The guardsman Jerome greeted them as they reentered Marblehaven, his face breaking into a grin when he spotted Lucia's approach.

  "A fruitful journey, I hope, Lady Thornwald."

  She raised her hand, thumb pointed skyward in a gesture of triumph.

  Jerome's laughed before shaking his head. "About time we had some good news around here. I hope I never have to see you sneaking out again." He stepped aside, pulling the heavy gate open. "You’re back just in time as well. The Saintess has called for a public assembly, right at the townsquare."

  “Oh. What is it about?” Lucia asked.

  “No idea milady. Us town guards don’t exactly get informed of such things.”

  As they made their way through the streets, the sound of voices drew them toward the central square. A crowd had gathered around the raised platform that typically served for market announcements and festival proclamations. Today, it had been transformed into something far more somber.

  The Saintess stood at the platform's center. To her left and right, temple guards flanked two figures bound in iron shackles.

  Father Michael knelt on the platform's wooden boards. His face displayed the hollow desperation of a man who had seen his world collapse. Beside him, a second priest who Lucia informed Clive as Father Benedict sat with his head bowed in shame.

  "My people," the Saintess began, her voice carrying across the square. "It is with great sorrow—and greater resolve—that I stand before you today. These men, who swore sacred oaths to serve the God of Light, have instead chosen to serve their own base desires."

  The crowd pressed closer, their murmurs creating an undercurrent of anticipation. Clive noticed several women in the gathering, their faces bearing expressions of vindication and rage that suggested personal knowledge of the crimes being revealed.

  "Father Michael," the Saintess continued, turning toward the kneeling cleric, "you have been found guilty of accepting bribes from merchants of ill repute. Gold and precious stones filled your coffers while the poor of this parish went without basic necessities." She gestured to a wooden chest beside the platform, its lid thrown open to reveal glittering contents. "Twenty-three pounds of silver, fourteen pounds of gold, and gems worth more than most families see in a lifetime, all hidden beneath the altar of the God of Light."

  Father Michael raised his head, facing the crowd. "And there is an explanation for all of this. One that the Saintess is loath to hear."

  "Silence. You will have opportunity to speak when I am finished cataloguing your sins."

  She moved to stand before Father Benedict. "Father Benedict, you have operated a network of corruption that exploited the most vulnerable among our flock. Young women from impoverished villages were promised education and spiritual guidance in exchange for their families' donations. Instead, they found themselves imprisoned within church properties, forced into servitude, and worse."

  The crowd's murmur grew ugly, and Clive saw several woman jeering and men step forward with raised fists before the temple guards pushed them back.

  "Seventeen women," the Saintess continued. "Seventeen daughters, sisters, and mothers whose families believed they had sent them to serve the church. Instead, they were held in chambers beneath the cathedral, forced into degrading labor, and subjected to abuses that violated every sacred oath you swore."

  Father Benedict protested feebly. "They had nowhere else to go. We provided them with shelter—"

  "You provided them with cages." The Saintess's words fell like hammer blows. "You collected fees from desperate families who thought they were securing their daughters' futures, then trapped those same daughters in conditions that would shame a slaveholder."

  The Saintess returned to the center of the platform, her presence commanding absolute attention. "The investigation began when a concerned citizen brought these crimes to my attention. Physical evidence was gathered, witnesses were interviewed, and the full scope of this corruption was revealed."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  She raised her hand, and the crowd fell completely silent.

  "Father Michael, you are hereby stripped of all clerical authority and expelled from the Church of Light. Your assets are forfeit to compensate the victims of your crimes. You will spend the remainder of your days in the royal dungeons, contemplating the souls you betrayed."

  Father Michael's head snapped up, his face contorting with fury. "This is nothing but a coup disguised as righteousness!" His voice rose to a shout. "A charade to consolidate your own power, Saintess. Everyone can see through your pathetic grab for control!"

  He struggled against his chains, spittle flying as his words became more desperate. "Twenty years I've served this church! Twenty years of faithful service, and you destroy it all with lies and fabrications. The people know the truth—they know who really serves the God of Light in this city!"

  The crowd's murmur turned ugly at his accusations, and several voices called out in anger. Father Michael's wild eyes swept across the assembled faces, searching for support that wasn't there.

  “The crowd has judged your actions,” the Saintess replied coldly.

  "You'll regret this," he hissed. "When your false righteousness crumbles, when the people see you for what you truly are, you'll beg for my forgiveness."

  The Saintess ignored him and moved behind Father Benedict.

  "Father Benedict, your decades of service cannot excuse your crimes. You too are stripped of all authority and expelled from the church. The women you held captive have been freed and will receive full restitution from your confiscated wealth. You will join your accomplice in the dungeons, where you will have ample time to reflect on the meaning of true service."

  The disgraced priest remained silent, his gaze locked onto the ground below.

  The Saintess raised both hands toward the crowd. "Let this day serve as proof that no one, regardless of position or wealth, stands above divine justice. The Church of Light exists to serve all people, not to exploit them. Any who would corrupt this sacred mission will face the full weight of divine wrath."

  She gestured to the temple guards, who began escorting the prisoners down from the platform. The crowd parted to let them pass, though more than one person spat in the dirt at their feet.

  As they made their way through the streets toward Lucia's workshop, she glanced back at the dispersing crowd still buzzing with conversation.

  "I have to admit, I'm impressed," Lucia said. "The Saintess certainly made a statement. Those old hardliners have been blocking every attempt at reform for years."

  Clive nodded. "You think this will change things?"

  "It has to." Lucia's voice carried a note of satisfaction. "Father Michael and his allies controlled half the church council. With them gone, the Saintess faction is now firmly in power. Maybe now we'll see some actual change instead of endless debates about tradition and proper procedure."

  Once they reached the workshop, political concerns faded into the background. There was work to be done.

  Lucia sprung into action. She cleared her central workbench, pushing aside half-finished experiments and organized her equipment.

  "The extraction needs to be perfect," she murmured. "One mistake and we lose everything."

  “Is there anything I can help with?” Clive asked.

  But she shook her head fervently and gestured for him to take a seat.

  She retrieved a bottle of her neutral white wine from her storage. The wine was pale lemon, almost colorless, chosen specifically for its lack of competing flavors. Clive could barely detect any scents from it, even with his [Apocathery’s Nose].

  "Glass only," she explained as she measured three cups into a wide-mouthed vessel. "Metal corrupts the ether. Ceramic absorbs too much."

  The midnight blossoms lay on her preparation board, their petals still retaining that pitch black shimmer. Twenty-seven blossoms in total, each one carefully counted and inspected for damage.

  Lucia lit a burner beneath what looked like a water bath, adjusting the flame with precision. "Temperature has to be exact," she said, testing the wine with a glass rod. "Too hot breaks down the compounds. Too cool and they won't release."

  She used silver tweezers to place each blossom into the wine individually. The moment each flower touched the liquid, it released threads of faint luminescence.

  "How long?" Clive asked.

  "Twelve hours for this stage. Then distillation, filtration, concentration." She paused her work to calculate. "Three days if everything goes right."

  Lucia covered the vessel with silk cloth. "Now we wait," she said, though her hands immediately reached for her documentation notebook.

  Clive watched her settle into meticulous record-keeping, quill scratching across parchment with enthusiasm.

  Three days later, the workshop door slammed open with enough force to rattle the glass vessels on Lucia's shelves. Garrett stood in the doorway, his chest heaving as if he'd run the entire distance from his forge. Sweat dampened his leather apron, and his usually steady hands trembled at his sides.

  "I heard you returned," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled desperation. "The cure—tell me you have it."

  Clive looked up from his sketching, alarmed by the wild look in the blacksmith's eyes. "Garrett, what's wrong?"

  "It's Emma."

  Day 1, Hour 1:

  Initial extraction begun. Twenty-seven midnight blossoms, harvested from Shadowfen grove. Wine base: Thornwald reserve vintage, neutral white. Temperature maintained at 98 degrees. Luminescent reaction observed immediately upon contact.

  - Notes from Lucia Thornwald’s Diary