The white marble walls of the church reflected the golden light of day, while its imposing dome towered above the sky. The main entrance was adorned with an arched portal rich with reliefs depicting biblical scenes, and the columns supporting it were engraved with intricate angelic patterns.
As they approached the building, Shirei and Niccolò were greeted by the crowd gathering outside. Men, women, and even children pressed against the entrance, pushing forward to get inside. Voices blended into a constant murmur, full of expectation and fervor. They were all eager to behold the mystical figure of the Saint of the Tides.
"It won't be easy to get in," murmured the Venetian, eyeing the crowd with a perplexed expression.
"This church allows the cult to hold its meetings in the main chapel?"
The young man grimaced. "That's a fair question, Sir. The Pope himself deconsecrated it after the sect's first assembly, so nowadays they use it freely."
Shirei nodded, then began to push through the crowd. His austere appearance and black outfit seemed to project an aura of authority that allowed him to move forward with relative ease.Niccolò simply followed the Blendbreed, careful not to lose visual contact.
Inside, the church was lit by rays filtering through stained-glass windows. The naves were wide, with tall, frescoed ceilings depicting the triumph of saints over evil.
At the center of the main nave, a large circular pool reflected the flickering light of candles arranged along its edges. The water, crystalline and still, seemed to radiate a mysterious, almost hypnotic energy. In front of it stood a raised area, altar-like, and the columns—adorned with marine motifs—formed a semicircle that enclosed the space, giving everything a sacred and solemn air.
A large golden crucifix still hung on the wall, though the worship of God had long lost its meaning.
Niccolò glanced at his companion with curiosity. "Does this place unsettle you, Sir?"
"Not unsettled," replied the son of Cragar in a low voice, "but it is… different. Very different from what I expected."
On the altar, a figure immediately captured his attention. A young woman, just past her twenties, stood with innate grace. Her long, wavy blue hair cascaded down her back to the level of her ribcage, shimmering in the light as if immersed in an invisible current. The woman's gray eyes, warm and penetrating, seemed to reflect the depth of a stormy sea.
She wore a magnificent gown in a deep shade of blue reminiscent of the ocean, further embellished with silver jewelry and blue stones that appeared to catch and return the light in sparkling flashes. Her rosy, smooth skin gave her an almost ethereal aura, and every gesture—slow and deliberate—seemed calculated to enchant her audience.
Shirei turned with a slightly raised eyebrow and whispered, "I suppose that's her."
Niccolò nodded, his expression now entirely serious. "Lyra Morosini. The Saint of the Tides."
Their exchange was interrupted by the woman herself, who raised her arms. The gesture seemed a symbolic embrace of the entire crowd.
"Children of the Abyss," she called for attention. "I extend my welcome to the novices and to those who have wandered into our home."
The crowd had already been enraptured by her beauty. "Today, there is much to recount and discuss, but first, I shall speak as the voice of the great lord of the depths."
She stepped down from the altar and began walking along the main aisle. The faithful moved aside to let her pass, yet reached out their hands toward her. They awaited her prophetic words as if they were a new gospel.
"Dark times are coming, and the surface of our world is destined to collapse. Corruption, deceit, and despair are the forces guiding those who pride themselves on walking in the light. But we are different—we have seen the truth that dwells in the depths."
The faithful remained still, as if holding their breath.
"Our lord has chosen us to carry His word. He will protect us, guide us when the tides rise and cover all things. Do not fear what is imminent."
She caressed the face of a little girl held in her mother's arms and smiled warmly. "Have faith. For a new era awaits us, a story where the sky will be the sea, and we shall be the chosen to rule it."
Her hands rested over her full, yet by no means vulgar, chest, and her voice took on a sweeter, almost maternal tone—something Shirei found grandiose, considering her appearance.
"You are His children, His pearls, those who will drink His blood and see the world for what it truly is: a land of corruption, but also a promise of change. You shall be that change."
The Forbidden Heir tilted his head, setting aside the speech for the moment and reflecting on the saint. For all her charisma, her blue hair had to be a hindrance. In the context of the Renaissance era, such an unnatural trait would attract negative attention—not admiration.
He whispered his thought to his companion: "Blue hair… shouldn't that be seen as something ambiguous?"
Niccolò stared at him, perplexed, and replied in a reproachful tone, "And what about you, Sir, with your violet eyes? Are you any less 'ambiguous' than she looks?"
Shirei gave no answer, letting the matter drop. He returned his focus to the sermon, though his thoughts were elsewhere. As he watched her speak and move with hypnotic grace, he felt an unusual sensation. He tried to activate the bond with Reno, or his other Tenebrae, only to find it distorted. Some invisible interference was obstructing him, preventing clear communication. Clenching his hands, he recognized the unmistakable sign: the anchor he was seeking was close.
Lyra continued her speech with a steady voice, while the crowd remained spellbound by her words.
"The coming of the Magnificent will only worsen the situation."
Amid the murmurs, her voice seemed distant, as if rising from the depths of the pool. "Do not fear, for the god of the abyss can protect you. If you drink His blood, nothing will harm you. No force, no enemy shall strike you—not even God Himself."
The words flowed through the minds of the listeners—a dark river, ready to divert their hearts toward pagan devotion.
"Now, come," she said, raising a chalice high. "Salvation is here, waiting to make you into the extraordinary beings we men and women are destined to become."
Niccolò and Shirei exchanged a glance as the faithful began to line up. One by one, the devotees pressed forward to drink from the chalice Lyra held in her hands. A strange symbol was engraved on it, and it seemed to shimmer faintly.
But just as the scene was reaching its climax, the young Venetian stepped forward. His face was rigid, his gaze unwavering. Shirei moved to stop him, but it was already too late.
"This is the blood of a demon!" he shouted, his voice loud and full of accusation. "And it's not the only lie you're drinking! The saint is nothing but a heretic!"
An abrupt silence fell over the church. All eyes turned toward Niccolò. Lyra fixed her gaze on him, cold and calm, without a trace of concern, as he continued.
"My mother… my mother was one of you. I saw her fall ill! She was consumed by this cult, forced to drink that damned blood! And now… now…" the words struggled to leave his mouth, his chest tightening as if gripped by a vise. "She's no longer the same humble woman! Your profane rite turned her into a shadow of herself! She can't move or speak! You're killing her!"
The crowd seemed to tremble beneath the weight of his words, then a man stepped forward.He was tall, with a long beard, dressed like a gondolier. He approached the young man menacingly, clearly intent on stopping him.
"Niccolò… take back those accusations," he whispered, his eyes wild.
Shirei stepped between them without saying a word. He had immediately understood the identity of the man, but the shattered look in his companion's eyes only confirmed it further.
"Father… I'm sorry," he said, not retreating—instead, his voice grew louder. "For all these years, I've been mocked, ignored, and trampled on, but now I know. The monsters are real!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. "And they've multiplied ever since this cult took root! I speak the truth—it's all I've ever done! There's no use ignoring my words just because they scare you! They're not legends! They came when Lady Morosini and her followers took control! And your 'false god' is the cause of it all!"
The tension in the church surged. The faithful glanced at one another, an expression of unease beginning to spread among them.
Lyra raised a hand to command attention. "Silence," she said in a piercing voice. "I know who this boy is. His parents have begged me to absolve him of his sins. Niccolò Verardi is still a naive youth. He does not understand what he speaks of, nor does he recognize the corruption within his own soul. The blood we offer does not run through the body of a demon. Yet it may be considered the body of our god. He will reveal the truth, grant you the power to see what others cannot, and give you the strength to hunt the very monsters this boy so fears."
Then, with an authoritative gaze, she addressed a group of men standing among the crowd, near the two intruders.
"Remove this blasphemer, for now. He is not yet worthy to remain among us."
A couple of them began to move toward Niccolò, while the boy's father stepped forward with determined strides. The tension in the air became palpable. Shirei, who had remained silent until that moment, decided it was time to act.
He raised his hand to stop the gondolier and thought, I must use this moment to discover the saint's power.
A shadow slithered between his fingers—a sign that the Blade of Discord was ready to emerge and strike—but his better judgment made him hesitate. He didn't want to hurt innocent people, especially not his companion's father. Lyra watched the scene intently, her eyes fixed on the violet irises of Cragar's son. A shiver ran down her bare spine.
"My brothers and sisters, this is no man," she declared with a voice filled with dread. "Before you stands the heir of death."
The crowd quivered. Some of them backed away, while others braced to act. The saint, unwavering, raised a hand.
"Attack!" she commanded, her voice crashing through the church like a wave striking a cliff. "We cannot allow these two to ruin our sacred rite!"
The tension hit its peak. The Blendbreed knew the confrontation was now unavoidable, and that any hope of leaving the church unnoticed had just vanished.
I must be quick…
He struck Niccolò's father in the shin and shoved him aside. Then he grabbed the boy by the collar and yanked him toward himself.
"Sir?!" the boy called out, startled.
"Your father will be fine, but we need to leave. Now."
The cries of the faithful echoed under Lyra's threats. Niccolò hesitated, as if he wanted to stay behind, but Shirei wouldn't let him stop.
"We can't stay," he said under his breath. "This isn't the time to fight—not against people whose minds have been warped."
The Venetian shook his head, anxiety clouding his eyes. "But my father… I can't leave him."
Shirei paused for a moment, locking eyes with the boy, his expression grave. "This isn't the time to save everyone, Niccolò. Right now, we just run. Trust me."
"And if they hurt him?"
Cragar's son activated his Spectral Travel, and in an instant, they were hurled outside the church, while the furious crowd continued searching for them inside.
"What… what devilry is this?!"
"It's one of my powers. Your father won't be harmed—I'll make sure of it myself. But I can't do that if we're being chased."
Niccolò looked like he wanted to protest. He held his head in his left hand, either from the nausea of the jump or the sheer weight of everything he had just learned. Finally, he gave in, biting his lip, still glancing over his shoulder.
Shirei didn't stop. He pulled him along, away from the church, into the dusk of the city. The men were already on their heels, but Cragar's son knew well how to escape someone who intended to kill him.
Once they were far enough, with the voices fading in the distance, he made his way back toward the spot where he had encountered the bandits. Returning to the tavern would have been far too risky. As they walked, his companion still seemed shaken, but it was clear there was no more room for conversation—at least not for now.
They were nearly there when, suddenly, the sound of a bell rang out. A blinding light struck them, and everything came to a halt. Shirei understood what was happening, and he was far from pleased.
A reset.
── ⋆⋅❂⋅⋆ ──
As quickly as the light had swallowed everything around him, the scene returned to reflect a more familiar reality.
He was back at the starting point of that morning. The cycle had restarted, bringing him once again to the beginning of his exploration in Venice.
He sighed and made a quick calculation to estimate roughly how much time remained.
About four hours. Every four hours, a reset.
His memory retained the change, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. That temporal distortion had become a constant in his mission. He turned, choosing not to contact Reno and heading straight for the Verardi tavern. It was closed, so he sat outside the entrance, waiting for Niccolò to arrive—but he couldn't enjoy even a moment of peace.
He had his clothes back again, but the young man no longer knew who he was. As if that weren't enough, he now had only a vague idea of where the anchor might be, and time was running short. He wondered whether bringing the poor Venetian with him was truly the right decision—but he needed someone who knew the city and the church.
Right now, having the Equinox Flowers at full strength wouldn't be unwelcome.
Worry for Havel began to grow inside him, but a second event tore his thoughts away. Dark stains began to form in his vision, slipping out from every corner, as if his shadow had devoured him. Every movement he sensed within the darkness felt more intense.
The aetheral dark was trying to seize him.
Before he could react, everything around him dissolved into nothingness. A darkness that felt familiar—like a cold embrace pulling him in.
The air grew heavy.
An invisible force tried to rip away his will to move.
A heartbeat, a breath.
Another, deeper one.
Then, the usual sensation of being elsewhere.
A step into the void.
The next already floated within a place he had only just begun to know.
He was at the entrance of the Evanescent Trail.