In the middle of the vast underground chamber is a raised dais, on which sits a pedestal made from white stone. That is where the light is emanating from. The light warms my scars and my skin. It finds its way inside my heart. I am no longer hollow. No longer just a heartbeat. I cross the vastness of the chamber floor, between more of the blindfolded statues and the marble columns that support the vaulted ceiling.

The others follow in silence. They take up position a respectful distance from the foot of the steps, standing in rows like worshippers in a chapel. Elivia. Ravara, and her retinue. Castanne and Silvera. Both priests go to their knees. They weep openly and without shame. The commandery do not kneel. They stand, their weapons at parade rest. Behind them, too fearful to cross the threshold of the gate, are the faithful. Castanne has had his security forces set a cordon to keep them out of the undercrofts, but a handful have slipped by all the same. I catch sight of a familiar figure in the shadows. One whose face is marked with the eagle, and who carries a single candle in her hand.

Kati.

Even across the vastness of the hall, I see the girl smile at me. I nod and turn away, putting my foot on the first of the steps that lead up to the pedestal. They are shallow, and old. Made from the same white stone as the pedestal and the statues and the aquila-stones. As I climb them I feel whole. I feel strong.

I feel ready.

I keep my eyes downwards as I reach the top of the steps and approach the pedestal, looking up only when I feel warmth against my scars. Before me, on the pedestal, lies the Shield of Saint Katherine. It is cast from a single piece of ancient and gloried adamantine that is painted with a representation of Saint Katherine herself. A mighty warrior, bearing blade and aegis. The Shield glows from within, casting a warming light that suffuses me, pouring into the hollow at the heart of me like molten gold until I cannot help but smile. I reach out slowly, as I have so many times in my dreams, finally ready to take up the Shield. To fulfil the destiny that the God-Emperor spared me for. My fingertips linger for a moment, a hair’s breadth from the surface of it. From my reflection, wrought in gold. Then I put my palm flat on the Shield’s mirrored face.

And it disappears, in a flare of light.

Ravara

RAVARA