In this world built upon divine mysteries and ancient foundations, the gods dwell not in golden temples nor among the stars, but within the very bedrock of reality. From their thrones beyond time and space, they cast their vision over the churning seas and fractured landmasses, and their most faithful followers—those who had bent their souls wholly to the divine—sometimes glimpsed fragments of what was to come.
These visions were never bound by time or location. They came like lightning in a dream—harsh, burning, and terrible. And those brave enough to endure them became the chosen sentinels against the ever-looming dark. Yet even among such souls, the gift was a perilous one, tainted by the ever-hungering whispers of the Veil—the space between the known and the unknowable.
Vanna had seen the vision for nights now. A prophecy clear as glass, sharp as splinters.
She had seen the endless sea blacken beneath a coming storm, heard the thunderous groan of tectonic upheaval as the ocean floor split wide. From the trench rose a ship wreathed in green fire, born from the abyss like an ancient ghost returning to unfinished business. Following that ship—vast and silent—was a being cloaked in starlight, a humanoid silhouette large as a cathedral, walking slowly toward the city of Palladien.
In all her years of service to the Storm Goddess, Vanna had only received a vision this vivid twice before.
Once, in childhood—when the dream ended in her family's slaughter by cultists of the Sun God, and a burning blade had carved the memory into her left eye.
The second time had come four years ago—when she foresaw a dark sun rising beneath the city and launched the raid that shattered the Sun Cult's largest bastion in Palladien.
And now this. A third vision, more vivid and more chilling than either of the others.
But she hadn't told the priest the truth. Not fully. She hadn't told anyone. What she'd shared were only half-truths—her "uneasy premonitions." The truth would have shaken the cathedral to its foundation.
"Nothing clear," she had said. "Just a shadow on the horizon."
And now that shadow loomed closer.
The priest had brought news from the Explorer's Guild: a vessel named the White Ash had reappeared in the southwest sea after vanishing from sacred detection spells for days. The ship had departed from Lunsa with a cargo of classified anomalies and a full clearance report filed with the Church. Yet now it was drifting, unable to respond to hailing spells, its radio silent. And worse—it was sailing directly toward Palladien.
Vanna's suspicions deepened. "If a ship slips outside the boundaries of our reality and then reappears," she said grimly, "it rarely returns the same. Sometimes, it brings things with it. Or… it brings itself back changed."
The priest offered a prayer to the Storm Goddess. Vanna nodded but remained unmoved.
"I pray they are unharmed," she said quietly. "But if they're not—we need to be ready."
Just as she returned to the tower's window, ready to contemplate the city under the bleak silver gash of sky, a runner from the City Watch burst up the stairs.
"Your Grace!" the young man gasped, saluting. "We've uncovered a cultic site beneath the old sewer tunnels. A ritual altar—recently used."
Vanna's expression hardened. "The Sun Cult again?"
"Yes, ma'am," the guard said quickly. "They performed a heart sacrifice. Most of the cultists were captured, but something's… strange about the scene."
In moments, Vanna had slung her goddess-blessed greatsword over her shoulder and marched down the stairs with the fury of a storm.
Outside, the city's narrow streets parted like waves as she passed. Her honor guard was already assembled, two steam-powered walker units crouched and waiting in the plaza like mechanical beasts. Each looked like a steel arachnid—multi-legged, reinforced with riveted plating, their gun ports bristling with sacred artillery and incendiary runes.
She jumped onto the nearest one, the platform hissing under her armored boots, and with a hiss of pressure the walkers surged forward, clattering toward the sewer entrance.
The Sun Cult—again. The old cancer. The rot that refused to die.
Their faith was not just dangerous, it was coordinated, structured, and driven by an ancient belief: that the world must return to an age beneath their "True Sun." A time when fire ruled, and the stars themselves burned with the same flame.
And now… they were stirring again. After years of hiding in Palladien's shadows, they were performing full rituals once more.
Why?
What did they see coming?
The walker unit skidded to a halt outside a crumbling sewer grate. Vanna dismounted, greatsword across her back, and stepped into the darkness.
It didn't take long to reach the cult's lair—a cavernous chamber buried deep beneath the city's surface, rank with saltwater and blood.
Priests were already cleansing the space, their censers pouring holy smoke over the ritual altar and the charred remnants of the cult's desecrated totems. On the stone floor, symbols of the Black Sun were scorched into the earth, twisted rays fanning from a central abyss. A dozen cultists knelt in chains nearby—some catatonic, others muttering, their eyes glassy with madness.
And the bodies. So many of them. Strewn about like broken dolls—chests carved open, hearts gone.
Vanna moved to the altar and looked down. One body caught her eye.
A man in ornate robes. Mask of gold. A senior officiant.
But his chest had not been carved open from ceremony.
It had been blown apart—forcefully, as though struck from within.
"Is this…" she began.
"The lead cultist," a guard replied grimly. "We believe he was the one performing the ritual."
"What the hell happened to him?" she asked. "Some sort of miscast?"
"Not exactly," the guard said awkwardly. "According to the surviving cultists… he was sacrificed. By the sacrifice."
Vanna turned sharply. "He was sacrificed by… the sacrifice?"
"Yes. That's what they say. Most of them are mad now. By the time we arrived, they were already attacking each other, screaming about monsters among them."
Vanna's expression darkened. "Madness from exposure to the Black Sun?"
"We checked. No external corruption. No lingering anomalies in their blood or minds. It's like the madness came from within."
The guard gestured across the chamber, where a tall woman in a black ceremonial dress now walked among the muttering cultists. Smoke from her censer trailed behind her, laced with blue sigils and calming runes.
"That's Lady Heidi," the guard added. "She's attempting to pull coherent memories from the survivors. We're hoping hypnosis will provide better answers."
Vanna said nothing for a long time.
She simply turned her eyes to the fallen priest, stared into that gaping hole where his heart should have been, and wondered what kind of force could turn a victim into an executioner.
Whatever it was… it had reached the city.