fabrayist

In an alternate 21st century, unseen by the eyes of ordinary men, a war rages in the shadows.
The Order of the Silent Flame, an ancient brotherhood of exorcists, stands as humanity’s last line of defense against the demonic forces led by Centurion, the fallen warlord of the underworld. Armed with sacred relics, forbidden rituals, and unbreakable vows, the exorcists work in secrecy to protect a world that does not even know it’s under siege.
As the darkness spreads and Centurion’s legions grow bolder, cracks begin to form in the veil that hides the truth from humanity. And among the Order, a new generation must rise—one that will uncover long-buried secrets, face the betrayal of old allies, and decide whether the Silent Flame will continue to burn… or be snuffed out forever.

Apostles' War

Eidalein – The Mirror Chapel

Cardinal Caeli stood alone before the Pool of Remembrance. The golden water rippled without wind.

A single bell tolled — not in the air, but within the Scripture of the Unseen, which lay open in Caeli's hands.

"Mercy has been drawn. The First Flame walks."

Caeli's eyes glimmered with pale fire. "So… you've answered him," they whispered.

Behind them, the Throne of Kindness ignited — not softly, but with a flare of heat and purpose. The light bathed the entire citadel in a wash of radiance.

"He has summoned the Seraphblade."

Elsewhere in Eidalein

Talia Miren, Apostle of Hope, dropped the book she had been reading. Her staff, Lumenviel, pulsed from within the Vault — even while sealed.

Reina Davos straightened from her sparring stance. "No longer a student," she murmured. "A warrior now."

Marcus Thorne grinned as his gauntlet clenched. "About damn time."

And far from them, walking the misted edge of the Temple Gardens, Minato Kai stopped — his silver bell, Eirenya, swaying faintly though unsummoned.

A soft breeze stirred. Tranquil. Assured.

Minato closed his eyes, whispering,

"He's found the stillness within the storm."

The Obsidian Cradle

The world beneath the world shook.

Dark water bubbled in Centurion's throne-pit as the first true light since the Last War flared in the distance — felt even through walls of corruption and steel.

A thousand whispering mouths hissed at once.

The Lord of Ruin stood abruptly. His horned helm flared with obsidian fire.

Then behind him — a figure giggled.

A painter's voice, laced with honeyed madness.

"Oops," cooed Malqir, the False Painter, lounging atop an unfinished mural of screaming faces. "I did warn you — dreams don't obey your rules, dear Centurion."

Centurion's glare snapped toward him, molten fury rising.

But Malqir only dipped his quill into a pool of blood-ink and smiled wider.

"Looks like the boy just redrew the story."

Interlude – Echoes Across the Veil