The church of Desty stood at the northern end of Derylini, where the blue pines gave way to low bushes and the bushes to a field of white stones that shone in the morning sun. The building was ancient, older than the academy, older than any structure I had ever seen. The walls, of pale stone, rose in gentle arches, supported by columns where purple-flowered vines curled. The stained glass told stories – Desty rising from the waves, Desty embracing two lovers, Desty weeping over a dead body.
Mira held my hand.
"It's beautiful," she said softly.
"It is."
"Why are we here?"
"To pay respects to the goddess Desty. It's what you do after killing a demon."
"Did you kill a demon?"
"I did."
She looked at me. Her clear, innocent eyes shone with an admiration that weighed on my chest.
"Are you the strongest man in the world, Zirinos?"
"Not yet." I squeezed her hand. "But I will be."
Helena walked behind us, her golden armour shining even in the half‑light of the churchyard. The sword at her waist made no sound. She had learned to walk in silence, like me.
"I don't like this place," she said quietly.
"Why?"
"It smells of deceit."
I did not answer. The smell of deceit, of lies, of a trap – I knew it well. It was there, yes. But I could not turn back.
---
The bishop's name was Aldous.
He was a fat man, with rosy cheeks and small eyes that always smiled, even when his mouth did not. His robes, blue and gold, dragged on the polished stone floor. The cross of Desty, a silver spiral, hung around his neck.
"Lord Zirinos," he said, with the unctuous voice of one who sells indulgences. "It is an honour to receive you in the goddess's house."
"The honour is mine, Your Eminence."
"Follow me. The ceremony is brief. A blessing, some incense, a few prayers. The faithful like to see heroes kneel."
"I do not kneel."
The bishop's smile wavered.
"It is tradition, my lord."
"I am not traditional."
"Then… a bow, perhaps? The faithful expect respect."
I looked at the nave. There were people – fifty, perhaps fewer. Peasants, merchants, some soldiers. They stared at me with wide eyes, as if I were an apparition.
"A bow," I conceded. "Nothing more."
The bishop breathed a sigh of relief.
"So be it."
---
The ceremony began with incense.
White smoke rose from the thuribles, curled around the columns, rose to the painted vaults. The chants were slow, deep, sung by a choir of female voices I could not see. Bishop Aldous moved slowly, with a pomp that seemed rehearsed.
Mira looked at everything with wonder. Helena stood still, her hand on her sword.
I knelt – a single bow – at the moment the bishop raised the host. The faithful repeated the words in chorus. I did not. I did not know the words. I did not want to know them.
The ground trembled.
It was a small tremor, almost imperceptible – a shudder of stone, as if the church had sighed. Helena looked at me. Mira squeezed my hand.
"Zirinos…" she began.
"Be quiet," I whispered. "Say nothing."
The bishop continued the ceremony. The smile was in place. But his eyes, his eyes gleamed.
The runes appeared on the altar.
They were red – a dark red, almost black, glowing with a light that came neither from the sun nor from the candles. Corruption. The bishop stepped back slowly, his steps dragging, his hands raised as if he were blessing the altar.
"What is that?" asked Helena.
"I don't know." I lied.
I knew. A trap.
The floor opened beneath me.
---
There was no time to scream. The stone disappeared from under my feet, and I fell. The air whipped my face, my tunic slapped my legs, the sword jolted at my waist. Mira screamed – a sharp, quick sound that was lost in the darkness. Helena also screamed, not from fear, but from anger.
"Zirinos!" I heard, before the silence.
The fall was long.
Time did not pass. Or it passed too fast. I don't know. I only felt the wind cutting my skin, the candlelight fading, the darkness tightening around me like a fist.
Then, light.
Not a soft light, like that of candles. A white, blinding light, that hurt my eyes even when I closed them. The ground – if it could be called ground – was hard, cold, covered in grass that shone like silver.
I fell on my back. The air left my lungs.
Mira lay beside me, eyes closed, her hand still gripping mine. Helena, a few paces away, was trying to get up.
"Where…" she began.
"I don't know." I stood up. My body ached, but I had no serious injuries. "But it's not the church."
The light continued.
There was no sun. No moon. No stars. Only light – an eternal brightness, without source, without direction, that came from the ground, from the sky, from the air.
Mira opened her eyes.
"Zirinos?" she called, her voice small.
"I'm here."
"Where are we?"
"I don't know." I knelt beside her. "But you are not alone."
Helena approached. The golden armour was dented, but intact.
"This is the elves' layer," she said, with a calm that surprised me. "I have been here before. When I was exiled."
"Then you know how to leave?"
"I do." She looked at the horizon. "But it is not easy. The elf king does not like visitors."
Mira squeezed my hand.
"Is he evil?" she asked.
"He is severe," Helena replied. "Do not confuse severity with evil."
The light shone.
There were no shadows. There was nowhere to hide.
I lifted Mira onto my lap. Her weight was small, warm, familiar.
"Let's go," I said. "Before they come to us."
"Who?" asked Helena.
"The owners of the light."