The corridor stretched ahead of us, swallowed by darkness so complete even the candlelight couldn't penetrate it. Water lapped gently against stone walls, the sound echoing in ways that made the passage seem both impossibly deep and claustrophobically narrow.

  Mary bent down, her white robes pooling in the water as she retrieved her candle from where it floated among the fading constellations. The flame reflected in her golden eyes as she straightened.

  "Come," Mary said quietly, already walking deeper. "We should talk."

  The water grew shallower as we moved, dropping from waist-deep to knee-deep as the corridor gradually ascended. Our footsteps created ripples that reflected candlelight across the walls that flickered in a memorizing dance.

  Mary broke the silence.

  "Was any of it true?" Her voice was gentle and accepting. But I heard the weight beneath it. "What you said during the ceremony. About serving something greater. About faith."

  I only smiled in return.

  Mary glanced at me, golden eyes studying my expression. She sighed - a sound of resignation rather than disappointment.

  "I thought as much." She looked ahead again, candlelight casting her profile in amber. "I'll pray for you, Damian. Someone should."

  "I appreciate it." I said, genuine in my response. "But I think your prayers are wasted on someone like me."

  Mary shook her head lightly, blonde hair catching the light. "You underestimate yourself far too much. That's always been your problem." Her eyes twitched a bit, an annoyed smile on her face. "Maybe even a bit arrogant, too."

  A laugh escaped me. Ignoring the last comment, I changed the subject. "Are you at least satisfied it went smoothly? No dramatic incidents, and now I'm officially apart of the Church. I'd say that's worth celebrating."

  Her expression softened into something almost relieved. "Yes. Thank the Almighty for these small mercies." She paused, then added with deliberate formality, "Now that you're officially my ecclesiarchal assistant, you can enter the Imperial Academy without drawing undue attention. And more importantly-"

  "I can officially bolster your faction," I finished.

  Mary smiled in a knowing way, before nodding.

  "Precisely. Your no longer a commoner, which makes it more acceptable to them."

  Mary didn't hide the disdain in her voice when mentioning them.

  There was a reason me and Mary got along, and a reason I was willing to follow her.

  We both wanted the same future, in a sense.

  Though, I think we have different ideas on how to get there.

  But one thing was clear, we wanted the same outcome.

  The corridor widened. The water receded further until we walked on damp stone, our boots leaving wet footprints that gleamed in the candlelight.

  "How is it looking?" I asked. "The succession, I mean."

  Mary was quiet for a moment, considering her words with the careful precision of someone who knew walls had ears - even here, perhaps especially here.

  "Thanks to Uncle's backing, I've had a considerable head start. As the Lord Regent, the power he holds is not be looked down upon." she said finally. "In addition, my own influence within the Church is... substantial. And though the Church officially remains neutral in matters of succession, public opinion among the common people certainly favors me compared to my two older brothers."

  She paused, her expression darkening like rain clouds passing over golden sunlight.

  "My father, however, still deems me unfit." The word 'father' carried a bitter tone, a tone I had heard many time before. "For now, at least."

  I nodded, choosing my words carefully. "It's unfortunate. But predictable. Your gender-"

  "My gender makes me naive in his eyes. Weak. Unsuitable for rule." Mary's jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath her carefully maintained noble composure. "Never mind that I've studied statecraft since I could read. Never mind that I understand the common people better than any of my siblings. To him, I'm simply the wrong type of heir."

  We continued walking, listening to the slow methodical dripping sound of water behind us.

  "And your eldest brother? I've heard hes the favored heir of the Emperor."

  "Ah. Yes. My dear eldest brother." The sarcasm was thick enough to cut. "Second of seventeen siblings. He's more cunning than I am, I'll admit that freely. But he's also far more cold-blooded. Where I see people, he sees numbers. Resources to be spent or saved. He's far from popular with the lower class, despite his best efforts."

  She looked at me, golden eyes sharp. "He commands the respect of the high nobility now. And recently, Father appointed him admiral of the Seventh Armada. Much to the dismay of my other elder brother, the third princes objection - since hes so embedded with the military. Do you understand what that means?"

  I gave her a knowing look.

  "That your father is grooming him publicly."

  Mary seemed even more frustrated with my answer.

  "Precisely. Every command, every victory, every public appearance - it's all designed to make his claim to the throne unassailable."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The corridor opened into a small antechamber. Stone walls rose around us, unadorned except for a single door at the far end. Above it, carved in letters that seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it, was a name:

  SAINT FREDRICK

  Mary stopped before the door. She bowed her head, hands clasped in prayer around a golden chain holding a similar mask to mine. I did the same, bending at the waist and holding the position for three heartbeats.

  When we straightened, Mary's expression had shifted - less political calculation, more genuine reverence.

  "Uncle mentioned in his last letter that he's excited to see how you develop," she said, voice softening. "He said he finds you fascinating. A commoner with divine blood - such cases are extraordinarily rare. He considers you a unique opportunity for study."

  I smiled, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "That's probably the only reason he let me tag along with you in the first place."

  "Don't be so cynical, Damian." Mary reprimanded me as she pushed the door open, hinges groaning softly. "He also let you accompany me because of our similar circumstances. Also uncle genuinely likes you, Damian. He sees something of himself in you. The two of you are so similar, it's almost like you're father and son."

  My expression went flat as I felt despair well in my eyes. "Don't say that."

  There's no way I'm getting compared to her batshit uncle. That mans the definition of a two-faced maniac.

  Mary laughed - a genuine sound that echoed in the small space. "Alright, alright. I won't. But that reaction was also so similar to his~." Her smile lingered as she stepped through the doorway.

  The chamber beyond was small, intimate. At its center stood a raised platform, and atop that platform rested a coffin.

  Not ornate. Not gilded or decorated with precious metals. Just simple stone, grey and weathered, carved with symbols I didn't recognize. The coffin was closed, its surface smooth except for the marks of age.

  Around the platform's base offerings lay on the cold stone ground - paintings in delicate frames, bottles of wine sealed with wax, scrolls tied with ribbon, small sculptures, books bound in leather.

  Mary approached reverently, her bare feet soft on stone. "It's said that Saint Fredrick appreciated the finer things in life," she said quietly, head bowed. "Wine. Art. Beauty for its own sake. The Church encourages offerings that reflect those tastes."

  She reached into her pocket and produced a small scroll, no larger than her palm. With careful hands, she placed it on the ground in front of the coffin.

  I stepped closer, curiosity overcoming what little reverence I had.

  The scroll showed a painting - delicate brushwork depicting a crow trapped within an ornate cage. The crows eye was dyed in red surrounding a black pupil, and was rendered in exquisite detail, watching the viewer with what might have been longing or resignation. In all honesty, I couldn't tell.

  But I could feel the emotion.

  "Did you paint this?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

  Mary nodded, smiling lightly. "One of the many skills required of nobility. Painting, calligraphy, music, dance - we're expected to excel at all of it."

  I studied the crow, the way its feathers seemed to snuff out the light that didn't exist. I knew what Mary meant by it, but I only wondered why she would offer it to Saint Fredrick.

  "I suppose there are some downsides to being noble after all."

  "Indeed." Mary's voice was soft. "Though such inconveniences pale in comparison to what the common people endure. What they suffer."

  She turned toward the coffin, clasping her hands in prayer. Her eyes closed. Lips moved silently, forming words meant only for the dead - or the divine, or whatever listened in places like this.

  After a moment, she opened her eyes.

  "What did you pray for?" I asked.

  Mary was quiet for a heartbeat. "A world of hope."

  I raised my eyebrow, curiosity flashing in my eyes.

  "Hope?"

  Mary nodded. Her eyes were as bright as a golden flame, and only determination could be found within her deep irises.

  "Yes, Damian. Hope. Hope that creates a world where discrimination based on class no longer exists. Hope for a world where a person's worth isn't determined by the circumstances of their birth." Her golden eyes met mine, fierce and unwavering. "Hope for a world where everyone is free to dream of a better life. To reach for it without being crushed beneath the weight of systems designed to keep them down."

  I nodded approvingly, clapping my hands lightly.

  Correct answer, Mary.

  "See. That's why I follow you," I said enthusiastically. "You're probably the only royal who isn't an elitist. Who can adapt to the changing times."

  And probably the only person that can prevent the Empires destruction.

  Mary's expression softened. A faint smile touched her lips. "I suppose you're right." She looked back at the coffin one last time. "Though sometimes I wonder if faith and effort alone is enough."

  We left the chamber in comfortable silence. The door groaned shut behind us, sealing Saint Fredrick's rest once more.

  ---

  "Damian," Mary said as we navigated the corridor. "What were you doing last night? To be so exhausted that you woke with blood on your lips?"

  "I woke up that way," I said, voice uncaring "I didn't even know there was blood on my lips in all honesty."

  Mary's golden eyes flashed - literally flashed, light spiraling through the irises like a mechanism clicking into place. She studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

  I glanced at them with some indignation.

  Shes using her crazy eyes again.

  Mary sighed, dropping the topic.

  "I'll believe you. For now." Her voice carried warning. "But Damian, coughing blood is not a good sign. The madness of the veil can manifest sporadically. If your divine blood is rejecting your mortal body-"

  "I'm fine, seriously. Don't stress yourself out over it." I cut in. Trying to cut the subject.

  Mary's expression said she didn't believe me, but she let it drop.

  We emerged into the main chamber.

  The transformation was jarring. Where before hundreds of candles had floated in constellation patterns, now there was nothing. Every flame extinguished. Every wick burned down. The silver platters sat empty, wax pooled in their centers like small lakes of solidified light.

  The water was dark, still as black glass. Without the candles, the chamber felt less like a holy place and more like a tomb.

  But there - in the far corner, separated from where the others had floated - a single candle remained.

  My candle.

  It drifted alone, its flame weak but persistent. The wax had burned down almost completely, leaving barely a stub. The light it cast was so faint it seemed in danger of being swallowed by the darkness at any moment.

  Mary stopped walking. She followed my gaze to the lone flame.

  "Why are you so averse to it?" she asked quietly. "Being cleansed. Believing in something greater than yourself. The Almighty's touch runs through your veins. And yet you resist the very institution that could help you understand what you are."

  I stared at the lone candle. Watched as its flame flickered, dancing on the edge of existence.

  The wax was almost gone. Soon there would be nothing left to burn. And when the fuel ran out, the light would die.

  It was just a matter of time.

  "In all honesty," I said slowly, eyes never leaving the candle. "it might be a bit too late for me. Sorry to sound pessimistic."

  Mary was quiet. I felt her eyes on me - searching, trying to parse meaning from words I purposefully kept vague.

  The candle flickered one last time in a spectacular fashion.

  Then went dark.

  We stood in silence as the last light faded, leaving only the memory of warmth where flame had been. The platter that had held it dipped slightly, as if acknowledging the weight of what was lost, Marys candle being the only one still left lit.

  "I don't think so," Mary said softly, her voice almost swallowed by the vast emptiness around us. "There's always time. Time to think. Time to accept. Time to change. That's one of the freedoms we humans have been allowed."

  She raised her candle higher. Its light pushed back against the shadows - small, inadequate, but stubbornly persistent.

  "Come," she said. "Let's go."

  I followed her toward the stairs, leaving the drowned chamber and its extinguished lights behind.

  But as we climbed, I couldn't shake the image of that lone candle.

  Burning alone.

  Running out of time.

  Waiting for the inevitable dark.