The moment the bronze gates of the Nameless Shrine in the Lower City groaned open, for Vivian, it was like lifting the lid of Purgatory.

  The scorched stench of sulfur mixed with rotting souls lashed against her chest like a whip.

  The pain was suffocating.

  The Resonance of the Holy Fire.

  When Sanctity steps into Filth, rejection is a biological instinct.

  But this was her crucible.

  She held her breath and stepped into the graveyard.

  Before her eyes lay a writhing abyss of iniquity.

  There was no divinity in these silhouettes, only pieced-together sins. Their eyes were red, their sockets flickering with the yellow sulfur-fire of the lake of the damned.

  Greed. Lust. Terror. Cowardice.

  Tragically, they did not even know that their humanity had been carved away, leaving only scraps.

  "I am deeply grateful to you... Looking at you... You are so 'vibrant'."

  She blessed them against her heart. This was the mercy of the Supreme One.

  "Remember: Flesh is Sacred."

  She delivered the Oracle of the Supreme One, though she knew it was also His warning.

  The crowd surged forward. Dragging their limbs of steel and plastic—the Bones of False Gods—they prostrated themselves at her feet, desperate to touch her hand, begging for absolution.

  The sight broke her heart.

  These lost fawns. They swallow poison as if it were honey. They cast aside their sacred flesh to wear the torture devices of False Gods, yet still they pray for Grace.

  Do they not know how blasphemous this is?

  No. Forgive them. It is not betrayal. They are simply in too much pain. Pain so great they can no longer distinguish between Depravity and Salvation.

  It is alright. I, Vivian, Fire Keeper of the Dark Moon, forgive you on His behalf. The Holy Fire will eventually burn away the sins the False Gods brought upon you.

  She closed her eyes, enduring the agony, admonishing herself.

  Vivian, firm your faith!

  A heatwave surged through her limbs and bones. The response of the Holy Fire.

  She continued her sermon.

  Even if it was futile. Even if the Demon Bones had fused with their flesh, she had to tell them: The Supreme One waits eternally for their awakening.

  This was her mission. Her reason for existence—to construct a reason for mortals to survive.

  Just then, a pure, azure light caught her attention.

  She tilted her head slightly, her spine instantly tightening.

  She saw a man. Thin, not yet thirty.

  He bore no trace of the False Gods. He retained his primordial, original flesh.

  An Unstained One? Just like Mother Mora?

  Her heart pounded violently, forcing her to look away for a moment.

  This is a penal colony for the lost, a gathering place of suffering. A man with pure flesh should be bathed in sunlight and supreme grace, not rotting here.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  She looked at him again, searching for a port, a suture line, a hidden bone of the False Gods beneath the skin.

  But there was none. He was truly whole. Pure. Like a miracle that should not exist.

  The man sensed her gaze. He stood up, walked toward her, and reached out his hand.

  His eyes were not humble. They burned with a fanatical flame. Too sharp. Like a knife, threatening to slice open her skin.

  Vivian instinctively stepped back, but faith made her lift her chin, radiating silent majesty.

  But the man did not stop. He pressed closer.

  Her heart trembled. No man had ever dared to be this presumptuous.

  No. That’s not it. His soul is screaming. It is burning. It is shattering. He is craving the solace of the Holy Fire.

  "Look at me... Kindred..."

  The man's lip movements echoed silently in her mind.

  Kindred? Vivian held her breath.

  Stop! Do not come closer! She shouted internally. I am Fire. You will ignite.

  In the split second before disaster struck, the Guardian materialized like a black wing, gently depositing the man into the corner shadows.

  The man lowered his head, the corners of his mouth dragging down in a grimace.

  Instantly, Vivian saw herself in her prayer room.

  He is experiencing the same Purgatory!

  So that is it. He is enduring the Pain, just like me.

  That word, "Kindred," was the only straw of salvation he could grasp.

  Oh, my poor fawn. You must be in agonizing pain, aren't you?

  She almost wept.

  But mission and duty allowed her only to turn away.

  Before stepping out of the bronze gates, Vivian glanced at the man one last time.

  "Give this to him." She drew a crystal case from her sleeve. "His soul... needs solace."

  The Guardian paused, but took it.

  Vivian moved on to the next grave, continuing to fulfill the duties of a Fire Keeper.

  Flesh is Sacred.

  Sleep for a while, my poor fawn.

  ...

  By twilight, the Via Dolorosa was complete.

  The silver liturgical shuttle retracted its wings of light and slid silently into the Tycho Silver Ring, vanishing into boundless shadow.

  Through the Window of Sighs, Vivian looked at the behemoth hidden deep in the folds of the crater.

  That was the Silent Place promised to her by the Supreme One: The Silver Ring, Third Sanctum.

  Unlike the spired temples of the Mother Planet that reached for the sky, craving sunlight, this was more like a silver beast that had buried itself in the sand, exposing only countless cold, spinal thorns.

  The blast doors sealed. Vivian entered the Spirit Cage, ascending rapidly past the gilded Chapels, Prayer Rooms, and Cultivation Grounds... finally arriving at the peak of her own Spire of Thorns.

  Her Sanctum.

  The doors slid open, and a blast of holy, glacial air hit her face.

  The sun had fallen beyond the ring of mountains. The canopy of stars opened.

  She looked up, gazing at the Gaia Continent hanging in the endless void.

  "No matter how many times you see it, it remains so azure, so holy, does it not?"

  Mother Mora’s voice drifted over, the whir of wheels breaking the silence.

  Vivian withdrew her gaze and knelt by Mora’s legs.

  "Yes, Mother. It is beautiful. Beautiful enough that not a single speck of dust should be allowed to fall upon it. But now, the False Gods have stolen it. Defiled it."

  A brief silence.

  "You look as if you are burning, Vivian."

  "Mother." Vivian’s voice carried the rhythm of a chant. "The Holy Fire is forging my loyalty."

  "Where is your Drop?" Mora turned her wheelchair. "Loyalty also requires solace."

  "I gifted The Drop to a soul who endures the same suffering."

  Mora’s eyes widened. "Who?"

  "An Unstained One. A man who rejects the bones of False Gods and maintains the purity of his flesh amidst the iron thorns."

  She didn't need to recall; she could almost see the man with the smile on his lips.

  "...An Unstained One?"

  Mora’s voice sank.

  "Yes, Teacher. Like you, he is a reed stretching out from Purgatory, refusing the temptation of any False God. He is Receiving Grace. He is Enduring!"

  Vivian clasped her hands tight. "So, I bestowed 'The Drop' upon him. Only the Divine Water can soothe the flames in his soul."

  A dead silence.

  "Vivian." There was no emotion in Mora’s voice. "Your compassion is an ocean. But you have forgotten: The Ocean cannot pour into a River."

  "A river?" Vivian looked up.

  "The Drop is the Dew of Serenity granted by the Supreme One to the Guardians of Fire," Mora said slowly. "Its weight... even for an Unstained One, without the protection of the Holy Dogma, will shatter him."

  "Shatter?" Vivian froze.

  "Yes. He has not inherited the Fire."

  Tears welled in Vivian’s eyes. Oh heavens, what have I done?

  "Crow." Mora ordered immediately.

  A shadow peeled itself from the corner.

  "Find that man. Immediately." Mora’s voice was low and slow. "Bring back 'The Drop.' If it cannot be retrieved... Grant him Peace."

  The shadow vanished.

  Vivian remained kneeling.

  "Mother, will he die?"

  Mora sighed a long sigh. The answer was obvious.

  "I am sorry. I wavered. I shirked my duty and questioned my mission. It is all my fault. Please, you must save him."

  Mora handed Vivian a new box containing The Drop.

  "No, Vivian. This is not your fault. This is his fate, his glory, and the Supreme One’s trial for him. Think no more of it. Be grateful."

  Vivian could only take the box and press it to her chest.

  The Holy Path reconnected. Coolness flooded in. The roar of the Holy Fire faded, replaced by a sweet, relieving warmth.

  But she felt no happiness at all.

  She closed her eyes and saw only the suffering fawn upon the altar.

  She prayed silently in her heart:

  "May you pass the trial. Flesh is Sacred. Silver Eternal."