Vanna's silver-gray eyes narrowed as she looked toward the woman in the black dress.
The other woman, standing calmly amid the chaos of a desecrated sacrificial site, met her gaze and gave a subtle nod. Her name was Heidi, a young but seasoned mentalist in the city-state's employ. Despite her age—barely past twenty—she carried herself with a composure far older. Her obsidian-black hair was tied into a neat bun, and the faint blue glow of the crystal earrings at her ears flickered like candlelight under the nearby gaslamps.
"…Heidi's here too?" Vanna asked the young guard beside her.
"She was nearby when the alert came in. Arrived on her own. You want me to—?"
"No, it's fine," Vanna waved it off. "She's with the municipal authority, but she's worked with the Church before. As long as she logs it later, there's no issue."
With that brief acknowledgment, Vanna turned back to the macabre scene at her feet: the scorched corpse of the cult priest, the shattered altar, the flickering sacred fumes curling across desecrated stone.
"The ones still coherent—what else did they say?" she asked the nearby guard.
"They claimed the ritual had been proceeding as usual until one of their scouts brought in a late offering—someone who tried to escape. The 'Messenger' decided to sacrifice him on the spot."
"Alright, fairly typical."
"But then, things got strange. The two cultists we managed to question… they said the new offering didn't just walk to the altar. He had already been mortally wounded—heart missing, probably dead—and yet he walked under his own power. And then…"
The guard hesitated.
"And then?" Vanna pressed.
"They said… he called upon the Sun. And the Messenger—the priest—was the one who got sacrificed."
Vanna stared blankly for a moment.
"A sacrifice… reversed the ritual?" Her voice was dry with disbelief. "So all those times in the stories when the offering screams the god's name with a last breath… that actually works now?"
"None of it makes sense. We checked the priest's remains. He had the markings of a true Sun-blessed—an initiate exposed to the Deep Realms. He held a consecrated ritual blade when he died. By all accounts, he was in complete control."
The guard motioned to a second corpse.
"This one was the offering."
Vanna shifted her attention. The second body was that of a young man, barely more than a boy. Emaciated, bruised, and pale, he lay still on the stone, the jagged hole in his chest a grim reminder of his role in the ritual.
"Heart's missing," Vanna muttered, crouching beside him. "So he was dead before he walked onto the altar…"
Her words trailed off.
"…Could be a necromancer's work," she speculated aloud. "But the Sun cult's rites are anathema to necromancy… maybe a rogue anomaly? A Reclaimer under the control of a deeper force?"
She paused, eyes narrowing.
"You checked the lights around here?" she asked sharply. "Any dark zones?"
The guard shook his head. "No unlit chambers within 500 meters. Even their corpse dumps had torches burning. Seems they're scared of the dark, same as us."
That was telling.
Vanna bent over the body again, brushing a hand above the closed eyelids.
And then, something flickered.
A faint, green spark danced behind the corpse's eyelids. Before she could react, it leapt—an arc of phosphorescent fire straight for her finger.
In that instant, years of training took over.
With her left hand, she drew her blessed dagger and sliced off her right index finger in a clean, practiced motion. Then, in the same fluid movement, she drove the dagger into the corpse's forehead. Sigils blazed along the blade's hilt. The fire ignited at once.
Holy flame erupted across the dead man's chest, consuming him in a wave of white heat.
Vanna rose and stepped back, blood already soaking through the rag she pressed to her hand. From her belt she pulled a vial of consecrated oil, bit off the cork, and poured it over the wound. Smoke sizzled. Her nerves screamed. Her face remained impassive.
The young guard leapt forward, slashing the burning corpse's head off with his saber. Then, with swift precision, he scattered silver dust and seaweed resin into the fire, amplifying the purification. The flames roared higher, devouring everything.
Not a single ember touched the neighboring corpses.
Around them, the guards moved fast—some forming a protective ring, weapons drawn. Others trained revolvers on the surviving cultists, now wailing and thrashing in half-mad confusion. The priests moved, too—sanctifying firearms, invoking Gormana, the Storm Maiden, as the sacred fumes filled the air.
The guard closest to Vanna knelt. "My Lady Inquisitor—your hand! Are you—?"
"Something inside that corpse bypassed all my protections," Vanna said, holding up the smoldering stump. "Every ward, every divine veil. It was dormant—until I touched it."
The look in her eyes had grown colder.
"This was no mere Sun cult business," she said, scanning the now-ashen remains. "Something else was here. Something stronger. And it hasn't entirely left."
She turned sharply. "Gather the remaining prisoners and evidence. Transport everything to the cathedral—lockdown status. No interrogations or examinations outside sacred ground."
"Understood."
"Find the survivors—those slated for sacrifice. They go, too. Victims or not, I want them cleansed and watched."
Another guard nodded. "They're secured in an adjacent tunnel. No contact with the cultists."
"Good." Vanna's eyes flicked toward a nearby figure. "And where's Heidi?"
"I'm here," said the soft, composed voice from the shadows.
Heidi stepped forward, her long black dress barely making a sound on the damp stone. Her voice was calm, but sharp.
"I didn't sense it," she admitted. "Which… troubles me."
"It bypassed me too," Vanna said grimly. "When you start probing these survivors' minds, use every layer of defense you have. This force didn't just interfere—it infiltrated. And if it left anything behind, I don't want it waking up inside your head."
Heidi nodded once. "Duly noted."
And as the purifying flames finally dimmed to embers, the two women—one of blade and one of mind—shared a single glance.
Something had changed in the underworld beneath Palladien.
And whatever had walked through that ritual fire had not walked alone.