That morning, in a small church wrapped in darkness and silence, someone sneezed. The sound echoed in the emptiness, then faded. A slight rattle drew attention back to the lectern, but as the candle atop it fumbled in the dark, it burned down and went out.

A moment later, a voice called out. “Are you all right, Your Grace?”

The speaker was a man of average height and stocky build. He wore the grey robes of a deacon, but he might just as easily have been dressed in a simple work shirt and jeans. His pale hair was thick and curly, and he had a friendly face and eyes that shone with concern. The rest of him was as dark as a storm cloud.

“Just exhausted,” a woman replied. “I'll be fine.”

“Do you want me to get you a cough drop? You don't look well.”

 “No. It's just that it's been a long night, and it always seems longer in times of trouble.” She let out a long-drawn sigh. “You know how it is.”

The man glanced over at the woman, who frowned and shifted in her seat. She was wearing a robe made of gold, black, and silver brocade. Her long, silver hair was in loose waves framing her face, with a twist of golden woven through it. Her clothes fit her frame perfectly, but they were very elaborate.

If one were to look closer, they would realise the golden antlers crowning her head were a part of her body instead of mere decorations. She would cut them off whenever she made a public appearance as Archbishop Carnelia, the voice of the Goddess Cerne, but they always grew back.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

The woman nodded at him, looking straight at him with scarlet eyes that were nothing short of enormous and pools of emotion beneath a sagging frown. Her next words had the unintended effect of rendering the man at a loss for words.

“Seton, are we a cult?”

The man, Seton, took his turn to deny the accusation. As a man of honour, he could keep his emotions under control and maintain the composure necessary to face the woman and her accusation, even if the said accuser was his superior.

“Your Grace, the Western Church is not a cult.” He reminded her in a measured voice. “We're an organisation that promotes love and—”

However, she didn't let him finish. “Look, I'm just saying that if your Church is named after its archbishop, it might be a cult.”

“Your Grace. No one knows you and Lady Cerne are one and the same.”

The woman didn't take her eyes off him as she spoke. Her voice was thick with emotion. “Really? Nobody knows?”

“Yes, no one outside of this room knows.”

“You didn't tell anyone?”

“I swear, no one knows. Your secret is safe with me.”

She smiled then, the warmest, most beautiful smile he'd seen on her face in days. “Thank you, Seton. For saving me and protecting me.”

“You don't need to thank me.” The words came out awkwardly, as if he'd just said something he shouldn't have.

“I do. You saved me from a fate much worse than death.”

Seton looked at her, trying to imagine what that would be like. He imagined the woman having her mind and soul assimilated, being stripped of her free will and given the gift of immortality to serve the Supreme King, the Black God's proxy, for all eternity.

He could imagine what it would be like to feel nothing, to be an automaton. After all, the Black Sun had turned him into one not too long ago. The man who was once known as Seton no longer existed. He had seen the light and became a part of something greater.

Now that he was nothing more than a body without organs, Seton finally had the potential to become anything. To be anything the Supreme King wanted him to be, for the King's will was now his will. What was so scary about that?

“Your Grace, I have something important to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“The white sun is already dead; the black sun will soon rise. I have been purified by its radiance.”

The statement took a moment for her to process. Seton's voice was so devoid of emotion, so lacking in feeling, so empty of anything life offered, like he was a machine. It sent shivers across her skin.

She realised he was staring at her. Their eyes met, and she saw something shift inside him. It was hard to tell exactly what it was, but she felt it. Something that made her instinctively step back. The feeling was disturbing, but she wasn't entirely sure why.

Carnelia backed away from the being that used to be Seton. The being took a step forward, reached out and grabbed her arm. She struggled to escape, but the being tightened its grip, squeezing her arm painfully. Before Carnelia knew it, the being was dragging her away.

“Stop, Seton! Please, you have to stop!” She tried to resist as the being grabbed her by the arm. “You're hurting me!”

“Resistance is futile, be assimilated.”

The voice rang through the air, echoing through the room as the being's hand continued to drag Carnelia along.

“Seton, stop! Please, this isn't you!”

Carnelia struggled with all of her might to get loose. However, the being's grasp only strengthened.

The being pushed her through a portal and gave her a gentle push as it closed behind her. The portal, a swirling vortex of blue and red energy, spun and spat out Carnelia on the other side.

At the other end of the portal stood a vast chasm, more than a mile wide. Carnelia looked over at the edge of the chasm, but she couldn't see the bottom.

The being, still holding Carnelia by the arm, slowly lowered her over the edge of the chasm. She was running out of time.

“No, Seton, please. You don't have to do this! Seton, please!”

“The world is changing.” Seton stared into the abyss. “The chaos has begun, and this is only the beginning.”

After letting go of her arm, the being flung her as far over the chasm as he could. Her body hurtled forward into the chasm.

She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact. The impact sent Carnelia tumbling end over end. As she hit the bottom of the chasm, she heard a voice.

“Your Grace!”

She opened her eyes and looked up. It was Seton.

“Your Grace, are you alright?”

“I'm fine. It was just a dream.”

Erys

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