045: The Choir Beneath Half a Heaven

Half the ceiling was gone.

A jagged hole loomed above the altar, revealing the endless dark of the Underground sky. Not stars—there were never stars down here—but something that moved like them. Breathing slowly. Watching.

Eclipse sat on a stone bench, hands tucked into his coat sleeves. Cold wind passed through the ruined rafters, brushing against the back of his neck like an invisible hand.

He wasn't alone.

Around him, a small crowd had gathered—locals, worn and weathered, draped in patchwork robes of varying shades of violet. Their faces were empty, not numb but used to it. Like death was just another tax to pay.

Beside him sat Professor Derrilium, still dressed in his usual burgundy robes with gold trim, completely unfazed by the setting. He had the nerve to smile like they weren't in a building that had barely survived a monster.

"Beautiful night for worship," Derrilium said softly, almost too cheerfully.