The Church did not retreat far. They never did.
Their banners vanished beyond the outer gates by dusk, white and gold swallowed by distance but their eyes remained. I could feel them the way one feels a storm long before rain: pressure without shape, intent without sound.
They were watching and waiting.
Eron sat beside the broken fountain in the courtyard, knees drawn up, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The divine light around him had faded, but it left a residue like warmth after a flame is blown out.
It was too noticeable and too dangerous, so I crouched in front of him. “Breathe.”
He obeyed instantly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Good, He’d always been quick to learn when fear didn’t cloud him.
“What happens now?” he asked quietly.
“Now,” I sa
