Prologue

“I know how men in exile feed on dreams…and know such food is vain.”
—Aeschylus, Agamemnon

Ayda stepped onto the balcony to behold the rising sun.

When outside of her private chambers, she bore the weight of her titles. Gran Ayda di Inhoa, Mother of Mercy, the Bride of Heaven. Holder of the Office of the Altacura. Head of the Holy Catedrál of the Ilberian Union.

But here, alone on her sheltered balcony, she was only Ayda. A woman who had grown up a mason’s daughter until a passing priestess beheld her potential. A woman who appeared young for her nearly nine decades of life, but ached with the fading chill of winter in her bones. A mortal woman who sinned in the pursuit of immortality.

How far away immortality seemed that morning.

She allowed her eyes to rove over the town below. Bayo Sol appeared as radiant as ever, its limestone pavers swept and marble fountains sparkling. Ships moved in and out of the docks, ushering in offerings of gold and silver from temples across the Union and bearing away trinkets and statues to raise more funds in Omn’s name. They brought pilgrims, too, come for the first altar erected to their deity, where it lay high upon Monte Ardiente, the peak soaring above the Hallowed Isle. Paupers came as well, seeking the charity of the Catedrál. She had maintained a benevolent reputation since first accepting her office, and she always would. The generous hand was more readily forgiven after it delivered just judgment.

This town, this campus, this island—they were the beating heart of the Catedrál. Refugio, where San Inhoa long ago ascended the mountain and tamed the volcanic Ardiente. Tamed it, and built her altar to a god none had yet known.

It was a seat of power to befit a queen, yet in that moment, she took little pride in her Golden Harbor. Ayda placed her hands on the smooth marble balcony and closed her eyes. Tilting back her head, she let the light rising over the ocean wash over her face. The sun's warmth seemed a benediction as it played across Ayda’s bared skin. 

Omn blesses this day.

She willed it to be true. The Unknowable One had Its moments of caprice, but she had glimpsed Its plan. Ever since, she had dedicated herself to that mission. Every spring of her life since donning an acolyte’s robes, she had given to the Holy Catedrál. The rest, she would gladly yield.

She had spilled blood in Omn’s name. Enough to dye the seas red from the Hallowed Isle to the Tricolonies.

And beyond, Saints willing.

Her morning scripture lay open beside her hands, barely a passage read. Less and less, she found comfort in those ancient pages. The wisdom of her forebears lay upon it, yet did she not usher in a new aeon? Did she not Ascend the stairs of the heavens to join their revered ranks?

No, it was not to the Saints she should look for guidance, but another. A more visceral authority.

Her attendants had suffered the edge of her agitation that morning. She had sent them from her chambers claiming a need for solitude and meditations, yet had not seated herself upon the cushions before Omn’s altar, nor taken up the prayer beads of her matron Saint, San Inhoa. Pacing upon the balcony provided more comfort, and the sight of her paladins lining the white walls of the campus below the Basilica Sóveran was a firmer cornerstone for strength. She kept her habitual veil pulled up, even that thin barrier seeming to restrict her need for air.

Her Shrouded Eye prickled with his arrival.

“Ayda.” A voice as timeworn as Monte Ardiente itself spoke behind her. “Do not say you were waiting for us?”

Us. Her mind caught on that unexpected wording. World King Baltesar might claim the royal address, but she had not thought to hear it from these ancient lips.

But she had not become the highest priestess in the Holy Catedrál by letting every errant thought show. Wishing she had thought to lower her veil, Ayda kept her expression placid as she bowed deeply to her visitor. “Undying One.”

A glimpse of him made her grateful for the moment to regain her composure. The Saints’ Servant had always been capable of shifting his form, but the changes she witnessed now were greater than any before. His skin, once cracked and blackened as if by vengeful flames, had smoothed and gained the sheen of umber wood. His slim physique beneath his luxurious robes and sanguine sash had swelled like a soldier recruit after months of training. Most startling was his essence. To her Shrouded Eye, he shone as bright as Omn Itself, a thousand souls contributing to its radiance. It was a struggle to keep her inner vision open to it.

“Undying…yes. More so than ever before.” The immortal twisted his lips, which were suppler than when she had last seen him.

Mockery. She quelled the ripple in her soul. Decades of his visits had taught her to bridle her pride. Even the Altacura could be humbled before one such as him.

He does Omn’s will, she told herself, her habitual mantra. He ushers in the Epoch of Belief. No sea of sin is too dark or deep for the world’s deliverance.

The Saints’ Servant came close to her to peer beyond her balcony. For how cavalier he was with his presence, it was a wonder so few had seen him. Those foolish enough to mention it once had never spoken again.

Again, doubts assailed her as she remembered ordering those deaths.

He does Omn’s will.

Silence pooled within her chambers. Ayda moistened her lips before breaking it. 

“Undying One, how may I serve you this day?”

He turned his gaze upon her. Those eyes of his had also changed. Before, they had appeared like twin abysses, and staring into them felt like glimpsing into Legion’s black hells. Now the gray eyes apparent in his sockets were as hard and unyielding as his skin, if veiled like an elder going blind. With piercing intent, they chiseled into her, body and soul. 

“Unless we have erred in our judgment, we shall soon have…let us call them visitors. Perhaps they will come this season. Perhaps the next.”

“Visitors?”

“Oh, yes, Ayda. Of a most cordial variety.” He smiled, each sharp tooth as gray as a tempestuous sea. “They will be few in number, but you are not to underestimate them. Take every precaution in your welcome.”

“It shall be done, Undying One.”

Trepidation shivered through her. Did this mean more of his kind were coming? How many more hid in the depths of Unera, only now revealing themselves after untold centuries?

They feel the changes we bring. The last thrashes of Legion before the devil’s fall.

Whatever their form, she would meet their enemies and overcome them. She, Gran Ayda, who would become a Sacred Saint before her time on this mortal sphere was through. When she unified with Omn in eternal bliss—decades in the future, Saints willing—she would be welcomed with all the adoration suited to a Bride of Heaven. All her sins would be burned away by the Blinding One’s light.

The Saints’ Servant slapped his hands together. The ensuing crack overcame even Ayda’s self-possession. He cast her his too-wide smile as she startled.

“Now then,” he spoke as the echo faded, “we are ready for our refreshment.”

Refreshment. A soft word for such a sinful thing. But who was she to defy a messenger of the divine?

She bowed her head and looked to the adjoining chamber. “Instrument, join us.”

A hand swept aside the curtain that separated it, revealing a gray-robed, shaven-headed man. His expression didn’t shift as his eyes fell on the visitor, nor did he hesitate to approach and stop before them.

Little disturbed the placid minds of odiosas. Yet another aspect for which Ayda found them as odious as their name.

The Saints’ Servant stalked around the man as a cat might fuss over its meal. Lifting a long, taloned finger, he traced the odiosa’s jaw and neck until he completed his revolution. A thin red line followed his touch as the sharp nail parted skin.

The Instrument did not flinch, only stood there, eyes staring forward. Attentive and absent at once.

The immortal’s smile evaporated. The life in his eyes brightened as he stood before the odiosa once more, hand falling away.

“So empty,” he murmured. “So pliant. Though useful in his own way. But there is satisfaction to a challenge, do you not think, Ayda?”

She ignored his question. Experience had taught her to ignore his macabre imagination. “If he does not please you, Undying One, another may be found.”

“Oh, we can find plenty of prey on our own.” A smile flashed across his face again, feral as any beast’s, before he faced the enrobed man once more. “For the moment, he shall do.”

Then the immortal lunged at his prey.

Only his spirit moved—the Saints’ Servant did not assault by the flesh—but the violence was not lessened for it. Ayda watched as the divine messenger ravaged the odiosa. The man crumpled as his body went dark and lifeless. A corpse not yet grown cold.

Ayda kept her expression placid and her body still. Could he hear her racing heart? Her repressed breaths? No matter how many times she witnessed this sacrifice, she never grew accustomed to it.

The immortal tilted back his head and closed his eyes. His arms spread out, much as Ayda had done when welcoming the sun’s touch. For a moment, he was perfectly still as only his kind could achieve.

Then he sighed out a breath. Remnants of the odiosa’s spirit wafted on his exhalation.

Opening his eyes, the Saints’ Servant let his arms fall back to his side and faced her. His body, writhing with yet one more spirit, seemed engorged with it.

“Once these visitors are dispatched,” the Servant said, “we have another task for you.”

“I do your will, Undying One.”

Those gray lips smiled. “Burn the colonies down. All of them. Only from ashes can faith grow anew.”

Ayda could not hide her surprise. “Burn them? Is there no other way?”

“Not until the harvest is finished.” The Servant gestured to her, a casual flick of his hand. Even that felt a threat knowing the strength and speed latent in the limb. “You are our storm; we are the scythe. Only together can we cull humanity into a manageable congregation.”

She bowed again, hoping to hide the fear trembling through her being. “If it is within my power, it shall be so, Undying One.”

Though the Saints damn me for it.

“Do not fail us, Ayda.” His tone was light, almost pleasant, but his eyes darkened the words with portent. “We shall return upon their arrival. All shall be as we command.”

Before she could respond, the immortal ripped the world asunder and vanished.

Ayda, still on the verge of speaking, swallowed her subservient words and stared at the empty space. With a shake of her head, she returned to the balcony and let her hands rest on the stone. Still cold from the wintry night, but Omn’s return slowly warmed it.

She basked in the light, hoping to banish the chill quivering through her. To sear away the sins clawing ever deeper into her soul.