The soft light of dawn crept through the narrow window, casting pale beams across the stone floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden haze, illuminated by the weak warmth of the rising sun. Outside, the faint murmur of the city stirring to life echoed through the quiet, broken only by the distant tolling of the Grand Cathedral’s bells.


    Lior lay beneath the thin woolen blankets, his head sinking into the rough linen pillow. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was steady — the deep, even rhythm of someone caught in that fragile space between sleep and wakefulness. His limbs felt heavy, his body comfortably warm beneath the covers despite the chill seeping in through the cracks in the stone walls.


    He heard the bells. He knew what they meant. The procession was starting soon.


    But the warmth of the bed was too good to give up just yet.


    A quiet sigh escaped him as he pulled the blanket higher over his head, willing sleep to take him again.


    Then the door crashed open.


    "LIORRRRRRR!"


    The sharp sound of wood striking stone jolted him awake. A sudden weight landed on his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He barely had time to open his eyes before an elbow drove into his ribs.


    "Gah!" Lior’s hand shot toward his side. "What the hell?"


    A shadow loomed over him.


    Celis, his childhood friend.


    Her dark braid dangled over her shoulder as she crouched on top of him, her gray acolyte’s cloak already fastened neatly at her throat. Loose strands of hair framed her face, and her amber eyes flashed dangerously as she leaned forward.


    "You’re going to miss the procession," she said.


    Lior groaned and buried his face back into his pillow. "Five more minutes."


    Celis narrowed her eyes. Her hand shot out, yanking the pillow from beneath his head and tossing it onto the floor.


    "You sound way too excited about a bunch of armored men walking in a straight line," Lior muttered, rolling onto his side.


    "It’s not about the Templars," Celis snapped. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold, and the early morning light caught the edge of her sharp features. "The High Cardinal is speaking today."


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "You don’t even like the High Cardinal," Lior pointed out, his voice muffled by the blanket he was trying to pull back over himself.


    "That’s not the point." Celis’s hand shot forward, grabbing the edge of the blanket and peeling it away. "Get. Up."


    "Or what?"


    Celis smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing. "You really want to find out?"


    Lior’s brows lifted in mock challenge. "You wouldn’t—"


    Celis’s hand shot toward his ribs.


    "Wait— no—!"


    Her fingers dug into his side, mercilessly attacking the sensitive spot just beneath his ribs. Lior thrashed beneath her, squirming and trying to twist away as laughter broke free from his throat.


    "Stop— Celis—!" He wheezed.


    "Then get up!" Celis’s mouth curled into a mischievous smile as she pinned him with her knee.


    "Alright! Alright!" Lior grabbed her wrist, laughing despite himself. "I surrender!"


    Celis leaned back, satisfied, and stood with the same fluid grace she always had. She brushed her braid over her shoulder and straightened her cloak, her expression returning to its usual composed sharpness.


    "You’re evil," Lior muttered as he sat up, raking a hand through his dark hair.


    "I’m efficient," Celis replied coolly. "And we have five minutes before the gates close. Get moving."


    Lior sighed, stretching his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet touched the cold stone floor, the chill cutting through the last vestiges of sleep.


    "You’re going to get us both killed one day," he said as he reached for his tunic.


    "And yet you’d still follow me," Celis said, her back already turned toward the door.


    Lior’s smile softened. "Yeah, probably."


    Celis paused in the doorway, half turning to look at him. The light from the window framed her silhouette, casting soft shadows across the wall behind her. For a brief moment, Lior thought she might say something more — but then her expression hardened, and she turned away.


    "Hurry up," she said over her shoulder. "I’m not waiting for you."


    Lior chuckled as he pulled on his boots. His gaze lingered on the empty doorway for a moment longer before he stood and followed her out.


    Outside, the city was already alive.


    The chill of early morning clung to the air as Lior and Celis stepped into the narrow streets. Merchants were setting up their stalls beneath the arched stone bridges, their voices rising in the crisp morning air. The scent of fresh bread and spiced meat lingered on the breeze.


    The Cathedral bells rang out again — slower now, deeper. A warning that the gates would soon close.


    Lior glanced at Celis. Her eyes were fixed ahead, her expression calm and composed. But he could see the way her hand lingered at the edge of her cloak — a subtle sign of tension.


    "You know," he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You don’t have to care about the High Cardinal’s speech. It’s not like anyone would notice if we just… skipped it."


    Celis’s eyes flashed toward him. "We’re not skipping it."


    "Why not?"


    Her gaze darkened. "Because it matters."


    Lior’s brow furrowed slightly. "To you?"


    Celis didn’t answer. She quickened her pace as they approached the outer gate of the Grand Cathedral. The golden spires of its towers loomed high above the city, gleaming beneath the pale morning light.


    A line of Templars in polished silver armor stood at the gate, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Their white capes fluttered in the breeze, embroidered with the sigil of Elos.


    Lior hesitated for a moment before following Celis up the stone steps. His gaze flicked toward the sky.


    The bells had stopped ringing.


    And beneath the quiet hum of the waking city, he felt it — that strange pressure in the air. A heaviness. Like the feeling that a storm was coming.


    Celis’s hand brushed against his.


    Lior blinked.


    Celis’s amber eyes met his — steady and calm.


    "Come on," she said softly. "We’re already late."


    Lior smiled faintly and followed her through the gate.