The Bishop

  YiChen and ChengYu followed William through a narrow corridor.

  Moonlight fractured across the stone floor through stained glass. Sacred emblems shimmered faintly, shifting as if they breathed.

  They climbed a spiral stair into a broad study.

  William rapped twice upon the door.

  “Come in.” The reply was calm, measured.

  The hinges creaked. A breath of books drifted out.

  Shelves lined the walls, heavy with scrolls and tomes. The air carried the mildew of old paper and the incense of sandalwood curling from the hearth.

  Before them stood a man in a deep blue robe, reading from a massive volume. Golden thread traced the Tri-Star Halo of Light across his chest—the insignia of a high priest of the Church of Radiant Grace.

  He looked near sixty. Features serene, untouched by time.

  His eyes were pale as morning ice—still, unmoved, as if no storm could stir them.

  “Bishop Branden Wood,” William murmured. “The Caelestis brothers are here.”

  Wood closed the book with unhurried grace, turning with a smile. His voice rang clear, like a morning bell:

  “So. You are the children of the Caelestis family.”

  He moved to the desk and lifted the telephone receiver.

  “Send Genevieve up, please.”

  Then he glanced at William, his tone softened.

  “Thank you, child.”

  William bowed and slipped out. The door sighed shut.

  YiChen inclined slightly, voice steady but formal.

  “Your Excellency, we owe you our lives. I must ask… my parents. How are they?”

  Wood did not answer at once.

  He placed a fresh log into the hearth. Flames caught and flickered across his eyes, shading them with thought.

  “Your mother’s condition…” he said slowly, “is stable, for now. But to purge the toxin fully—” his gaze lingered on the flames, “—it will not be simple.”

  ChengYu’s brows knotted. YiChen’s gaze sharpened, though he kept his silence.

  “And my father?”

  Wood brushed ash from the grate. His voice came quiet, regretful, almost gentle:

  “I’m sorry. Our brethren… could not bring him back.”

  The air grew brittle.

  ChengYu’s fists clenched. His voice cracked:

  “What kind of lie is that?! You think words alone will make us believe?”

  YiChen caught his arm, pulling him back. His eyes fixed on Wood, probing for a fracture in that calm.

  But the Bishop only smiled, unruffled.

  “I understand your doubt. But rest assured—we have not ceased. Every exorcist continues the search. Perhaps soon… good news will reach you.”

  YiChen inclined his head. “I hope so.” His tone was even, though the chill in his eyes did not ease.

  Wood’s gaze shifted to ChengYu.

  The boy stood taut, lips pressed thin—the look of a wolf cornered, unyielding.

  “Your father was a remarkable hunter,” Wood said, voice warm, unwavering.

  “I believe he endures still.”

  The words carried such conviction they left no room for denial.

  YiChen drew a long breath, forcing unease beneath the surface. His voice came level:

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “May we… see our mother?”

  “Of course.” Wood’s smile held.

  A knock broke the moment.

  “Enter,” he called.

  A tall woman stepped in.

  Blond hair bound high, fox-green eyes tilted. A faint smile curved her lips—polite, but edged with scrutiny.

  “Your Excellency, I’ll take them now.”

  YiChen inclined his head.

  ChengYu strode out without a glance back.

  The door closed.

  ?

  The Conspiracy

  Wood’s smile dissolved.

  He lowered himself into the chair, fingers tapping the desk—measured, steady, heavy with thought.

  After a pause, he lifted the receiver. His voice low, cool:

  “…How is old Mark?”

  The line hummed. Muffled words seeped through.

  Wood nodded.

  “No need to persuade him further. Let him rest.

  Though he strayed into heresy, we should still pray for him.

  May the Lord forgive his sins, and open the Holy Gate.”

  He replaced the receiver.

  The silver ring on his thumb pulsed faintly warm.

  Then—like a breath in the room—a woman’s voice stirred, soft as sleep-talk:

  “You’ve decided, then?”

  Mist coiled. Thickened.

  From the void drifted a porcelain doll in a frilled pink dress.

  Hair red as fresh blood. Eyes clear glass. Tone sharp with displeasure.

  “I told you—Greenleaf Valley is far too dangerous. Even for those two, the odds are thin.”

  Wood raised a hand, brushing her silken hair as though calming a child. His voice gentle, yet iron at the core:

  “Anna. Time does not wait. Two weeks ago, global communication resumed. The teleportation array could awaken at any moment. The Church cannot delay.”

  The doll’s lashes lowered. Silence stretched—then a sigh.

  “The Lich wishes to speak with you.”

  In an instant, black mist swirled.

  Her body melted—reshaping into a crow of pitch shadow.

  The bird’s beak split in a rasping laugh:

  “Tsk, tsk. Those two pups glare at you—and behind their backs, you kill their daddy…

  I like you, priest. Petty.”

  Wood’s expression did not shift. His fingers drummed on, steady as a metronome.

  “Don’t twist words. I did no such thing. Tell me—do they have any chance of reaching that artifact?”

  The crow cocked its head. Beak clicked twice.

  “With their strength? Slim. Almost none.

  But… if luck favors them—they may yet stumble upon it.”

  Wood’s gaze sank, fathomless.

  “Then let them gamble.”

  ?

  The Mother

  Genevieve led the brothers down the stair, through a shadowed corridor.

  Outside the tall windows, night wind scraped against stone. Candles guttered in the draft, shadows crawling across the walls.

  At the far end, a door stood ajar.

  From within—faint, labored breaths.

  Her scent.

  The brothers rushed in.

  Their mother lay still upon a white bed.

  Damp strands clung to her brow.

  Her face—paler, thinner than before.

  Beneath the linen, her body seemed hollow, a vessel nearly emptied.

  ChengYu dropped to her side, tugged up her sleeve—

  the whole arm veined in blue-black.

  Frozen serpents.

  A spiderweb of ice.

  The corruption had reached her neck, vanishing beneath the collar.

  “Brother…” His voice broke, tears spilling.

  “Look at Mama…”

  YiChen bent low, pressing his palm to her hand.

  The touch stabbed cold to the bone. His lids trembled, hard.

  Not mere corpse-poison.

  A curse. Precise. Deliberate.

  He swallowed fury, lifted his head toward Genevieve.

  His voice rasped like a drawn blade:

  “Tell me. What happened.”

  Genevieve stepped in. Her tone was gentle; her eyes, glass-cold.

  “She was struck by the deepest strain of corpse-poison—spawn of a greater wight.” Her words fell soft, each like a nail.

  “The toxin is laced with sorcery. If not purged swiftly, it will devour her soul-channels.”

  She paused.

  “We summoned ten of our finest healers, just to hold her life steady. But it is only delay.”

  YiChen’s voice cut the air:

  “How do we cure it?”

  Genevieve turned to the window, as if painting a miracle.

  “Recently, in Greenleaf Valley, a beast was sighted.

  They say it devoured an ancient relic. Since then—no blade, no curse, no poison can touch it. Every wound heals at once.”

  She faced them again. Her gaze calm, assured.

  “That relic rests in its heart. Take it—and your mother can be saved.”

  ChengYu leapt up, raw and fierce:

  “So you want us to throw away our lives—to fetch it for you?!”

  Genevieve flinched, hand rising to her chest in feigned hurt. Her voice grew fragile, wounded:

  “How could you think so? We bled to save your mother. Why would we wish you harm?”

  She shook her head, sighing as if heartbroken.

  “This pains us too.”

  “Your pain—what’s it worth?” ChengYu spat.

  YiChen stepped forward, placing himself between them. His tone calm as frost:

  “We’ll take it.”

  At once, Genevieve’s smile returned—soft, almost tender.

  “Such a dutiful elder brother. Don’t fear. The Church will send its elites. You’ll only be assisting.”

  YiChen met her smile, feeling only the blade of the air, sharp and freezing. His voice came level:

  “When do we depart?”

  “Tomorrow at dawn,” she answered warmly.

  “Your mother cannot wait.”

  “Tonight we won’t stay in the guest rooms,” YiChen said coldly.

  “We’ll remain here. With her.”

  Genevieve inclined her head.

  “I’ll have a rocking chair brought.”

  She left. Her steps were light—like a player certain of victory.

  The door shut.

  ChengYu collapsed into a chair, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, teeth grinding.

  “She only wants us rested—so we die neat in the morning.”

  YiChen stared at the black veins climbing their mother’s hand.

  Silent.

  At last he spoke.

  Low, steady—like rain through the night:

  “Then we’ll show them—

  who are tools.

  And who are hunters.”