Paladin Theron stood near the grand pillars of the cathedral, his body still and upright like a soldier at post.
But inside—
He was crumbling.
His gaze was fixed on the High Priest, who now lay crumpled at Cedric's feet, his dignity reduced to broken whispers and a torn soul.
"I regret ever being born…"
That single phrase...
That was what shattered him.
Not the screams. Not the breaking bones. Not even the spiritual torture that had leaked into the room like blood from a cracked chalice.
It was that line.
Spoken by the highest-ranking holy figure in Velmora's Church.
A man who once preached about endurance, penance, mercy.
Now reduced to… that.
Theron swallowed.
His throat was dry as scorched earth.
The words stuck.
He slowly turned his gaze toward Cedric.
The man stood silently before the statue of the Goddess.
A divine sculpture—majestic, radiant, crafted in honor of Elisera, the Matron of Grace.
And yet…
