Chapter 9 - The City of Light

Eidalein – Beyond the Mortal World

Elian followed Minato in stunned silence.

Each step drew him deeper into a realm that defied all earthly sense — a sanctum cradled in eternal twilight, where alabaster spires floated in the air and golden stars hung motionless above tranquil waterfalls. The winds carried no scent, no weight, only a stillness so pure it made his lungs ache.

Eidalein. The sacred ground of the Twelve Apostles.

He hadn't spoken since they crossed the gate of light — too overwhelmed by what he saw, and by the mark burning faintly on the back of his hand.

"This place exists outside of time," Minato said beside him. "Here, wounds slow. Thoughts quiet. Truth listens."

Elian barely heard him. His eyes couldn't stop wandering — over the endless sky, the glowing paths, the impossible beauty of a city untouched by human hands. But more than the wonder was the pull — as though some part of him had always known this place, deep in a dream.

At the heart of the citadel stood a circular plaza of pale stone — the Throne of Virtue.

Twelve high seats rose around its edge, each one carved from radiant crystal that shimmered faintly. Seven of them glowed with presence. Five remained dim, waiting.

The Apostles stood near their thrones — watching him.

The first to approach was a tall woman with bronze skin and piercing amber eyes. Her posture was perfect, regal, her gaze sharp enough to pierce illusions. She said nothing at first. She didn't need to.

Reina Davos – Apostle of Justice.

"Your path has begun," she said evenly. "Make your mercy sharp, Elian Reyes."

Next came a woman with flowing auburn hair and eyes that shimmered with quiet resilience. Her smile was warm, almost motherly. She gave off a radiant calm — the kind that made Elian want to cry without knowing why.

Talia Miren – Apostle of Hope.

"You're not alone anymore," she said gently. "The first few nights are always the hardest. We've all been there."

To her left stood a mountain of a man, arms crossed, muscles coiled beneath a simple tunic. His eyes were steady — not intimidating, but unshakable. He gave a single nod.

Marcus Thorne – Apostle of Endurance.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

A quiet voice followed — calm, rooted, unwavering.

"Faith doesn't wait for certainty," said a young man with olive skin and solemn brown eyes. "It walks into storms."

Enoch Ruiz – Apostle of Faith.

He bowed slightly. Elian returned it.

Beside him, the smallest figure stood barely five-foot — a boy with downcast eyes and a stillness that drew the eye. He wore no ornament, no pride. His hands were folded.

Leon Yu – Apostle of Humility.

He said nothing — but a faint warmth radiated from his sigil, as if in welcome.

And standing nearest to Elian — as if to bear witness personally — was Minato Kai, the Apostle of Serenity. His silver hair flowed like mist, and his calm presence anchored the room.

"He has been claimed," Minato said. "By the Seraphblade."

The moment he spoke, one of the thrones lit up — not with flame, but with radiance. Wings of light flared from its back. The air around it shimmered. The eighth throne had chosen.

Elian stared. Then, slowly — as if pulled by something deeper than instinct — he stepped toward it.

He did not sit. Not yet. But he stood at its base, where the symbol of Kindness now glowed.

Behind him, Cardinal Caeli emerged into the circle. Clad in ceremonial white robes embroidered with twelve golden threads, their pale eyes shimmered with quiet vision.

"Welcome, Elian Reyes," Caeli spoke. "You are now among the Twelve. The sigil has answered. The first prophecy begins."