Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

The Grand Plaza of Solarium was lit with the heat of expectation.

Hundreads had gathered beneath the towering Cathedral of the Holy Flame, its spire cutting into the steel-gray sky. The Eternal Flame atop the spire flickered faintly, creating a feeble glow that seemed too weak to light the hearts of the disillusioned masses below.

The air was plauged with whispers, a low murmur of speculation that hung like smoke over the square.

Vendors peddled their wares at the edges of the crowd, their cries half-hearted as if even they could sense the gravity of the moment. The people weren't here for bread or trinkets—they were here to see something, anything, that might make them believe again.

Faith had withered under the weight of corruption, and the Church's promises had long turned hollow. But now, the faithful and the skeptical alike had gathered, lured by the whispers of a grand display: a cleansing, the Church had said.

A rebirth.

From the shadows of an arched alcove, Aric Valerian watched.

He wasn't alone. Serina stood beside him, her pale fingers toying with the edge of her cloak as her sharp eyes scanned the scene. "They've packed the square," she murmured. "They're expecting salvation…again?"

"They'll see something that looks like it," Aric replied, his tone cold. His gaze remained fixed on the dais at the center of the plaza, where crimson-robed priests bustled with quiet urgency. "That's all that matters."

The Cathedral's bells tolled suddenly, deep and resonant, silencing the murmur of the crowd. All heads turned to the dais, where High Inquisitor Levos and High Priest Dorim now stood, their faces set like stone. Between them, the Eternal Flame on its raised altar burned weakly, a pale shadow of what it had been in the Church's golden age.

Dorim raised his arms, and the murmurs ceased entirely. The plaza fell into a silence so absolute that the faint crackle of the Flame could be heard.

"Brothers and sisters," Dorim began, his voice steady but tinged with something close to desperation. "The Church has heard your cries. We know your faith has been shaken. We know our house is not without sin."

A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. Dorim's words weren't the hollow platitudes they had grown used to. There was an edge to them, something sharper, something real.

"For too long," Levos continued, his voice cutting like a blade, "the Eternal Flame has burned dimmer, its light obscured by the shadows of greed and corruption. Those shadows have come from within our own ranks."

The Cathedral doors opened then, heavy and deliberate.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

From within, a line of men and women emerged, their crimson robes marked with the insignias of high rank. The crowd shifted, a few murmuring the names of the priests they recognized—figures who had once been revered, now walking slowly toward the dais under the watchful eyes of the Guardians of the Flame.

But something was wrong. The priests were shackled, their wrists bound with iron. They stumbled as they were marched forward, confusion and growing dread etched into their faces. The whispers in the crowd grew louder, turning into a low, anxious roar.

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On the dais, Levos raised his hand for silence. The Guardians forced the prisoners to their knees before the altar, their faces pale and stricken as they looked out over the sea of watching eyes.

"These men and women," Levos said, his voice ringing with a grim finality, "have betrayed the Eternal Flame. They have used their positions for personal gain, sold blessings to the highest bidder, and tarnished the light of our sacred order."

One of the shackled priests, a stout man with a golden medallion around his neck, broke his silence. "This is madness!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I am Father Aldrin, Keeper of the Flame! This cannot be—"

His words were cut off by the blunt end of a halberd striking his jaw. Blood spattered onto the stone, and the crowd gasped. Some stepped back, clutching their children closer. Others leaned forward, their expressions grim, as if torn between horror and fascination.

"The Eternal Flame demands justice," Dorim intoned. "And today, it shall be fed."

From his vantage point in the shadows, Aric's lips curled into a smile. Everything was proceeding exactly as he had planned.

The executions began without ceremony. The Guardians of the Flame stepped forward, their halberds raised high. The first blow fell with a sickening crunch, the blade slicing cleanly through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed across the altar, pooling at its base and trickling into the grooves carved into the stone.

The Eternal Flame roared to life.

The crowd gasped as the weak flicker erupted into a towering blaze, its golden flames licking the air with an almost feral hunger. Some fell to their knees, weeping openly, while others clasped their hands in prayer, their lips moving feverishly. The sight of the Flame, burning brighter than it had in decades, seemed to strip away their doubts.

Of course, none of them could see Serina's hands moving in the shadows, her fingers tracing patterns as she murmured incantations under her breath. The Flame's miraculous resurgence was no act of divinity. It was Aric's doing, his careful orchestration of illusion and belief.

One by one, the condemned priests were executed, their blood feeding the Flame. With each sacrifice, the fire burned higher, its light bathing the plaza in a golden glow that seemed almost holy. The crowd was entranced, their earlier unease forgotten in the face of what they now believed was divine approval.

When the last body fell, the plaza was silent for the crackle of the Flame. Dorim stepped forward, his face pale but resolute.

"The Eternal Flame has spoken," he declared. "It has accepted the blood of the unworthy and cleansed our order of its sins."

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd. Chanting began, rising like a tide as the people called out prayers and praises to the Flame and the gods that made it burn. Faith, so long dormant, had been reignited.

But the spectacle wasn't over. As the crowd's chants subsided, the Cathedral doors opened once more. A procession of priests emerged, carrying objects wrapped in white cloth. The crowd fell silent, their eyes fixed on the relics as they were placed carefully on pedestals around the altar.

"These are the Divine relics of the Church," Levos announced. "Hidden for centuries, they return to us now, their power restored to guide us in this new age."

The priests unveiled the relics one by one. A sword, its blade gleaming as if freshly forged. A chalice, engraved with symbols that seemed to shimmer in the firelight. A blackened fragment of stone, radiating an aura of ancient power.

The scholars and blacksmiths in the crowd stepped forward, their tools at the ready. They examined the relics carefully, testing their authenticity with practiced precision. When they stepped back and declared the artifacts genuine, the plaza erupted into cheers once more.

From his place in the shadows, Aric watched it all with a cold satisfaction.

The Church had played its part perfectly, its leaders too desperate and terrified to see how thoroughly they had been manipulated. The Eternal Flame burned brighter than it had in decades, the relics had been unveiled, and the people's faith had been restored.

And now, the Church was his to control.