Chapter 68: New Rebellion

The orphanage was alive with laughter and chaos, its halls echoing with the voices of dozens of children. Faera walked through the main corridor, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, fingers nervously wringing together. Her silver hair flowed softly down her back, catching the light filtering through the stained-glass windows above. Each step she took was hesitant, her golden eyes darting around the room as she absorbed the life and energy in the space. 

The walls of the orphanage were painted in warm hues—soft creams and pale yellows, designed to bring a sense of calm. Murals of trees, flowers, and fantastical creatures ran along the walls, clearly painted by the children themselves. Some were messy, with uneven strokes and splashes of color, while others were delicate and precise. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, giving the space a rustic charm, and the floors were polished but worn in places, the marks of countless little feet running and playing over the years. 

A group of children ran past Faera, their giggles filling the air as they chased each other with wooden swords. "Get back here, Sir Hugo!" one boy shouted, brandishing his makeshift weapon. "You'll never escape the wrath of the Moon Knight!" 

"Not if I can help it!" the other boy yelled, his voice filled with determination. 

Faera paused as the two mock-duelists passed her, smiling softly despite the weight on her mind. She bent down to help another child, a small girl with a scraped knee, and her hands glowed faintly with light magic as she healed the wound. The girl looked up at her with wide eyes, her gratitude unspoken yet clear. 

"Thank you, Mother Faera!" The girl said before darting off to join her friends. 

Faera stood slowly, watching them play. A pang of something bittersweet pulled at her chest as she walked further down the hall. She passed a group of children sitting on the floor in a circle, whispering to each other. 

"Did you see that guy with the eyepatch?" one boy asked, his voice hushed but excited. 

"Yeah! He came in last night," another replied. "And you know what? I flipped him off." 

"No way!" 

"I did! And he got so mad! His face turned all red, and he started yelling about respect or something." 

The group burst into laughter, and Faera couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle as she walked by. Xyenn's temper was as short as his patience, and imagining him getting riled up by a child's crude gesture brought a momentary lightness to her. 

As she continued, she passed by more children—some wrestling on the floor, others practicing with wooden swords, mimicking the battles they must have seen or heard about. The orphanage was chaotic, but it was a kind of chaos that was full of life, a stark contrast to the silence that often filled the Holy Branch's halls. 

She climbed the staircase, her footsteps light against the smooth wooden steps. The second floor was quieter, more serene, as she approached the largest room in the building—Vektor's office and study. 

The door was slightly ajar, Faera pushed it open gently. It revealed an empty room, but there was a crystal on the floor that was glowing white. She bent down to grab it, and clamped down on it, and she was teleported to Vektor's study, which was in its own separate pocket dimension away from the orphanage. 

The room was vast, almost cavernous, with walls lined from floor to ceiling with shelves filled with books, scrolls, and artifacts. The air smelled faintly of parchment and aged wood. A large desk sat in the center of the room, cluttered with papers, maps, and an ornate quill resting in an inkpot. 

At the far end of the office stood a towering statue of Lancelot, the Dragon God of Light. The statue was carved from pure white marble, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly brilliance. Lancelot's form was majestic, with wings unfurled and claws extended, his head tilted upward as if roaring to the heavens. Light magic seemed to hum faintly around the statue, a soft glow emanating from its eyes. 

Vektor stood before it, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders rigid. He was silent, his gaze fixed on the statue as though deep in thought. 

"Vektor," Faera said softly as she entered, her voice tentative. 

He didn't turn immediately, his focus still on the dragon god's image. "Faera," he finally said, his tone calm but distant. "Is everything alright?" 

Faera hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, her hands still clasped nervously. "I don't know," she admitted. "I've been… thinking." 

Vektor turned slightly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "About what?" 

She exhaled shakily, her voice trembling as she spoke. "About the Clerics. About us. About… everything." She moved closer to the statue, her gaze shifting upward to meet its glowing eyes. "I feel like we're abandoning the ways of light." 

Vektor turned fully now, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?" 

She sat down on the floor, her back against the cold marble base of the statue. "The Clerics…" she began slowly, her hands gripping her knees. "The way they've been acting lately. It's as if they're losing their focus. When I watched the Tyrants train earlier, I saw the Clerics laughing at Klem and Mertha's antics. The clerics were itching to get involved with everything. They didn't even ask to watch. They just… came in. And they settled down, like they were entertained by it." 

Vektor's expression remained neutral, but his silence prompted her to continue. 

"They're being influenced," Faera said, her voice growing more forceful. "By the outside world. By the chaos. They're forgetting who we are—what we stand for." She gestured toward the statue of Lancelot. "The Clerics of the Holy Branch are supposed to work on their souls for years, letting Lancelot's light fill their minds with peace and positivity. That's what we're supposed to be. But now…" She shook her head, her voice breaking slightly. "Now it feels like we're becoming part of the darkness we're meant to oppose. Even if we followed Yuuna out of Sugred's watch, we still were bound to the light, because of our power, and our years of devotion. And even after the division, Lancelot didn't take his light from us. Meaning we're still useful. I hate Sugred, but not Lancelot. He gave me power when I had none, not Sugred. Though we abandoned Sugred, we didn't abandon the Light, or Lancelot. You know we couldn't just throw away our power, it would've been taken from us. We couldn't be powerless with Sugred sending Clerics to hunt us down anyway on top of that."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I'm one of the heads of the Clerics here, Vektor. Besides you. And I feel like I'm failing. Like I'm betraying myself by not trying harder to bring them back to the light. I don't want Lancelot snatching the light from them. They'll be weak."

Vektor remained silent, his gaze sharp and analytical. 

Faera continued, her voice trembling as she recited from memory. "The Codex is clear on this. 'To be one with the light is to separate oneself from the world, for the world is steeped in darkness.' That's the first doctrine. The second: 'The heart that succumbs to worldly pleasures cannot be filled with the purity of the light.' The third: 'The light brings peace, but only to those who fully surrender to it.'" She paused, her voice softening. "It's like we've forgotten everything we've been taught. Everything we've worked for." 

Vektor finally spoke, his voice calm and deliberate. "Faera… do you feel free?" 

The question caught her off guard, and she blinked at him in confusion. "What?" 

"Do you feel free?" he repeated, his gaze unwavering. 

"I…" She hesitated, her hands tightening around her knees. "I don't know." 

Vektor turned back to the statue, his voice thoughtful. "It's not a sin to be one with the light," he said. "But the longer we hold ourselves down with doctrines and rules, the more likely we are to stray." 

Faera's expression hardened, and she scoffed quietly. "That's blasphemous, Vektor. After all, you've been a Cleric longer than any of us…and you say that…"

He turned back to her, his face calm but serious. "Is it? Take Illyana, for example. She stepped out of the Holy Branch entirely. She joined Yuuna. Became a Tyrant. And yet… she's one of the most tranquil people we know." 

Faera frowned, her voice defensive. "That's because she's deeply in tune with the light, despite being surrounded by chaos and the goddess of darkness—."

"No," Vektor said firmly, his voice cutting through her argument. "She wasn't. Not until the day she was nearly sacrificed to Lancelot by Sugred. That was the turning point. She didn't find peace through the light. She found peace because she chose to live for herself. She stepped out of her comfort zone and embraced something new. Embraced change."

Faera was speechless, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. 

Vektor chuckled softly. "Sometimes I wonder if I should've gone with her. Followed right behind her and went with her to Yuuna. Maybe I should've become a Tyrant myself." 

Faera's eyes widened in shock. "You can't mean that! Lancelot will take your power away!"

"He didn't take Illyana's, did he?"

"He…"

"Unless Yuuna's darkness immediately merged with their base affinity which keeps it from being taken from them, then that would be a reason why Lancelot can't Illyana's light, which is dark light now." He sighed, his voice heavy. "There were times I felt like I was losing hope, Faera. The Codex, the doctrines, the endless pursuit of light—it all started to feel like a prison. Pure luck brought us Yuuna, Xyenn, and the Tyrants. And for the first time in years, I felt a spark of hope again. We did all of this so we could keep this power, so it wouldn't be taken from us. So we wouldn't be defenseless. So I am guilty for trapping our own Clerics as well."

He looked at her, his expression both serious and wistful. "Illyana found freedom by stepping away from the strict laws of Lancelot. And maybe… maybe that's what we all need."

"Even if that means we become powerless?!"

"…We're not powerless anymore. We have the Tyrants. And also a stoic dwarf who can give us magic weapons and armor. I don't think we need to be tied down anymore."

The air in Vektor's office felt heavy, weighed down by unspoken truths and years of devotion that were suddenly being questioned. Vektor stood by the towering marble statue of Lancelot, the Dragon God of Light, his hands still clasped behind his back. His hair caught the soft glow of the statue's radiant eyes, but his expression was far from reverent. He turned to Faera, who sat on the floor near the base of the statue, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. 

"I know Illyana stepped out of her comfort zone," Vektor continued, his voice firm but calm. "And because of it, she became stronger. Not just in power, but in resolve, in presence. That's something the Clerics of the Holy Branch have always lacked. We were bound by desperation, and our goals for tranquility and power."

Faera looked up at him sharply, her golden eyes narrowing. "We're not weak." 

"Yes, we are," Vektor said without hesitation. "You, me, Klem—we're the strongest Clerics this place has. And yet, it still took all three of us to take down that demon Hathrakka. Do you remember that, Faera? Three of us against one. A current Siren of Sugred would've taken it down alone quickly. Klem was a Siren, but his power has been weakened slowly because he has slowly been stepping out of his comfort zone. After what happened to him one day, he hasn't put his trust in Lancelot like that. Even if he chanted to him during his fight with Yuuna, that shows he's barely clinging on, but his power is slowly being taken away because of his slow abandonment."

Faera's lips pressed into a thin line, her fists tightening further. She didn't reply, but the memory stung. 

"And if we were to raid the Sanctuary today," Vektor continued, his voice hardening, "if we were to face Sugred and his Sirens right now, we'd be wiped out. Instantly. You know it, and I know it." 

"I know," Faera muttered, her voice low, almost a growl. "I know!"

Vektor stepped closer to her, his tone softening slightly. "We don't have the numbers, Faera. And even if we did, we don't have the strength. Not the kind of strength Illyana gained when she chose to leave. When she chose to evolve." 

Faera's head snapped up at that word, her eyes flashing with anger. "Evolve? Is that what you call abandoning everything we stand for?" 

Vektor sighed, his expression weary. "I call it survival. I call it hope." He turned back to the statue of Lancelot, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I need hope, Faera. More than anything. And I've come to realize that I'll never find it here—not as long as I cling to Lancelot, the Codex, and the doctrines that keep us chained. With powerful allies, why do we still decide to be slaves?"

Faera stood abruptly, her voice rising. "Chained? You think the Codex chains us? It's what gives us purpose, Vektor! It's what gives us peace!" 

"Does it?" Vektor shot back, his voice finally gaining an edge. He turned to face her fully, his pale eyes sharp. "The doctrines you recited earlier—'To be one with the light is to separate oneself from the world,' 'The heart that succumbs to worldly pleasures cannot be filled with purity'—do you even hear what you're saying, Faera? They don't make us stronger. They make us hollow. We're supposed to not enjoy life so we can keep our light? Our tranquility? Fuck that."

Faera's jaw tightened, her voice trembling with anger. "The doctrines are meant to guide us, not weaken us." 

"They're meant to control us," Vektor countered, his voice lowering but no less intense. "They tell us what we can't do, what we can't feel, what we can't enjoy. The world is dark, yes. But it's also full of life. And we've spent so many years separating ourselves from it that we've forgotten how to live."

Faera's fists unclenched, but only so she could slam one against the wall. "I know that!" she shouted, her voice breaking. 

The room fell silent, save for the soft hum of the magic emanating from the statue. Faera took a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. 

"I know," she repeated, more quietly this time. "And I hate it. I hate that you're right." 

Vektor didn't interrupt. He simply watched her, his expression softening as she continued. 

"I was raised by Lancelot worshippers," Faera said, her voice trembling. "Clerics and battle mages. From the moment I could walk, I was taught that the world was evil, that everything outside the light was darkness. I was taught to dedicate my life to Lancelot, to let his light fill me with peace and purpose." She let out a bitter laugh, tears glistening in her eyes. "And you know what? It worked. For years, it worked. I thought I was free. I thought I had everything I needed. I even had power, power that I used to dispel darkness, and help kill witches. Was it really the power I clung to…? Did I really end up becoming jealous of Illyana?"

She turned to face Vektor, her voice rising again. "But I wasn't free, was I? I was hollow. I didn't realize it until the Tyrants came. Until I saw how the Clerics acted around them—laughing, joking, feeling. We're supposed to be above that, right? We're supposed to be pure. But we're not. We're just... puppets." Her voice cracked, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. 

Vektor stepped closer to her, his voice soft. "Faera—" 

"And Illyana," Faera interrupted, her voice breaking further. "I admired her so much. I looked up to her. She was everything I wanted to be—calm, strong, peaceful. But she wasn't like us, was she? She wasn't hollow. She wasn't chained. She was free. And I hated her for it. Even if I kept claiming to look up to her. And yes I did, because she actually ended up abandoning the light, and seems fine, and more powerful. My jealousy when I saw her again the other day struck up."

Vektor's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't speak. He let her continue. 

"I was jealous of her," Faera admitted, tears streaming down her face now. "Because she found a way to be free without Lancelot. She found peace while wielding dark light magic, tainted by Yuuna's blood. And here I am, clinging to the doctrines, to the Codex, trying to convince myself that I'm doing the right thing, that I'm still... good."

'Why am I even saying all of this? Growing up surrounded by Lancelot's doctrine…this must've been on my mind all along, and here I am spilling it all out. Was I scared to admit all of this out loud? I kept it in my thoughts, no matter how tough I tried to seem in front of other clerics, no matter how affiliated with the doctrine I was in front of them, trying to show off my faith. Was I really doing all that to keep my Light? Did I think if I lost the Light, then I'd truly be hollow? But I would be free..right?'

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But I don't feel good. I don't feel free. I feel... lost." 

The silence that followed her words was deafening. Vektor took a deep breath, his voice calm but firm as he replied. "Then it's time to step out of your comfort zone, Faera. Just like Illyana did. Just like I want to." 

Faera's expression twisted in anger, but it wasn't aimed at Vektor—it was aimed at herself. She turned sharply, clenching her fists; she leaned against the wall, her breathing heavy. Her nails scratched against the wood, leaving faint marks as she tried to calm herself. Her thoughts were a storm, Vektor's words swirling in her mind. 

"Is freedom really evolving?" she whispered to herself. "What if I end up without power? Then what? This is a dark world, with lunatics like King Haldrek and Ezrael about to go to war with one another, alongside demons and Prophets floating around us.."

'But I'm forcing myself to be tied to the Light so I won't be powerless, so I won't be truly hollow. But I feel hollow when I become jealous and gain the itch to do things that other people do that make them happy. Sugred told us that the light will keep us tranquil and happy, but never mentioned desperate.'

She thought of the Codex, of the doctrines that had shaped her entire life. They told her to reject the world, to separate herself from its darkness. But was it truly darkness? Or was it life? 

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. For the first time, she wondered if everything she'd been taught was wrong. 

After a long moment, she pushed off the wall and walked forward, Vektor turned to face her, surprised by her sudden approach.

Before he could speak, she stormed toward him, her footsteps purposeful and her eyes blazing. She grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down into a kiss. 

It was fierce, desperate, and full of emotion. Vektor froze for a moment, caught off guard, but then his hands lifted to her waist, pulling her closer. Her lips were soft but trembling, and he could taste the salt of her tears as they kissed. 

Faera's hands slid up to his shoulders, then down to his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his robe tightly. Slowly, Vektor's hands moved to her back, holding her as if afraid she might pull away. 

Her robe slipped from her shoulders, revealing smooth, pale skin. Beneath the light fabric, she wore a simple white underdress, its straps delicate against her shoulders. Her skin glowed faintly in the magic of the room, a soft sheen that made her look ethereal. 

As their kiss deepened, Faera shed another tear, her fingers loosening their grip on his robe and instead sliding into his hair. Vektor's hands moved with care, tracing the curve of her waist as he held her closer. 

Neither of them spoke. In that moment, words were unnecessary. 

Faera's heart pounded in her chest as she stood just outside Vektor's office door, her fingers trembling as they grazed the smooth wood. Her mind was a storm, a tangled mess of emotions she couldn't fully unravel, but one thought burned brighter than the rest: *What am I doing?* 

'I've spent my entire life believing in the Codex, letting its words shape me, mold me, tell me what's right and wrong. I've always told myself that following the doctrines was freedom, that surrendering to the light meant peace. But if that's true, then why do I feel this way? Why do I feel so... trapped? 'This isn't who I'm supposed to be. Clerics don't doubt. Clerics don't question. We follow the light, we surrender to it, and we trust that it will guide us. That's what I've been taught since I was a child. That's what I've believed since I was a child. But now... now I don't know what to believe anymore.' 

The kiss deepened, their lips intertwining slowly..

'Vektor's words... they made sense. And that terrifies me. Because if he's right, if everything I've devoted my life to is just a set of chains... then what does that make me? A puppet? A hollow shell? Have I ever truly been free? Or have I just been convincing myself that I am because it's easier than facing the truth?'

Her other hand moved to her chest, resting over her heart. She could feel it pounding beneath her palm, a relentless rhythm that mirrored the chaos in her mind. 

'And now, here I am. About to do something crazy, something unthinkable. Something that goes against everything I've ever stood for. Interloping within the society. Why? Because I want to test this so-called freedom? Because I want to rebel? Is this rebellion, or is this...?'

Her fingers tightened against Vektor's hair.

'Illyana wasn't chained. She wasn't hollow. She left, and she became stronger. She found peace. And I hated her for it. I hated her because she proved that everything I believed in wasn't the only way. She proved that there's another path. A path I've been too afraid to take.'

Her gaze drifted downward, her voice a whisper in her mind. 

'I've always followed the light because I thought it would bring me peace. But it hasn't. Not really. It's brought me purpose, yes. Discipline. Order. But peace? Freedom? No. I've been weighed down by the doctrines, by the rules, by the constant struggle to be pure, to be perfect. And now... now I just want to feel something real.'

She lifted her head, her eyes narrowing. 

'If this is rebellion, so be it. If this is a test of my freedom, then I'll take it. Because I need to know. I need to know if there's more to life than this constant battle to stay in the light. I need to know if I can be more than what the Codex says I should be.'

Vektor moved his hands down Faera's body, kissing on her cheeks and neck.

'What am I about to do? Blasphemy? Or is it something more? Something... necessary?'

He exhaled slowly..

'I've spent my whole life devoted to the Codex, to the doctrines, to the light. I've spent years honing my magic, memorizing proverbs, preaching the virtues of purity and peace. But for what? To live in fear? To live in chains? The Codex tells us to separate ourselves from the world, to reject its darkness. But in doing so, we've also rejected its beauty, its life, its freedom. 'The Clerics of the Holy Branch have stagnated. We've held ourselves back, clinging to traditions that no longer serve us. We tell ourselves that we're strong, that we're righteous, but the truth is, we're neither. We've become weak. Fragile.'

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

'Illyana saw that. She saw the truth and had the courage to walk away. She stepped out of her comfort zone, and because of it, she became stronger. And strength is what we need. But I'm tired of having to feel like a prisoner just to keep my power.' He closed his eyes, his voice a whisper in his mind. 

'The doctrines Faera recited earlier... they're not wrong. But they're incomplete. They tell us to separate ourselves from the world, but they don't tell us how to live. They tell us to avoid darkness, but they don't tell us how to embrace the light in a way that's real, that's meaningful. They tell us to surrender, but they don't tell us how to grow. If the Clerics are going to survive, we need to evolve. We need to embrace the freedom that comes with growth, with change. If we don't, we'll never stand a chance against Sugred. We'll never be strong enough to stop him or any devil. And we'll never be strong enough to truly live.'

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it was tinged with sadness. 

'Maybe we all need to leave in our own way. Maybe that's the only way we'll find hope again.'

Vektor gazed into Faera's eyes in the candlelit study, his breath catching as his fingers traced her jawline. She trembled under his touch, her heart racing as his thumb brushed across her lower lip. Their mouths met in a tender kiss that quickly deepened, his tongue sliding against hers as she released a soft whimper into his mouth. Her hands shakily explored his chest through his robes, feeling the firm muscles beneath.

His fingers traced down her neck, following the line of her collarbone as he kissed along her jaw. She gasped when his teeth grazed her sensitive skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations. His hands found the clasps of her cleric robes, carefully undoing each one as his mouth continued its exploration. The fabric rustled as it fell away, revealing her pale skin inch by inch.

Tears of nervous anticipation welled in her eyes as she stood naked before him, her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. Vektor's eyes darkened with desire as they roamed her body, taking in every curve and valley. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her hardened light brown nipples as she arched into his touch, soft moans escaping her lips.

He shed his own robes swiftly, revealing his muscled form. Faera's eyes widened at the sight of his arousal, fear and desire warring in her expression. He pulled her close, skin against skin, kissing away her tears as his hands roamed her back, her hips, her thighs. She shuddered against him, overwhelmed by the new sensations.

Lifting her onto his desk, he scattered scrolls and books to the floor. His mouth descended to her breast, tongue swirling around one peak while his fingers teased the other. She cried out, fingers tangling in his hair as pleasure shot through her core. Her inexperienced body responded eagerly to every touch, every caress.

His kisses trailed down her stomach, making her muscles quiver. His hands spread her thighs gently, exposing her most intimate area to his heated gaze. When his tongue found her center, she nearly sobbed with pleasure, her hips bucking involuntarily. His fingers joined his mouth, carefully preparing her virgin body.

Moving back up her body, he captured her lips again as he positioned himself between her legs. She tensed as she felt him pressing against her entrance, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. He whispered words of comfort, kissing each tear away as he slowly pushed forward.

The initial penetration made her cry out in pain, her nails digging into his shoulders as her inner walls stretched to accommodate him. He held perfectly still, letting her adjust while continuing to kiss and caress her trembling form. Gradually, the sharp pain faded into a dull ache, then a pleasurable fullness.

Blood had slightly dripped on the desk, and onto the floor.

When she nodded hesitantly, he began to move with shallow, gentle thrusts. Her soft whimpers of pain transformed into moans of pleasure as her body adapted to the intrusion. His mouth found her breast again, sucking and licking as he maintained his careful pace.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, drawing him deeper as pleasure built between them. Each thrust sent waves of sensation through her body, making her gasp and arch beneath him. His control began to slip as her inner walls clenched around him rhythmically.

The wooden desk creaked beneath them as their passion intensified. His thrusts became deeper, more urgent, drawing louder moans from her throat. One hand slipped between them to circle her sensitive bud, making her cry out softy as new heights of pleasure crashed over her.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchronization, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as they chased their release. Her fingers dug into his back, leaving crescent marks as she felt tension building in her core. His breathing grew ragged against her neck, his control fraying with each passing moment.

Minutes later, They remained joined as their breathing slowly returned to normal, trading soft kisses and gentle caresses. Tears of joy and overwhelming emotion replaced her earlier ones of pain and fear. He carefully withdrew from her body, gathering her into his arms as she winced slightly at the movement.

The candles had burned low, casting dancing shadows across their entwined forms as they held each other close. Her head rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it gradually slowed. Their first joining had forever changed them both, creating an unbreakable bond that transcended the physical act itself.