A Night of Reckoning"

The carriage rolled to a slow halt as Julius tugged the reins, his gloved hands tightening instinctively. The dimly lit streets of the city stretched before him, a labyrinth of stone pathways and towering buildings whose silhouettes loomed like silent watchers under the sickly glow of the street lamps. The mist that perpetually lingered in this part of the district coiled around the cobblestone roads, swallowing the faint echoes of footsteps and the distant murmur of drunken revelers.

Something felt off.

Julius scanned his surroundings, his keen senses picking up an unnatural stillness—a momentary pause in the world's ceaseless hum. The gas lamps flickered, their light wavering as if uncertain whether to fight the darkness or be consumed by it. A shrouded figure leaned against a wall nearby, smoking a pipe, his gaze shadowed beneath the brim of a tattered hat.

Ignoring the unease gnawing at his mind, Julius stepped down from the carriage and proceeded through the narrow street leading to his destination.

Then, it came into view.

The Arcane Cathedral loomed ahead, its spires clawing at the heavens like obsidian talons. The massive structure was built from dark stone, its surface marred by age yet emanating an eerie grandeur. The stained-glass windows, depicting unfathomable celestial beings, shimmered under the moonlight, distorting reality in a way that made Julius feel as though unseen eyes were watching.

Standing before the grand entrance was a man who didn't quite fit the surroundings.

A cigarette burned between his fingers, its ember a small, defiant glow against the cathedral's imposing presence. He wore a fedora tilted slightly downward, casting a shadow over his sharp, chiseled features. A long coat draped over his broad shoulders, and the casual way he stood, one foot resting against the doorframe, made it clear that he wasn't a magician.

Julius approached, his steps measured.

The man exhaled a stream of smoke before speaking, his voice low and gruff.

"New face. What do you want?"

Julius met his gaze. "I have a letter for Bishop Sebastian Moore."

Marcus Vibar raised an eyebrow, taking another slow drag from his cigarette before flicking the ashes aside. "And who sent you?"

"A man named Doman."

Marcus let out a short chuckle. "Doman, huh? That explains a lot." He straightened slightly, giving Julius another once-over. "You don't look like one of them."

"I'm not," Julius admitted. "Not yet, at least."

Marcus smirked. "Honest. I like that. Fine, you can go in. But be careful, newbie—the Cathedral has a way of chewing up those who don't belong."

With that, he pushed open the grand doors, allowing Julius to step inside.

The moment Julius crossed the threshold, the world seemed to shift.

A strange pressure settled over him, like stepping into a space not entirely aligned with reality. The high ceiling arched above, vast and cavernous, its intricate murals depicting celestial beings locked in endless war. The scent of aged parchment and melted wax mixed with something more arcane—an underlying trace of something Julius couldn't quite place.

At the center of the hall stood a desk, and behind it, a woman.

Her brown hair was neatly styled, her hazel eyes sharp and intelligent. She wore a formal uniform that accentuated her poised demeanor. Her nameplate read Shindori.

She glanced up at him, her expression neutral—until he handed her the letter.

Her brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of recognition passing through her features before she abruptly turned away. Without a word, she strode toward the inner chambers, the sound of her heels echoing in the vast hall.

Julius frowned. Strange reaction.

The way she had stiffened, as if realizing something troubling, was hard to ignore.

Still, there was nothing to do now but wait.

As Julius stood in thought, contemplating the Cathedral's mysteries and his own uncertain role within it, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"How many times do I have to tell you?! My father is innocent!"

The sound of a heated argument pulled Julius from his reverie. Following the voices, he turned down a dimly lit corridor, descending a spiral staircase. The deeper he went, the stronger the tension in the air became.

At the bottom of the stairs, a confrontation was unfolding.

An elderly man stood, his black hair streaked with silver, wearing a somber black shirt and trousers. His weary expression carried a permanent air of melancholy. Before him, a young boy in a brown school uniform and cap clenched his fists, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Sir, how could my father have written magical runes when he can't even read?!" The boy's voice cracked with desperation.

The older man—Caspar—sighed heavily. "Lary, you're an officer of the law. Why bring this problem here?"

The man standing beside the boy, Lary, spoke with quiet determination. "Caspar, you and I grew up together. You know me—I wouldn't vouch for someone if I weren't certain. Caleb's father is innocent. He was set up."

Caspar exhaled through his nose, his irritation barely contained. "The court has already ruled him guilty. What do you expect me to do?"

The boy, Caleb, dropped to his knees. "Is this really how the Cathedral treats the weak?! Where else am I supposed to go?! Even the Shadow Lord hasn't answered me for three days… Please!"

Julius froze.

Caleb. The Shadow Lord…?

A jolt ran through his mind. A buried memory surfaced—the child's voice pleading in the depths of the Starry Hall. Caleb had once reached out to him, had placed his faith in him. And Julius had forgotten.

His hands curled into fists.

He had promised.

And now, here Caleb was, begging at the feet of those who were supposed to protect the innocent.

A cold fury settled over Julius as he stepped forward.

Caspar and Lary turned, sensing his approach.

Caspar scowled. "Who the hell are you?"

Julius met his gaze, his voice calm but unwavering. "Julius Cross."

Caspar's eyes narrowed. "And what business do you have here?"

Julius's lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes remained cold. "I came here to join the Cathedral… but I'm starting to regret that decision. Seems like this place isn't much better than the aristocrats. The weak suffer while those in power look the other way."

Caspar's expression darkened. "Watch your mouth, boy. You don't want to make enemies here."

Julius stepped closer, his presence pressing down like an unseen force. "Then prove me wrong."

Caspar's anger flared. In an instant, he vanished, reappearing in front of Julius. His hand closed around Julius's throat, slamming him against the wall.

Pain exploded through his back as his breath caught.

Damn it—he's fast.

Caspar's grip tightened. "You think you can waltz in here and challenge us? You're nothing, boy."

Julius struggled, his vision dimming. He was seconds from blacking out when—

A powerful voice echoed through the chamber.

"Enough."

Caspar's grip loosened instantly. He turned, his expression shifting to one of deep respect.

Julius collapsed to the floor, coughing violently as he looked up.

Standing at the entrance was a man draped in flowing robes. His hair was jet black, his golden eyes luminous in the dim light.

The air itself seemed to bow to his presence.

Caspar straightened, his previous arrogance wiped clean. "Bishop Moore… what brings Your Holiness here?"

Bishop Sebastian Moore gazed down at Julius, his golden eyes unreadable. "Doman has sent word about you."

Julius swallowed hard.

Doman? He really did send a letter…

Then, Sebastian spoke again, his tone heavy with authority.

"If you want to be part of the Cathedral, solve the boy's problem. You have until dawn. If you fail—leave."