The message arrived with the dawn, if the sickly orange glow that passed for sunrise could be called dawn. Elias found it slipped under his apartment door—a piece of parchment that felt warm to the touch and smelled faintly of iron and ozone.
Trial Assignment: Purification DutyLocation: District 7, Sector CTime: 1400 hoursParticipants: Solo trialBlessing: The Womb Eternal's grace upon the faithful
Below the text was a symbol that made his eyes water to look at directly—the twisted spiral that represented his patron deity's infinite capacity for birth and rebirth. The paper began to smoke at the edges as soon as he finished reading, crumbling to ash that writhed like living things before finally going still.
Elias crushed the remains underfoot and checked his equipment. The Midwife's Knife hung at his belt, its bone handle warm against his hip. His medical bag contained the usual tools of his trade—syringes filled with blessed fluids, surgical thread that pulsed with its own life, and vials of the luminescent substances that served as both medicine and poison in this new world.
He was adjusting the straps on his bag when a knock echoed through his apartment. Three sharp raps, a pause, then three more. The pattern of formal contact between players.
Through the reinforced glass of his window, he could see Morgan standing on her own rooftop, arms crossed, watching his building with the patience of a predator. She'd been there since before sunrise, maintaining her vigil with the dedication that marked all true servants of the Iron Creed.
The knocking came again, more insistent this time.
Elias opened the door to find a young woman in the gray robes of a message bearer. Her face was pale, almost translucent, with the kind of ethereal beauty that came from prolonged exposure to divine influence. Her eyes were solid black, no iris or pupil visible.
"Doctor Crane," she said, her voice carrying harmonics that suggested she wasn't entirely human anymore. "I bring greetings from the Order across."
"Which Order?" Elias asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"The Iron Creed extends an invitation to discourse," the messenger continued. "Knight-Captain Vale requests your presence on the neutral ground of the district square. She wishes to discuss matters of mutual interest."
Elias glanced toward the window, where Morgan's armored figure was still visible. "When?"
"Now, if it pleases you. The Knight-Captain waits below."
It wasn't really a request, Elias realized. When an Order Knight of Morgan's rank "invited" someone to discussion, refusing wasn't an option. The Iron Creed valued order above all else, and order meant that people went where they were told, when they were told.
"Tell the Knight-Captain I'll be down momentarily," Elias said.
The messenger nodded and walked away, her footsteps making no sound on the concrete floor. Elias watched her go, noting the way she moved—too fluid, too graceful, like she was floating just above the ground. Another of the Creed's converted, probably. They had ways of improving their servants that made even the Womb Eternal's transformations look subtle.
Elias grabbed his coat and headed for the stairs, his mind already working through the possibilities. Morgan's sudden formality was concerning. Yesterday's conversation had been probing but relatively friendly. Today's summons felt like something else entirely.
The district square was a circular plaza at the center of the residential complex, surrounded by the towering apartment blocks that housed the various faithful. At its center stood a fountain that had once sprayed water but now pulsed with a thick, dark fluid that reflected the sky in ways that hurt to watch.
Morgan waited beside the fountain, her armor gleaming despite the dim light. She'd removed her helmet, revealing short-cropped blonde hair and eyes the color of steel. Everything about her projected strength, certainty, and the kind of unwavering conviction that could be either inspiring or terrifying.
"Doctor Crane," she said as he approached. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."
"How could I refuse?" Elias replied, keeping his tone light. "The Iron Creed's word is law, after all."
Morgan's smile was sharp. "In this district, yes. But I'm curious about your understanding of that law. Tell me, what do you know about the Heresy of Questions?"
Elias felt a chill that had nothing to do with the perpetual gray wind. The Heresy of Questions was one of the Iron Creed's most serious charges—the crime of seeking knowledge that undermined divine authority. It was punishable by transformation into one of the Creed's mindless servants.
"I know it's forbidden," he said carefully. "The Iron Creed teaches that some knowledge is too dangerous for mortals to possess. Questions that challenge divine will are the first step toward chaos."
"Correct," Morgan agreed. "And yet, yesterday you asked me to look closer. To see if I could find doubt in your service. Why would a faithful servant invite such scrutiny?"
The trap was subtle but deadly. Elias realized that Morgan had been analyzing their conversation for hours, picking apart every word and gesture for signs of heresy. His challenge had been meant to project confidence, but she'd interpreted it as suspicious.
"Because I have nothing to hide," he said, meeting her gaze steadily. "A man secure in his faith doesn't fear examination. Only heretics avoid the light of truth."
"And yet," Morgan continued, "you speak of faith as if it were a performance. 'Look closer,' you said. 'See if you can find any doubt.' As if faith were something to be observed rather than experienced."
Elias's mind raced. She was trying to corner him, to force him into a position where any answer would be wrong. If he claimed perfect faith, she'd question his humility. If he admitted to doubts, she'd brand him a heretic.
"Faith is both internal and external," he said finally. "The Iron Creed teaches that true believers bear witness to their devotion through word and deed. I invited your scrutiny because I knew it would confirm what I already know—that my service to the Womb Eternal is absolute."
Morgan circled him slowly, her armored boots clicking against the plaza's stone surface. "Yesterday, you said you felt honored to serve as the Womb Eternal's instrument. But honor suggests choice. The faithful don't choose to serve—they simply serve. Choice implies alternatives, and alternatives breed doubt."
The questioning was becoming more aggressive, more pointed. Elias realized that this wasn't just casual suspicion—Morgan was conducting a formal inquiry. She suspected him of heresy and was building a case.
"Honor and duty aren't mutually exclusive," he replied. "A knight can feel honored to serve her lord while still being bound by oath to do so. The Womb Eternal chose me as an instrument of divine will. I honor that choice by serving faithfully."
"But you were a doctor before the Arrival," Morgan pressed. "A healer. How does a man who once saved lives find honor in ending them?"
The question struck close to home, but Elias forced himself to remain calm. "I still save lives," he said. "Every trial I complete strengthens the divine order. Every vessel I prepare brings new life into the world. The creatures I grant mercy to are spared the suffering of prolonged existence. Death and birth are both forms of healing."
Morgan stopped circling, standing directly in front of him. "Show me."
"What?"
"Show me your faith. Not your words, not your actions, but your faith itself. The Iron Creed has granted me the ability to perceive truth. If your devotion is absolute, it will shine like a beacon. If it's performance..." She let the threat hang unspoken.
Elias felt the familiar pressure in his mind as Morgan's pendant began to glow. But this time, the probe was deeper, more invasive. She wasn't just scanning for deception—she was trying to read his very soul.
He closed his eyes and projected the image of faithful service. Not the hatred that burned in his heart, but the cold satisfaction of a job well done. The professional pride of a skilled physician. The gratitude of a survivor who'd found purpose in a chaotic world.
All of it was true, in its way. He was grateful to have survived. He did take pride in his skill. He did find purpose in his work, even if that purpose was rebellion rather than worship.
The pressure in his mind intensified, and for a moment, Elias felt something vast and alien touching his thoughts. Not Morgan's probe, but something else—the attention of the Iron Creed itself, examining him through its servant's eyes.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation faded. Morgan's pendant dimmed, and she stepped back with an expression of confusion.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Your faith is... complex. Layered. I see devotion, but it's wrapped in something else. Something I can't quite identify."
"Perhaps what you see is wisdom," Elias suggested. "The understanding that true faith encompasses more than simple worship. The Womb Eternal is vast and mysterious. My devotion reflects that mystery."
Morgan nodded slowly, but her eyes remained troubled. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you're simply more skilled at deception than most heretics."
"If I were a heretic," Elias said, "would I have survived seventeen trials? Would the Womb Eternal continue to bless my service?"
"The gods are not easily deceived," Morgan admitted. "But they are not infallible. The Heresy of Questions teaches that even divine will can be... misinterpreted."
The admission was startling. Elias had never heard a servant of the Iron Creed suggest that the gods might be fallible. It was a crack in Morgan's certainty, a moment of doubt that revealed something deeper.
"You speak as one who has questioned," he said carefully.
Morgan's hand moved to her sword hilt. "I speak as one who has learned the cost of questions. The Iron Creed showed me the truth—that doubt is the first step toward chaos, and chaos is the enemy of all life."
"And yet you question me."
"I question your devotion, not the gods themselves. There's a difference."
Elias sensed an opportunity. "Is there? If the gods are infallible, then their choice of servants must be perfect. To question me is to question their judgment."
For a moment, Morgan's certainty wavered. Her grip on her sword tightened, but she didn't draw it. "You're trying to trap me in logic," she said finally. "But faith transcends logic. The Iron Creed teaches that truth is found through service, not through reasoning."
"Then serve," Elias said. "And let me do the same. If either of us is false, the gods will reveal it in their own time."
Morgan studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. But know this, Doctor Crane—I will be watching. The Iron Creed's eyes are ever vigilant, and heresy cannot hide forever."
She turned and walked away, her armor clanking with each step. Elias watched her go, then checked his watch. Nearly time for his trial assignment. He needed to get moving.
But as he left the plaza, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. Morgan's questioning had revealed cracks in both their faiths—his false devotion and her absolute certainty. The game was becoming more complex, more dangerous.
And somewhere in the shadows, he was certain that someone else was watching, learning, waiting to see how the pieces would fall.
The hunt was beginning in earnest.