Chapter 12: Dagger in the Choir

---

## **Chapter 12: Dagger in the Choir**

The Choir Hall of the Dawn Saint Cathedral was a masterpiece of deception—ivory marble, stained-glass saints, and hymns so sweet they made devils weep. Children's voices floated through the arches like the breath of angels, each note rising in perfect, innocent harmony.

But beneath that sound… was a silence that screamed.

Seraphina stood in the upper balcony of the cathedral's nave, her hands gloved, her cloak hooded. She wasn't here to pray.

Beside her, Adrien adjusted his cuffs with bored precision. "Tell me again why we're not simply poisoning her wine?"

"Because this isn't about revenge," Seraphina replied, her eyes never leaving the choir. "It's about a performance. And every performance needs an audience."

"And a script," Adrien muttered.

She handed him a folded page. "Here's yours."

---

### Below: The Saint's Blessing

Saint Serene walked slowly down the central aisle, her pale gold robes dragging like liquid holiness behind her. Her face, framed by a circlet of sunstone, was the portrait of benevolence.

But her eyes? Her eyes were knives.

"The children sing so sweetly tonight," she murmured to the attending Bishop.

"They do, Holiness," the man agreed. "Especially the new ones from the West District. Fragile little lambs."

Serene smiled.

"Yes. The best ones always are."

---

### Meanwhile: In the Hidden Passage Beneath the Pews

Felix knelt in the dark, working by candlelight. The stone beneath the cathedral was riddled with forgotten halls and crypt-channels—once used for burial rites, now used for things less holy.

"Two tunnels sealed," he whispered into his earpiece. "Third is rigged with traps. She's hiding *something* behind that warded door."

Seraphina's voice crackled softly in response. "Break it. Quietly."

He placed a tiny rune-stone against the lock.

The trap triggered.

Fire hissed—then abruptly died, absorbed by a ward he'd placed earlier.

"Amateurs," Felix muttered.

The door creaked open.

Behind it lay not a crypt… but a ledger room.

And in it: crates of royal seal wax, counterfeit papal decrees, potion vials labeled **"Temperance 3rd Batch,"** and a bound child asleep on a cot—breathing shallowly.

Felix swore. "We've got proof. And a hostage."

---

### Back in the Nave

Adrien slipped down the aisle like a ghost in nobleman's silk, approaching the dais where Saint Serene now stood in prayer.

He bowed.

"Your Holiness," he said smoothly. "A message from the Palace. Urgent."

She turned, expression unreadable.

And just for a moment, Seraphina saw something under the skin of that serene face—an outline, a flicker. Something wearing a mask of flesh.

The Saint took the note Adrien handed her.

Her eyes scanned it.

Then froze.

Because it wasn't a message from the palace.

It was a copy of the orphanage ledger.

Signed.

Stamped.

And in a child's trembling hand: *"Please help me. They make us sleep too long."*

For a beat, the Saint didn't move.

Then she smiled—too slow, too wide.

And the choir began to scream.

---

### Chaos in the Cathedral

The children collapsed mid-song, like puppets with cut strings.

Seraphina moved instantly, leaping from the balcony in a swirl of cloak and steel. Adrien caught two falling children as they toppled. Clerics shouted. Guards moved.

But the Saint?

She raised one hand—and the fallen children began to *rise*.

Eyes empty. Faces slack.

Not dead.

Not alive.

Enchanted.

"Bastard's breath," Adrien growled, drawing his blade.

Seraphina reached him. "She's using experimental sleep-potions. Combined with divine song magic. A trance field."

"She's turned orphans into a *choir of puppets*."

"And made herself their conductor," Seraphina said grimly. "We end this now."

---

### The Confrontation

Saint Serene stood before them, no longer pretending to be a woman.

Her voice echoed unnaturally: "You seek justice. But I offer peace. They are free of hunger. Of pain. They sing. Is that not enough?"

Seraphina stepped forward.

"You stole their futures," she said coldly. "So I'll steal your past."

She held up the black-bound book—the Chronicle of the Crimson Lily.

"It says I die," she whispered, "but *you*? You don't even exist in the ending."

She hurled the book forward.

It struck Serene's hand—

And *burned*.

The illusion cracked.

The Saint screamed as her skin peeled away—revealing something beneath. Not demon. Not spirit.

**A homunculus.**

Constructed.

Engineered.

Twisted to divine perfection.

"Felix!" Seraphina shouted. "Get the real children out!"

"Already gone!" came the reply.

Adrien lunged.

His blade struck true—

Straight through the Saint's chest.

She staggered.

Smiled.

And exploded in a burst of golden flame and ashes.

---

### Aftermath

The cathedral burned through the night.

By morning, the Saint was declared "martyred in an act of celestial mercy."

But the records had already been leaked.

The nobles were whispering.

The palace was stirring.

And Seraphina de Alvere?

She stood once more at her mirror.

Tracing her own reflection with an ink-stained finger.

"One ending broken," she murmured.

"Now… for the next."

---

**End of Chapter 12**