Chapter Text
A stained-glass window loomed above Caitlyn like an omen, its dark hues casting an eerie pallor over the chapel’s frost-slicked walls. Stark in jagged panes of white and black, stood the martyred form of the All-Mother, vines of torment encasing her limbs and spearing through her hands and feet. Hollow sockets fixed skyward, despite Her suffering, Her gouged-out eyes dripped black ichor.
The chapel itself was a sanctum of cold obsidian, its surface glistening faintly as frost sweated along the dark walls. Casting a sickly pallor over Caitlyn’s sallow skin, black candles lined the altar, their flames flickering with an unnatural greenish hue. Forged from the rendered fat of traitors and heretics—those who, in their final indignity, served the All-Mother’s will in death—they exuded a sickly sweet aroma that hung in the air like a curse.
Bathed in the pale, fractured light of the stained glass, Caitlyn knelt before the altar, body trembling from hours of unbroken prayer. The coarseness of her habit scratched against her sweat-slicked skin. Hoarse from the ceaseless litany, her voice was reduced to each syllable rasping over parched vocal cords. A small bowl carved of bone sat beside her, its single drop of water gleaming like a promise.
To drink would end her benediction. She did not falter.
Worn knucklebones smooth against her calloused hands, each individual prayer bead flew through her finger. Pain gnawing at her muscles, her vision blurred, but she embraced the suffering. It was a reflection of the All-Mother’s sacrifice, and a staunch reminder of the purpose that burned within her.
The creak of heavy doors shattered the silence. Gaze remaining fixed on the martyred visage above her, Caitlyn didn’t move. Soft footfalls echoed closer, hesitant but insistent, until a faint voice broke through the sacred stillness.
“Justiciar Primis Kiramman, I bring urgent news.”
The young acolyte stood trembling, parchment clutched tightly in her hands. Caitlyn pressed the cool ivory of her beads to her lips and touched her chest, then turned it out, palm open, before rising. Her long legs throbbed as blood rushed back to her extremities, but she showed no weakness.
Extending a pale, steady hand, she said, “You disturb my vigil. Speak quickly.”
The acolyte bowed her head and offered the letter. “You asked that all urgent matters come to you, Justiciar Primis.”
Caitlyn took the parchment, breaking the dark viridian wax seal embossed with the sigil of the Order’s High Council. Her eyes scanned the spidery script, her expression growing colder with every line.
She exhaled sharply, her voice a sharpened blade cutting through the silence. “You may leave.”
Bolting, the acolyte's footsteps clattered against the flagstones as she disappeared through the chapel doors. Turning back to the altar, Caitlyn locked her gaze onto the lone black candle burning atop it. Wavering, its green-tinged flame cast flickering shadows across the All-Mother’s shattered form.
Holding the letter to the flame, Caitlyn watched as the edges curled and blackened. Ash fell onto the stone, crumbling into nothingness. She looked up at the stained-glass martyr, her voice low and fervent.
“I am your blade, your fire, your vessel upon this plain. Through me, your will shall be done. They will taste the edge of my fury and quake in the presence of your justice. And if I find them unworthy of Judgement, they shall be cast into the Void, never to rise again.”
The great bell tolled, its resonance rolling through the nunnery like a clarion, calling the penitents to orison. Caitlyn turned and strode toward the chapel doors, her movements swift and resolute. Behind her, the embers of the letter smoldered and died, its ashes scattering across the altar like the final echo of a sacred vow.