Chapter 5: The Pope's Routine
667 Words
The late autumn carried a bleak chill, especially in the vast, echoing hall where Phil Gray knelt each morning, feigning the piety of his predecessor. While the former pope had truly sought to display devotion, Phil—who could not even hum a sacred hymn—simply lost himself in idle thoughts, his mind racing to piece together his new reality. Nearly a week had passed since his arrival; aside from Lucien Wilde, the knight tasked with his protection, no one suspected he was not the true pontiff—a fact aided by the original pope’s reclusive nature. Of the man’s family or friends, Phil knew nothing.
The role itself proved surprisingly idle, with three cardinal bishops managing nearly all affairs. Phil had deduced the Church’s structure: beneath the pope, the cardinals oversaw daily operations, while each city housed an archbishop and district bishops. The Knights of Destiny, led by Commander Valk Dodd, guarded the headquarters, with regional chapters named for their cities.
Once his mental inventory concluded, Phil’s thoughts wandered, lethargy threatening to pull him under. Alone in the hall, he rose decisively and stretched out on a nearby chaise. *Surely the Goddess of Fate will not chide me*, he mused—*I am no devotee of hers*. As a former materialist, embracing divine belief felt impossible, especially when resentment lingered over his involuntary translocation.
He drifted into slumber, only to be roused by a phantom voice: *"Hear the whisper of fate..."* It echoed thrice, dissolving as he jolted upright. The hall remained silent; he dismissed it as a dream, rubbing his temples to shake off the disorientation.
After morning prayers, he lunched with Dolores, whose innocent chatter about the world—surprisingly knowledgeable for one so young—lifted his spirits. In the afternoon, Lucien announced two mayors awaited in the study: men in their forties, one kindly, the other imposing, overseeing Northtown and Gaza within the Church’s domain.
"Your Holiness, has your health improved?" the Northtown mayor inquired.
"No lingering issues," Phil replied. "What brings you both here?"
"First, to convey our concern—gifts await with your knight. Second, to discuss fallout from the Divine Descent Ceremony."
Phil nodded solemnly. "I grieve the incident, but as believers, we trust all is destiny’s will. We must yield to its flow," crafting the words with deliberate piety, inwardly congratulating himself on the performance.
The Gaza mayor frowned. "Heretics exploit the chaos, claiming the Goddess has abandoned us. They sway citizens, disrupting order with their lies."
"Reassure the people with charity," Phil advised, "and intensify hunts for dissenters. Public trials will deter others." Privately, he sympathized with their skepticism—*fate in one’s own hands* appealed more than divine caprice—but his role demanded orthodoxy.
After the mayors departed, Lucien mentioned Bishop Wendell waited outside—a man described by servants as the most temperate of the cardinals. "Admit him," Phil said, studying the knight’s masked profile. Something about Lucien unsettled him, perhaps the fear of exposure, or the enigmatic black mask that seemed to obscure more than a face.
Wendell entered, a grandfatherly figure whose kindly countenance inspired instant trust. "Forgive the delay, Holiness. I’ve been managing ceremony repercussions—nobles and faithful alike ask after you, while heretics spread poison. It left little time for courtesy."
"Think nothing of it, Bishop. The mayors briefed me on these troubles."
"Your poisoning may not be isolated," Wendell ventured, voice low. "I suspect their hand in it."
"Perhaps, but we must trust the Goddess to guide us."
"Then let us focus on displaying her grace. Winter approaches, and many faithful lack warmth. Our stockpiles of white stones could be distributed freely—a gesture of Church compassion."
Phil, unfamiliar with the substance, nodded agreeably. "Arrange it, Bishop."
"Your presence would amplify its impact, Holiness—proof of your personal care for the flock."
"Very well." The outing suited him; idle days in the palace grated, and observing the distribution might reveal more of this world’s mysteries.
- Writer
