Promotion

The debrief chamber smelled of ink and dried sage.

Rows of long tables filled the sunless space, each attended by a scribe in pale robes, their sleeves rolled past the elbow, quills already waiting in hand. Scrolls were stacked beside them—clean parchment on one side, filled reports on the other. Behind the scribes stood lesser archivists, silent but watchful, like ghosts trained to listen for lies.

The survivors of the caravan were separated into small groups and ushered into adjoining rooms. Each would be questioned. Each version recorded. Compared. Any contradiction would be flagged, reviewed, and reexamined under oath if necessary.

Truth, inReprieve, was not a matter of belief—it was a matter of process.

Koda's party was not among those herded into the partitioned chambers. They were not sat before scribes.

They were summoned elsewhere.

They stood in a chamber unlike the one below. This one rose like the hollow of a temple, open to a vaulted dome lit only by filtered skylight. The walls bore no ornament. The stillness was heavy—not the calm of reverence, but the press of judgment.

Before them stood five figures.

The Cardinals.

Each represented one of the divine Patrons. Each wore robes of their office—distinct, unadorned, and unmistakable.

To the left stood Cardinal Ensa of the Holy Mother, matron-faced, with sharp eyes despite the softness of her tone. Gold thread traced a pattern of wheat and water down the hem of her white robes. Compassion tempered by discipline.

Beside her, tall and silent, stood Cardinal Thane of the Divine Shield. His robes were ash-grey, and his presence felt like stone—immovable, weather-worn. His hands were clasped behind his back. He did not blink.

Cardinal Iress of the Divine Forger leaned forward in her seat, flame-red hair bound in iron rings. She studied the party with naked intensity, as if measuring the truth in their posture alone. Her robes smelled faintly of oil and smoke.

Opposite her stood Cardinal Lucien of the Divine Librarian, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Robes of parchment beige, sigils etched in ink directly onto the fabric. His eyes were half-lidded but constantly moving. Calculating.

And at the center, flanked by the other four, stood Cardinal Veylan of the Eternal Guide.

Veylan wore no color, only the shifting tones of the Guide's order: robes woven with thread that shimmered from dusk-grey to pale violet depending on the light. His expression was unreadable. His voice, when it came, was a soft strike of flint.

"You will speak," he said. "From beginning to end. Not in pieces. Not in defense. Simply the truth. Nothing more."

The tension was immediate.

This was not a welcome. This was inquisition.

Koda looked to Maia. Her posture remained even, her gaze steady—but he could feel the strain in the way she held her breath. These were not men and women easily moved by miracle. These were the voices of doctrine, the gatekeepers of divine interpretation.

And they were not pleased.

"You carry power not given by us," Cardinal Ensa said, eyes on Maia. "You speak with voices we did not summon. That alone warrants scrutiny."

"You claim to have faced Wrath," Thane added. "And yet you stand. That demands clarity."

Lucien's voice was quieter, more careful. "And the Blessing of the Soulbound? An unheard-of Trait, granted without rite, without passage, without… precedent?"

Cardinal Iress only leaned forward further. "We have heard what the scouts claimed. We have read the Order's hasty report. But we do not believe in shadows passed secondhand. Tell us yourselves."

"From the moment of awakening," Veylan said, "to the reoccurrence of Wrath. Leave nothing out. This will be recorded and judged. And if you lie…"

The final word was left to silence.

A hush fell. The air thinned.

Koda felt it then—the quiet threat beneath it all. Not just skepticism. Not fear. But something deeper.

They were threatened.

Not by swords, or strength, or defiance.

But by what this meant.

Maia's blessing. Koda's survival. The divine marks that had chosen them without the Cardinals' intercession.

It unbalanced things.

And in Reprieve, imbalance was heresy.

He looked once more at Maia. She gave a faint nod.

So he began.

He began slowly. His voice was steady, but the weight of the space demanded precision.

He told them about his awakening—how his system had failed to activate, how it had shown nothing but static and error until he was forced to make a choice that defined who he truly was. Until he laid his morals bare and faced death unflinchingly.

At that, murmurs rose from the benches, and Cardinal Tenera of the Librarian leaned forward, her fingers steepled. "It aligns," she murmured. "With the writings. The test of self before the gift is given."

Koda continued.

The battle against Gluttony. The relentless hunger that drowned all reason until, in desperation, the system finally responded—not with power, but with Temperance. It had not defeated Gluttony through force, but by creating its opposite.

Cardinal Isses of the Divine Forger exhaled sharply, as if surprised into reverence. "To forge against the flaw by embodying the inverse…" She nodded once. "Creation through contradiction. Yes."

Koda pressed on. The path beyond the mountains. The undead. The siege of silence and decay. Greed had manifested not as a man, but as a slow-consuming despair. Yet from it, Charity had risen—not summoned, but chosen.

Cardinal Thane of the Divine Shield clenched one fist over his chest, eyes fixed on Koda. No words. Just a slow nod. Approval. Recognition.

Then—Sloth. Wrath. The ruin of the pass. The death that swept through the caravan like fire. Maia, the sanctuary, the healing. Her sacrifice.

Cardinal Enssa of the Holy Mother said nothing at first. Her gaze flicked between Maia and the onlookers behind the lattice. The crowd that had seen it. Who had whispered her name like a prayer. Saintess. The title had grown louder than even her own authority.

When she finally spoke, her voice was tight. "She did what only the Blessed have done in recorded memory. I do not… disagree."

A pause. Then: "She is declared Saintess of the Holy Mother."

Gasps. Nods. Not everyone cheered—but no one challenged.

Then all eyes turned to the final point.

To Veylan.

Cardinal of the Eternal Guide.

He sat stiff, his face unreadable but his hands white-knuckled on the stone arms of his chair.

"You say your system activated when you faced death?" he asked. "And that it was not of another Patron?"

"No," Koda said. "It was the Guide."

"And you expect us to believe this?"

"It happened."

"Convenient."

Tenera turned sharply. "Veylan."

But he raised a hand, cutting off her protest. His eyes stayed on Koda, hard and sharp.

"No one in more than a millennia has Awakened under the Guide. Not one. And now you have?" He scoffed. "What proof do you have beyond your word and the ramblings of frightened peasants?"

Koda didn't move.

Maia did. Just a single step toward Veylan.

But the tension held. Not yet a confrontation.

Not yet.

Veylan stood.

The others remained seated, some out of measured discipline, others out of disbelief. But the Cardinal of the Eternal Guide could not contain himself.

"You come before us with wild claims, parading heresy wrapped in divine language," he snarled, voice sharp enough to echo off the stone. "You—who not six months ago had no mark, no name, no path—now claim the favor of the Guide Himself? A system birthed through reflection? Through virtue? This is not faith—it is fabrication!"

Koda didn't speak. His jaw clenched, but he held still.

Veylan stalked forward, leaving the arc of his pedestal. "You expect us to believe that a Patron—our Patron—broke centuries of silence for you? When even I—his chosen—have heard nothing?" His lip curled. "You wield something foreign, corrupted. It is not the Guide you serve—it is your ego. And your manipulation of frightened fools."

Maia's eyes darkened, but Koda raised one hand—not in surrender, but in warning. Let him finish.

The silence that followed was brittle. Koda stood beneath it, unshaken. The audience behind the lattice stirred. Even the other cardinals, who had each made their judgments, now watched Veylan with a flicker of something else.

Fear, perhaps. Or disgust.

Veylan's voice trembled—not from weakness, but from the fury of one being unseated. "You think divine authority can be claimed by merit? By hardship?" His voice dropped into a hiss. "It is bestowed. And I do not bestow it upon you."

A shift.

A presence that had not been felt before suddenly rippled through the air like pressure beneath deep water.

From a shadowed arch behind the cardinal seats, a sixth figure stepped forward.

Robes of simple black and steel-gray. No sigil. No symbol. And yet every head turned as if drawn by gravity.

The Head of the Order.

The room fell silent. Even Veylan froze.

"I thought," the man said quietly, "that observation might be better than intervention. But I see now that clarity demands presence."

He walked forward with slow, measured steps, each one met with a hush from those who recognized him.

"I've read the reports. From Cael'Rhain. From Veros. I saw the paths and the wreckage. And I saw the change. Not just in what he did—but in the world around him."

He stopped beside Koda, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

Koda turned slightly, surprised—but the older man only nodded.

"Show them," he said. "The window. Let it speak."

Then he turned—not to the crowd, but to Veylan. And his voice was no longer soft.

"The Church of the Guide once preached humility. That the Patron did not speak through power, but through transformation. Through the system. Through awakening."

He stepped closer.

"So tell me, Veylan… when was the last time you changed?"

The words cut cleaner than any blade.

For a long second, no one spoke.

Then, wordlessly, Koda raised one hand and brought the window to life.

A shimmer of light unfolded—a faint smokey pane that only he could summon. But this time, it wasn't just for him. He willed it forward, into the open air.

And it answered.

———

Koda of the Eternal Guide

Level: 40

HP: 660/660

Mana: 660/660

Stamina: 660/660

Strength: 66 

Vitality: 66 

Agility: 66

Intelligence: 66 

Wisdom: 66 

Endurance: 66

Traits:

Balance (Divine)

Temperance (Divine)

Charity (Divine)

Maia's Beloved (Soulbound)

----

It was not just the numbers—but the color. The system's lines flickered between the faint gold of Maia's blessing and the deep shadow of the Guide.

Divinity.

A weight settled in the room heavy enough to grind stone. Even the silent scribes looked up from their parchment.

Cardinal Lucien—a scholar's tears in his eyes—whispered a prayer beneath his breath. Cardinal Thane covered his chest with a fist and bowed his head.

Veylan's knees buckled.

He hit the marble floor with a hollow thud, robes pooling around him. His mouth opened, but no sound came. No words. No rebuttal.

Only the crack in his pride, wide enough to swallow him whole.

The Head of the Order only smiled.

"Proof enough."

The silence held for a moment longer, suspended like breath before a plunge.

Then the Head of the Order turned slightly, his hand still resting on Koda's shoulder. His voice softened—not with gentleness, but with gravity.

"Your coin," he said.

Koda blinked, surprised by the shift, but reached into the inside fold of his coat. He pulled forth the small obsidian token—the one issued in Callestan by Veros putting him at the same level as the branch heads. More authority than he really ever needed.

The Head took it without ceremony.

And then, from a pouch at his hip—a pouch wrapped in threads of iron and cloth woven with glyphs—he withdrew another.

It was the same size, the same shape.

But it was not the same.

This one was so black it seemed to drink in the light. A coin that didn't shine but swallowed. The air around it shimmered faintly, as if the coin's presence bent something unseen.

He placed it in Koda's palm.

And as Koda's fingers curled around it, the chamber seemed to hum.

"With this," the Head said, "I see you as my equal."

His eyes swept the cardinals, lingering only a moment on Veylan, who still knelt in silent defeat.

"I can no longer demand," he said quietly. "Nor can these five."

Then he looked to Koda again.

"But I ask—join me. Let us collect what was left for you. Your inheritance."

A pause.

"You're going to need it."