the eyes of everyone continued to follow her, yet she payed no heed, as graceful as always.

The Regent was about to step forward once more, but the Hierarch raised a hand, signaling him to remain standing where he was. Then, the robed figure turned toward the crowd.

Only the tip of his nose was visible beneath the hood, but the weight of his unseen gaze was suffocating. Time itself seemed to freeze. Even breathing felt like an intrusion.

Then, the mechanical eyes shifted in one swift identical motion.

They all turned - to me.

"Damian, who has no family. You are next to be judged."