Chapter Thirty-Six

Remembrance of Ecclesia: Prelude

Shanoa opened her eyes to a literal and metaphysical void.

There was an emptiness in her chest. A hollow ache where her previous torrent of unfettered emotion had inhabited. It was vacant now, the righteous fury she'd unleashed nowhere to be found. She didn't even feel the horrid sorrow at the atrocities she'd committed. No tears pricked at her eyes. No urge to sob alighted in her heart. Her soul, as far as she could tell, had fled. Cast aside in the wake of an enlightenment even the most stalwart warrior would shudder to endure.

It was dark where she was, accounting for the external void. Not the hallway she'd collapsed in, the ceiling was too low, and she was lying on something soft as opposed to the tile floor. She sat up slowly, her eyes blinking, as she surveyed her new surroundings. It took her a moment to recognize where she was. One of the private rooms in the medical ward, though Shanoa was at a loss as to how she'd ended up here. The sterile, lifeless space was illuminated by an oil lamp on the bedside table. There was an eerie calm to the scene. Too similar to her internal state, though the conflict at hand was brought back into sharp focus as she caught sight of Albus, sitting in a chair against the nearby wall, waiting.

"Shanoa," he said, voice laden with relief.

The sound of his voice should have made her feel something, but it didn't. Not even a flicker of emotion stirred in her vacant chest.

"I don't… what happened?" she asked after a moment's hesitation.

"You fainted. I think the strain was too much for you to handle. We called for the medical staff and they brought you here. Said it wasn't serious, we just needed to wait until you recovered some of your strength."

"What about Aurelia?"

He frowned at the mention of her name. They sat in tense silence for a minute. A thousand replies crossed behind Albus' eyes, but he had enough decency to voice none of them. At last, he stood, hand extended towards his sister when she tried to throw the bedsheets back.

"No, you should rest. The Elders asked me to let them know when you woke up. I'll just be a moment." With that, he exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Shanoa stared blankly at the wall across from her. For all the emptiness inside of her, Shanoa knew – deep down – it was a superficial blanketing over a sorrow that would later come. A dam to soften the blow, but she couldn't feel anything, even when she parsed through the revelations of their shared atrocities. This was an affront she couldn't reconcile. A pain yet unknown to the young warrior. For all the training she'd endured, all the poisons they made her drink, Shanoa's masters never taught her how to process emotional trauma.

So her instincts had resolved not to feel at all.

The young warrior waited while Albus called upon the other victims of this charade. It didn't make sense. None of it. What could have driven Aurelia to tell such blatant lies? To participate in the murder of innocent people? Aurelia wasn't an illogical person. There was always reason behind her actions, a methodology. While she'd hid her true intentions, she couldn't have lied about the entirety of who she was as a person. No one was so skilled.

'Yet I could be this naïve.'

Shanoa looked up as the door opened again. Albus was alone; no sign of the Elders with him. He returned to his seat, avoiding her gaze as he settled in.

"Master Barlowe's on his way," Albus said, his eyes on the door. "He said not to let anyone else inside."

They waited in an awkward silence. The kind where both parties felt compelled to fill it, yet neither managed to muster the courage to speak first. At length, the door opened, absent a preceding knock. Barlowe stood in the threshold; his visage something awful to behold. He looked old, in that moment, ancient beyond his years. The once soft wrinkles of his face creased deep with simmering anger and concern. There was a fierceness in his eyes when he looked at Shanoa. Enough that she would have cowered if it wasn't for the all-pervading emptiness inside of her.

He shut the door. The quiet click of the latch reverberated throughout the room. The old man approached and stood at the foot of Shanoa's bed. She could see the anger war with a kinder emotion. She was not the object of his ire, yet she was still the catalyst.

"Master," Shanoa said as she bowed her head. There was another tense silence as Barlowe looked down at her.

"So, you still believe," he said. The words were followed by a deep sigh. "At least she wasn't able to take that from you. I'd feared the worst. Not that this is far from it." He paused. "How are you feeling? Better, I hope."

"No," she said, eyes still downcast.

"Your honesty hasn't wavered. That's a good sign." There was a smile in his voice when he spoke.

"What happened to Aurelia?" she asked. "Where is she?"

"We took her into custody," he said.

An unspoken command carried in Barlowe's tone. Shanoa looked up, into his eyes. His presence – strong, imposing – was enough to at least put some semblance of order to her turbulent world.

"It's only been a few hours, but she's already confessed to numerous crimes," he continued. "Falsifying intelligence, murder, and treason are the most egregious. Of course, we will have to launch an investigation. Aurelia may have abandoned our principles, but I did not. She'll still be subject to a trial when the time comes."

"What happens now?" Shanoa asked.

"It's difficult to say." Barlowe ran a heavy hand down his face. "We need to assess the damage done to our cause. More importantly, we have to verify whether or not there were other conspirators."

"Others," Shanoa whispered.

"You don't think she acted alone?" Albus asked.

Barlowe's gaze cut to him. "Much as I hate to admit it, I can't rule out that possibility." The old man sighed once more. "Master Torey is her uncle by blood. I also have heard reports Aurelia spent a fair amount of time conversing with Oriana."

"You suspect them," Albus said.

"I have to suspect everyone. There are only three acolytes that I know, without a doubt, are innocent." Barlowe extended his hands towards the siblings. "And what a small lot we make."

"We need a plan." Albus stood up from his chair, arms crossed over his chest as his brow furrowed in thought. "If the situation is as dire as you think, then we need to act. Preferably soon."

"There is something we can do, but it's far from ideal." Barlowe stared at Shanoa with pity reflected in his eyes. "I had hoped to wait a few more years, to further prepare us for this day, but Aurelia has forced my hand. What she made you do was horrible, yes, though there is a way we can make it right. Ecclesia's goal remains the same as it always has: to save humanity from Chaos. To destroy the Vessel and rid the world of Dracula. And you're strong enough, Shanoa." He took a deep breath. "It's time. We will prepare your body for Dominus."

"Master!" Albus cried out. His mouth held open in shock. Eyes as wide as Shanoa had ever seen them. "We can't ask this of her! Not on such short notice! The risk is far too great. If we fail-"

"Would that we had the luxury of time, but no. A saboteur has robbed it from us, and I can't allow agents of Chaos to intervene further and prevent us from destroying the Vessel at all." He frowned at Albus. "Still, you underestimate her abilities. She's ready, Albus. Has been for some time."

"It's not her abilities that concern me." Albus returned the frown with one of his own. "I haven't completed my research into Dominus' possible effects. We can't form a proper contingency plan if we don't know what we might be up against. I promised to keep her safe."

"And we've already failed at that." Barlowe shook his head. "I understand, Albus, I do, but the benefits outweigh the risks. Have faith in her, at least."

"You'd still put your faith in me? After what we did?" Shanoa asked. Her tone was monotonous, devoid of all emotion.

The two men looked at her in tandem. Righteous concern reflected in both of their expressions.

"Shanoa," Albus said in a broken voice.

Barlowe made a gruff sound and leaned over the bed. "Look at me, child." She did, meeting his stalwart gaze. It couldn't penetrate the odd emptiness, but it offered a small comfort, nonetheless. "You were tricked. Aurelia lied to you. She used your innocence – that precious naivety – to further her own ends. It was a despicable betrayal of your trust, and you hold no blame in that. Anyone would have fallen prey to her wiles, Shanoa. Even I, for all my years, was deceived. Would you hold such a thing against me?"

"No, Master," she said. She had to trust in his judgment. Now, more than ever, she needed to surrender control to someone wiser than her.

"Good, but what's more, you are the only one who can make this right." Barlowe tugged on his robes to straighten them. "Salvage the mess Aurelia made."

"We can't ask this of her," Albus said, almost shouting at this point. "To risk her life on account of someone else's failings!"

"We have no alternative!" Barlowe's voice had started to raise in kind. "I can't allow humanity to suffer for this! I've worked too long to see it all ripped away."

"Master Barlowe's right," Shanoa said, her eyes upon Albus.

Her brother shook his head. "Shanoa-"

"If performing the ritual, using Dominus, can make things right, then I can't refuse."

"Shanoa, please," Albus said, though his expression belayed the fact he realized this was a losing battle. "It's too dangerous."

"I know, but it makes no difference," she said.

A tense silence settled over the room as Albus wrestled with the urge to maintain an argument. An endeavor they all knew he would lose. Besides, Barlowe had already decreed the ritual would soon commence. In the end, both siblings understood they had to acquiesce to his wishes. Albus sighed, shook his head in dejection, but the unspoken message was clear. He deferred.

"I have a plan, but we'll have to be cautious," Barlowe said. "The details can't leave this room, lest our potential enemies find out and try to intervene. In order to keep you safe, Shanoa, I'm going to place you in isolation under medical leave. We already have a precedent with this fainting spell, thankfully. This will limit potential conspirators from gaining access to you."

"You're going to keep her here?" Albus asked, bewildered.

"For the next week, but afterwards we can relocate Shanoa to her room. I'll fix the medical rotation to make it so no one actually ends up seeing her. Thank the Lord I still have enough power to make this bit of difference." Shanoa didn't realize she was staring at him until Barlowe offered her a small, reassuring smile. "Of course, you'll be allowed to roam after curfew to keep up with your training regime. I'll order the patrols to give you leave. They still won't dare to question me.

"In the meantime, Albus and I will prepare for the ritual. It'll take a few months, at least, with our resources being so limited. Hopefully not longer. The investigation into Aurelia will buy us only so much time before the other Elders will grow eager to submit their findings to the Vatican for assessment."

"People will notice her absence," Albus said with a frown. "They'll wonder."

Barlowe gave him a stern look, almost a glare, but not quite. "Then I shall quench their curiosity." He gestured towards Shanoa. "Stay with her. Tomorrow our work begins."

Then he left. An exit without much flourish or great affair. The siblings regarded each other in silence for a long time.

"Shanoa-"

"It's fine if you want to gloat," she said in the same monotonous voice as before. "I wouldn't blame you."

Albus grimaced but shook his head. "I wasn't going to. It might be hard to believe, but I didn't want to be right about her."

"I don't understand," she said. Memories flashed inside her mind. Of books and bards and a galaxy spanning the roof of a cavern. "She cared, Albus. It was genuine. I… felt it. She couldn't lie about that. No one could pull off the ruse."

"It was and she did," he said.

"No, I." She paused as another wave of emptiness washed over her, ushering her feelings back beneath the surface. Still, she pressed forward. "I know her. I saw her soul, the essence of it. So why? What would make her lie to me?"

"Sometimes there is no reason, Shanoa. Sometimes people are just evil."

"Aurelia is a creature of conviction. She always has a reason."

"Well." Albus sighed. "It's not like you can ask her now."

Another all-encompassing silence blanketed the room. Testament to the barrier between them Shanoa had just begun to realize might never be bridged. Aurelia would always be a point of contention, and Shanoa had no willpower left to fight him.

"Please, I just… I want to be alone," she said after a time.

Albus looked at her with pity in his eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes."

Albus didn't offer an argument. He stood and headed for the door. He paused when he reached it. Her brother let out another long, defeated sigh. He turned, regarding her with a thin film of tears in his eyes.

"You're not a bad person," he said.

She looked away, unable to meet his empathetic gaze.

"I was made into one," she intoned with all the hollowness in her.

"Anyone would have been."

Then he left her alone.

Shanoa sat there for a time, steeped in the emptiness, without a single tear coming to her eye. It didn't feel real, what had happened. The secrets she'd uncovered. It was as though she was watching outside of herself as she sat there on the hospital bed trying to parse through what was real and what was a lie. She knew she didn't have the means to answer any of these questions, especially in her current state. Aurelia had been a massive part of her world, but now their friendship was ruined beyond repair, if it had ever been a true connection in the first place amidst all the manipulation.

She wanted to mourn it, yearned to, but nothing emerged. No emotional surge to break the protective seal her mind had placed over the turmoil. All she could do was wait for the dam to break, for the sorrow to come and swallow her whole.

But it never did.

IXI

- Birthday: Age 20 -

Shanoa soon realized her life within isolation wasn't a far cry from her life outside of it. Barlowe was able to enact his plan without any interference or objections from the other Elders. She stayed in the medical ward for less than the intended week, visited twice by the same silent doctor, though she suspected it was only to keep up appearances. Once her Master had decided she'd stayed long enough Barlowe had her released from care one night, well into curfew. No one accompanied him, though he left some papers on the reception desk as he escorted Shanoa from the ward to her bedroom.

She wasn't sure if they spoke afterwards. It was difficult to keep track of the days; her mind still caught within the true essence of an emotional void. The few conversations she had with Barlowe slipped in and out of her consciousness. He visited her with some frequency, speaking the same words of assurance and haste each time. She never had much to say in turn, though she took solace in his consistency. He had a plan. He had faith in her. All she had to do was follow his lead until the ritual, and then everything would be made right again.

Her days were spent sleeping and reading. When the boredom became too much she cycled through calisthenic exercises; all that she could manage in the confined space of her room. While Barlowe had allowed it, she didn't roam much at night. There was nowhere of substance to go aside from the courtyard. She carried out her usual training regimen there, tearing apart straw men with the same Glyphs used to commit atrocities. The young warrior couldn't abide such thoughts for long. They only made the emptiness in her chest ache worse, so she went through the motions, mindless as she lost herself in this familiar violent dance.

No one interrupted her during these nighttime excursions. The men and women on patrol gave her a wide berth. On the few occasions she encountered one of them as she traversed to and from her bedroom they would cast her a brief, furtive glance before making an abrupt change of course. Sometimes she wondered what they said about her. The gossip filling Ecclesia's halls; stemmed from the unlucky souls who had witnessed her confrontation with Aurelia. In the end, it didn't matter. If there was a conspiracy (Barlowe remained convinced of that) then there was the realistic chance some of these people – these acolytes – had known. Had allowed her to be led astray. She owed them nothing. They would see their ambitions foiled soon enough.

Albus only visited once. Barlowe kept him busy with preparations for the ritual. The old man often lamented on the need for his absence. Albus had his own role to play, Barlowe would say, but at least – for the time being – her Master could be there for her. It wasn't until her birthday, a few weeks later, when Shanoa saw her brother again.

She was alone in her room, running floor exercises in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. Visions of Aurelia tried to worm their way inside her mind. Memories of the recent past; the albino's excitement at the prospect of sharing this day with her; celebrating it. Shanoa's mind was so preoccupied she almost missed the knock on her door. The young warrior vaulted to her feet before she walked over and opened it. Albus stood on the other side, a sheepish grin on his face, and a nondescript package wrapped in brown paper held in his arms.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi."

She stepped aside so he could enter. Albus walked to the center of the room as she closed the door. He turned, the awkward smile still on his lips, as he tried to expend a jovial air.

"Been a while." He paused. "Glad I was able to make it back for this, though. Wanted to wish you a happy birthday in person."

"Well, you got the day right," she said in an attempt at brevity, though her tone was all wrong.

"Did they bring you anything special? Maybe some cake?"

His eyes scanned the room for a tray. Patrols would bring her meals during the day, though Shanoa was able to quickly deduce they weren't allowed to speak with her. Most of them wouldn't even look her in the eyes when handing off the food. When finished, Shanoa left the tray in the hall outside her door. It was always gone the next time she looked.

"They sent a pastry." Shanoa gestured to the lone plate sitting atop her night table, holding a sizeable slice of nut roll. "I haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Looks good. I, uh, brought you a gift of my own," he said.

She eyed the package in his arms. "You shouldn't have."

"Well, thing is you don't get to decide whether or not you're worthy of receiving presents." He tried his best at an encouraging smile, though he couldn't keep out the worry. "That's entirely up to my own judgment. And I think you deserve this."

She knew she couldn't argue with his convictions and, truth was, she didn't want to. Especially when he was trying so hard to help her heal.

"What is it?" she asked.

"No, you don't get any hints. Going to have to find out the old-fashioned way."

He extended the package towards her and, with some hesitance, she took it from him. She was surprised by how light it was. The contents of the box didn't rattle or make any identifying noise when she gave it a slight shake.

"Oh, come on," he said.

She ignored him but tore off the wrapping anyway. The cardboard box underneath didn't have any writing on it, and she looked at it for about half a second before removing the lid.

Inside the box was a dress. Dark blue, and – Shanoa noted as she pulled it free of the packaging – tailored to her battle-ready specifications. High slit on the skirt to allow for a greater range of movement. Large opening on the back and no sleeves to accommodate her tattoos. The cloth on the underside of the skirt was a bright crimson. A color accent that, she had to admit, was a good artistic choice.

"It's time for a change." Albus said as she held up the garment. "Something new. It might not seem like much, I know. Just a new wardrobe choice, but it'll send a message. You wear a different uniform now. One that hasn't been corrupted."

Shanoa was silent as she stared at the dress. Possible responses formed and died on her lips before she could voice a single syllable. She knew it would take more than a new dress for her to atone for the sins she'd been forced to commit. It might be a first step, but it was just that. Nothing of real value unless followed by actions of far greater magnitude. Albus meant well, though. He was trying, and it was enough to stir the faint flicker of emotion inside her vacant heart.

"Do you want me to wear this at the ritual?" she asked.

A frown ghosted across Albus' face. "Sure, if you must. Why don't you try it on? I think I got the measurements right."

He stepped outside to give her privacy. Shanoa sighed, but acquiesced, removing her workout clothes and putting on the dress. There were sleeves hidden in the bottom of the box, she discovered. Separate garments held in place by a half-glove that looped around one of her fingers and a decorative band which tied below her bicep, right where her tattoos ended. The dress was a bit more complicated than she'd first given credit. It took her a couple of tries to tie the bodice in place without it slipping and falling. At last, she was able to tie a solid bow at the base of her neck, and – after a few cursory tugs to make sure everything was secure – Shanoa stepped in front of her mirror.

The vision was a far cry from what she was used to. Ecclesia's uniforms were designed for mediocrity; to blend into a crowd rather than stand out. Fashion didn't apply to her wardrobe, never had. This dress, however, defied that ideology. It was a garment to be looked at; to be admired. One designed to make the wearer appealing to the eye. A dress that wasn't bland, but beautiful. Shanoa had difficulty comprehending not only the dress itself, but that she was wearing it. And still, somehow, it felt right. Not only because the dress was tailored to fit her skin, but because it was something an acolyte would never wear.

"Shanoa?" Albus' voice filtered in from the hall.

She shook her head to clear it of the strange thoughts. "You can come in now."

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. A large smile lit up Albus' face as he looked at her. She tried not to fidget under his gaze. They were seeing two different things, after all. Visions warped by biased personal interpretations.

"See, what'd I tell you?" he said. "A change to mark a new era of your life. It's fitting."

"Are you sure?"

"You don't sound convinced."

"I can't just 'move on' from what I've done, Albus," Shanoa said with a sigh. "I have to carry it with me. It's only right."

"You're dwelling too much on it. Difficult to avoid, these days, what with you being confined, but you can look towards the future. You're allowed that."

"I spent over three years doing her bidding. Three years of missions operating under the false intel she fed Master Barlowe. The sheer scale of that…" She met his gaze in the mirror. There was concern there, in his eyes, and a simmering fear she'd come to know all too well. "I know I feel horror, deep down, but I can't reach it. I can't reconcile with the emotions it's eliciting from me because all I feel is emptiness. An unshakable void in my heart I can't break free of. How can I begin to move on, to try to make things right, when I'm stuck here, at the beginning?"

"It will come in time." He tried to fix his expression into a show of confidence. "The emptiness might be a blessing in disguise. Then you don't have to take the full brunt of it now. That'll only cripple you. You'll dig a hole it's impossible for you to pull yourself out of."

"But we don't have time. Ecclesia's plans have already become unraveled. I need to have the courage now. The means to face the consequences of my actions. If I can't do that… when the ritual…" Shanoa frowned. The words became stuck in her throat, yet she pressed on, only to find herself speaking something she hadn't meant to voice out loud. "I just wanted a friend, Albus."

"She lied to you," he said, voice strong and sure.

"Yet those words don't help me reconcile with the truth," she said. "Not even when you say it with such conviction."

"You don't need her." Albus clasped her hand in his own. The soft pressure enough to cause a faint feeling of warmth to blossom inside her empty chest. "No matter what happens, you'll still have me. Isn't that enough?"

Shanoa looked into his eyes. Into the face of a boy turned fierce young man who never once stopped believing in her. Even when she'd committed deeds even the most steadfast of companions would shudder to contemplate. No, it hadn't been by conscious choice, but it was proof she was still pliable. A warrior who hadn't yet found the means to stay true to her righteous calling.

But Albus didn't hold any of her personal failings against her. She saw the earnestness of love in his eyes, and she yearned, not for the first time, to be able to look upon herself in the same way. To see in her own soul what he saw in her. Albus wouldn't put his faith in anyone who was evil, she reminded herself. A fact she could take solace in; use to set the turmoil brewing beneath the emotional dam to some manner of rest. She didn't know when the seal would break, when the grief would flow forth unhindered, but she prayed Albus would be there when it did. So she could hold fast in his assuredness she wasn't a monster.

"I want it to be," she said at last.

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Then it will be."

They stood there in silence for an indeterminate amount of time. Shanoa tried to force some of her emotions to the surface, if only in the form of tears, yet couldn't prevail. The emptiness subsisted.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," Shanoa said, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry we fought over her. I should have seen what she was doing, but I was too caught up in the idea of having a friend."

"It wasn't just her," Albus said in a quiet voice, almost soft enough Shanoa couldn't make out the words. "They've been trying to break our bond ever since you became the Blade."

"Albus?"

"I asked Barlowe to make me the bearer," he said, ignoring her question. "To let me wield Dominus instead."

"What?" Shanoa pulled her hand away as she stared openly at him. He met her gaze, but with some difficulty. "That's impossible. You're not the Blade. Only my body can host those Glyphs."

"I might have found a way. At the very least, I have to try. For your sake."

"Why?"

"Dominus was made from the essence of Darkness. It's ancient magic. Powerful beyond measure when tapped into, but dangerous to wield." His lips pulled into a slight frown. "Using it comes with a price. One that must be in equal measure to the power it bestows."

"Then the price is justified," she said.

His frown grew more pronounced. "Not when it's this great."

"Regardless, it's mine to pay, whatever the cost may be."

"That's not-!" He took a step back as he shook his head. "Listen to me, Shanoa, you're worth more than you think you are. More than what Dominus will take from you."

"And what is my worth?" she asked, her voice hollow despite the magnitude of her words. "Three hundred people are dead because of what we did. An undeniable massacre, and that was only one mission. How do you compare their lives – the deaths of all those innocents – to my own? How do you measure their worth against mine? Atonement requires sacrifice from the sinner. Requires me to give up something of equal value. One life against three hundred. Even if Dominus kills me, how can we say the price was too great? Especially if it can atone for their deaths."

"You can atone without killing yourself," Albus said. His tone hard; resolute.

"I want to believe you," she said. "I do, but how?"

"By becoming something better than what you were."

"And I will," Shanoa said with a nod. "So long as we perform the ritual. We need to keep following Master Barlowe's lead."

"He means well, but he's panicking. He can't see the full picture, even when I present it to him. I'm afraid he's rushing headlong into the ritual without being fully prepared."

"He's been planning this since before either of us were born," Shanoa said. "If he says this needs to be done a certain way then I trust him, Albus."

"Barlowe isn't omnipotent. There are still details he's missed." He sighed. His eyes softened as he looked at her. "What if I show you another way you can atone? What would you do?"

"I'd do it, with everything in me," she said without hesitation. "I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth."

He smiled, then. A prophetic thing, as though he'd glimpsed the future.

"Good," Albus said, "then the battle for your heart is already won."

They dropped the matter; sought reconnection that night in their childhood ways. Games of cribbage and empty bets over the nut roll that Shanoa, of course, won final claim to. It wouldn't be until almost a year later when Shanoa would come to realize what happened. This conversation, the agreement, had made a profound impact on Albus.

Enough to shape the course of what would amount to the rest of his life.

IXI

Shanoa began to wear the new dress. If she was going to try to be someone else, something better, then maybe there was some validity to Albus' argument for a wardrobe change. Not that any of the acolytes would be able to mark the change. Still, despite the lack of an audience, Shanoa made the effort. If only for her own sake.

Barlowe's visits became a daily occurrence. They remained short affairs, mere checkups rather than any meetings of real substance. Her Master seemed flustered, eager in a way which spoke of the progress made more so than his words. Shanoa knew the time for the ritual was drawing near, though she – for a reason she couldn't readily identify – was hesitant to ask. It wasn't until the following week when she managed to voice it aloud.

"Was that a gift from Albus?" Barlowe asked, his eyes on the blue dress.

He'd taken his usual spot in a chair placed in the corner of Shanoa's room. She was still standing at attention, affording her Master his required social grace. The young warrior glanced down at herself.

"Yes, for my birthday." She paused. "He suggested… could I wear this for the ritual? Unless you already had something else in mind."

"The only requirement is your tattoos be on display, but I see your brother already took that into consideration. You may wear the dress if you wish."

Shanoa nodded but remained silent. Another question blossomed inside her mind. One with far more potential danger if voiced aloud, yet if she failed to ask, she knew it would haunt her. With a deep breath, Shanoa pressed forward.

"Albus told me something else."

"Oh?"

"He said… he asked for your permission to be the bearer. To wield Dominus in my stead."

"That he did," Barlowe said. The old man's voice was low; his eyes narrowed. He wasn't looking at Shanoa, though, his gaze on some unfocused point in the middle distance.

"Can he do it?" she asked. Her voice wavered, almost afraid of the answer. "Is it even possible?"

"No, but that won't stop him. We both know Albus far too well. Once that boy pledges to a crusade he follows it to the bitter end."

"Yes, sir, I tried to tell him-"

"Let it be," Barlowe said with a wave of his hand. "It'll be no use arguing with him."

Shanoa nodded, but still desired to speak with her brother again. To encourage him to let go of what Barlowe now confirmed was a pointless endeavor. It would be an uphill battle, but if she–

"Besides," Barlowe continued, "the day is fast approaching. If all continues to go as planned, we shall be set to perform the ritual in a little under two weeks' time."

"So soon?" she asked as the breath caught in her throat. Even though most of her emotions had fled the ritual was a momentous enough occasion it still birthed fear and anticipation within her.

"Indeed, though I must confess I have more sorry news to bring. I was forced to deploy Albus on yet another mission this morning. I fear he won't be back in time."

"What?" She stood, back rigid, unprepared. "I-I thought… we need him…"

"Of course we do, especially now, but the matter couldn't wait. It's crucial he complete the task before the ritual, otherwise I'd deigned to have waited. Still, this could be a blessing in disguise." He folded his fingers together. Barlowe looked up at Shanoa, gaze pensive. "He was rather insistent on bearing Dominus. So much that, if he were to be present for the ritual, I fear he'd attempt to intervene. Not to harm, but out of some misguided attempt to save you from an imagined danger.

"I don't blame him, though. I have cautioned him for years over Dominus' power. I am thus partly responsible for his present fear of its influence. Still, it pains me to do this. He would have been a great asset during the ritual, but now it's a burden I must carry alone." Barlowe offered a small smile, though she could tell it was forced. "Worry not, my child, for I shall ensure we achieve success regardless of our numbers."

"Do we have to?" Shanoa asked in a small voice. "We can't wait?"

"I'm afraid not."

"But I." She looked away, hating the fact that she still dared to question him, even now, after everything she'd done. "If something happens, if the ritual… I didn't get the chance to say goodbye."

"Shanoa, please." Barlowe let out a slight huff. "You place your trust in me as your Elder, your Master. Know that Albus worries far too much for your safety. When you're alone with him, when he speaks those brotherly sounding words, he passes his anxieties and fears onto you. They are unfounded, and you shall survive this ritual to see him yet again."

"Yes, sir, of course."

"Know I only act with such haste because I am yet blind to the full scope of our enemies. The investigation into Aurelia proceeds, though it has slowed to a crawl. I fear some unseen agent works against us in the shadows, curse the fiend. Soon enough they shall see their efforts foiled, and my Blade sharpened to its finest point."

The way he looked at her – with a ferocity – invited no further remark. Shanoa deferred without struggle; knowing full well what she was. Not just to him, but beyond, the essence of herself. She was a tool, first and foremost. An agent of something; a vanguard of forceful change guided by hands outside of herself. It wasn't just what she'd been raised to be. It was her destiny. The truth of what it meant to be called a blade.

Depressing as it might be the realization alleviated some of her guilt. A weapon didn't choose. It did as it was told; destroyed life without a will of its own. Aurelia had wielded Ecclesia's Blade, not Shanoa. They shared blood, but not equal blame. Perhaps this was one of the blessings that came with having no free will. She never sinned alone.

Yet she would be the one atoning, not Aurelia.

And Shanoa, so deceived, didn't question it.

IXI

- An End -

Shanoa stood in the entrance hall. The grandiose outermost border of Ecclesia's stronghold. A frescoed replica of the fabled Garden of Eden. The symbolism – lost on her in childhood – now clear. This place was supposed to be the last bastion of goodness. A pillar of light amidst a world embroiled by Chaos. And still, for all of Barlowe's efforts, Ecclesia hosted its own den of snakes. The apple of promised friendship held within a pale, yet bloodstained hand.

She took a shuddering breath. The ritual was mere minutes away. Barlowe had already retreated to the council chamber; to prepare Dominus and their place before the black effigy. It would all come to an end, tonight. The deceit; the sabotage; the shreds of Chaos which had wormed their way into the hearts of Ecclesia's more susceptible acolytes. For all Shanoa had believed in them, even humanity's most faithful were still, in the end, human. Liable to fall prey to the whims of that original Darkness.

But she would make it right.

Shanoa turned and headed into the heart of Ecclesia's stronghold. The fortress was silent around her. There were no acolytes about. Not even the usual patrols stalked the halls. She didn't wonder as to where the rest of her peers had gone. No doubt Barlowe had used his remaining sway to ensure they wouldn't interfere in the ritual. Shanoa was somewhat grateful for the solitude. At least, alone, she wouldn't be forced to tell any lies.

The young warrior reached the fortress' rear tower uninterrupted. It wasn't until she began to climb the long, circular staircase leading up to the council chamber when Shanoa came to a sudden stop. Something lurked in the shadows behind her. A presence with an unquestionable air of humanity. The vision of Aurelia's face flashed in her mind, and she turned, heart pounding within her chest, expecting to see those distinctive purple eyes watching her amidst the darkness. A deep chuckle greeted her instead, and the familiar silhouette of a man.

"Who's there?" she asked in a raspy, shaking voice, though she already knew the answer.

"Figures, serves me right for trying to scare you," Albus said as he stepped out of a nearby alcove, a light, amused smile on his lips. "Suppose that wasn't very nice of me, was it?"

"Albus!"

"Apparently I didn't hide my presence very well at all. Though you are more observant than most." His smile blossomed into a wide grin as he looked up at her. "It's good to see you, Shanoa."

Her arms stiffened at her sides; an effort to hide the slight tremor running through them. Barlowe had wanted to do this before Albus returned, without him knowing, but there was no hiding what she was about to do. Shanoa had changed into the blue dress, accompanied now by hard leather armor accented with metallic inlays. She was the vision of a woman prepped for battle. Ecclesia's Blade as she was always meant to be seen.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, though she knew well enough. They both should have seen this coming. It was impossible to hide anything from Albus, especially where his sister was concerned.

"Well, this is our home, after all. Where else would I be?"

"No, it's… not that." She took a deep, steadying breath. "You're… aren't you out on a mission?"

"Yes, but with the ritual fast approaching I wanted to check in on you. Make sure things were okay here." His eyes still held the hint of mischief, though they hardened with that familiar resolve when he spoke his next words. "Any news worth sharing?"

"Albus… I…" She could do this. She had, at least, that much personal power; lack of free will be damned. "I'm sorry. We didn't want to hide this from you, but… we all still have our roles to play. Barlowe chose me as the bearer. We're about to start the ritual. So my body can be a vessel for Dominus."

There was a harsh, near violent shift in the air. The inaudible snap of a broken promise. The joy drained from Albus' face. This shouldn't come as a surprise to him. This was the way it had to be. The destiny ordained to her for the past eight years, and yet the hurt seeped from him.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "That can't… Dominus… you?"

"That's right," she said. Shanoa remained frozen upon the staircase, wary of what might happen if she so much as moved.

"This is… it can't be. Barlowe lied to me."

"Lied?"

"I'm supposed to be the bearer, not you. He promised me!"

They stood in silence for a few moments as Shanoa tried to make sense of Albus' words. Barlowe had said nothing about a promise, just that Albus wouldn't take no for an answer. Besides, it wasn't in Barlowe's nature to lie. The man valued honesty above all else.

"But, no, the Master said you-"

"What?" Albus interjected. "What did he tell you?"

"He said… that you're unfit… to be the bearer."

"No, he-!" He shook his head. "Barlowe would never say such a thing! Not after he promised."

"But Albus-"

Her voice was drowned out by the sound of a bell clanging overhead. The siblings looked up in tandem. The sound, usually reserved for the commencement of meals, had a different meaning here. One they both knew without needing to be told.

"I'm sorry," Shanoa said as tears gathered in her eyes. The first hint of sorrow to break free of her emotional dam since Aurelia's betrayal. "It's time. I have to go."

She didn't want to leave him like this. Let this be the last memory before her life changed forever. The young Blade looked down at her brother, a goodbye on her lips, yet – at the last moment – something held her back. Somehow, she knew it wasn't time. There was still work to be done. So, instead, she turned and began to ascend the stairs.

"Wait, Shanoa!"

She paused at the call of her name. Shanoa looked back over her shoulder. Albus stared up at her with entreaty in his eyes. A desperation that almost gave her pause.

"You don't understand!" he cried.

"You're wrong," she said in a surprisingly steady voice. "I'm as much a member of Ecclesia as you are. Our sole purpose is to destroy Dracula; so that people can look to the dawn without fearing the darkness. To that end, we each have our own role to play. This is mine. My burden to bear. Am I wrong, Albus?"

She saw the war wage behind his eyes. The fervent wish to deny the truth of her words.

He pressed on. "That isn't what-"

"I am Ecclesia's Blade," she continued, realizing time was of the essence. "We've both known what that means. The future the titled has alluded to. It's finally here. I will become Dominus, the blade to banish all evil."

"Shanoa…"

She left him. Her feet carried her up the steps at a frantic gait. A near run; desperate to put distance between them. He'd try to stop her if she lingered, and she couldn't allow that. Not when her redemption was so close.

Albus didn't follow her. She reached the top of the staircase without incident. Shanoa threw open the double doors of the council chamber without bothering to knock. The room was empty, the Elders' chairs vacant, undisturbed. Across from her another set of doors was ajar. The entrance to the secretive inner sanctum. She walked towards it, around the half-circle council table, as she caught sight of Barlowe standing inside. His body poised before the obsidian façade of the massive stone effigy.

He was waiting for her, his back to the statue, a set of three leather bound books held in his hands. Her master offered a small, encouraging smile as she approached. Shanoa looked around and confirmed they were, indeed, alone. No sign of the other Elders or acolytes. A sinking feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. So, for all his efforts, Barlowe had found no one else above suspicion. Truly, it seemed, the situation was as desperate as they'd feared.

"Greetings, child, are you ready to begin?" he asked.

Shanoa considered telling him about Albus' impromptu return but decided against it. That would only invite prolonged conversation, perhaps even a delay, and they could ill afford either.

"I am," she said.

"Very well."

Barlowe motioned for her to step into the room. She entered as Barlowe crossed behind her, closing the doors to lock them both inside.

"Shanoa, as you know, only your flesh can bear Dominus."

"Yes, sir."

"Even so, its power is so great it will be nearly impossible for you to control. This ritual, however, will make sure your body adjusts to Dominus."

"I understand, Master, but when it's over I-"

"Be at ease, Shanoa." Barlowe placed a calming hand upon her shoulder. "When finished, you will be able to wield our most powerful Glyph. Our ultimate weapon against Dracula. The means by which we shall make this world right."

He gestured towards the effigy. Shanoa's back stiffened, memories of the ritual eight years prior flashed in her mind, her tattoos throbbed with the ghosts of pain. Yet she stepped forward and placed herself before it. An offering upon the altar of humanity's wayward desires. The sinner prepared to atone.

A faint light began to emanate from the effigy. A deep purple aura which pulsed in response to – what she assumed – was the presence of Dominus.

"I'm proud of you," Barlowe said behind her. "You will become our world's new savior."

There was a sound, the slight rush of wind, followed by the rustle of heavy pages. The three books left Barlowe's hands and floated in the air above her. Their spines opened, displaying deceptively blank pages. She knew this spectacle well. Had born witness to it countless times over the years. As the magical energy stored within the books awakened, she watched as sigils began to appear on the pages. Images drawn by an invisible hand. There was a flash of light once the lines of the sigils were complete. The Glyphs erupted from the pages, hovering above the physical books as semi-transparent holographs.

Shanoa raised her arms as she called out to Dominus. Her tattoos glowed with their own brilliant light. Her hair twisted and reached towards the sky. All physical barriers between her branded flesh and the Glyphs dispensed with as she began to pull them towards her. A bridge to cross all boundaries. Finally, at long last, Dominus touched her flesh, and she began to absorb its knowledge.

Then, two things happened in the same instant. A microcosm of time it would be impossible to replicate.

A fragment of Dominus took harbor in her flesh.

The connection was severed with violent force.

Her vision went black. Shanoa heard the commotion, heard Barlowe's desperate, angry question, but she was already screaming. The energy pulsing through her transcended pain; beyond physical sensation; yet it burned. An agony which stemmed from eons of brewing potential.

It was Dominus. A trio of Glyphs born from Chaos. The bane of the Dark Lord himself. It raged within this new physical form. Attempted to reshape her, to mold her to It's will, but found her unpliable. A flesh that It – beyond all reason – couldn't touch, and thus did Dominus rage. Shanoa bore witness to the history stored within these sigils. Felt ages of all ugly emotions overcome her. The sorrow of loves lost, either by the will of God or men, agents of each other, both bound to the same sins that saw innocent women ravaged and burned. Shanoa watched the pledge made, the blood spilled, the bodies shaping a near millennia of conflict. Felt the burn of a whip as it raked so-called Holy light against her flesh. She delved into the depths of Hell, waiting, stewing, building an amalgamation of physical realms brick by accursed brick. Saw all her work, her efforts, shattered thrice by men of unyielding arrogance. And then the ultimate betrayal, flesh to flesh and blood to blood, her own spawn so corrupted by his naïve faith as to rip the dream from her.

Their will screamed within her. The call of countless souls; the crying of mankind for an end; for a Lord to reign over the Chaos of this world. How many voices, how many dreams, how many wishes? No wonder she rose, time and again, for how could she deny this? This ceaseless pleading, fodder upon the flames that burned her hatred for an eternity. The vengeance that would see the world made right. Made whole.

What was mankind? Nothing more than this pleading. Nothing beyond something to be bent to a will greater than themselves. The Chaos burned within her. The entity which lay beyond anything that could be seen by the eyes of mortals. If she would not be bent, be reshaped, had the sheer arrogance to claim this power for her own, then Dominus demanded a thing in return. Not a price, but a trade. A dual consummation of essence. To take a piece of It, the Chaos would take a piece of her. Flesh to flesh and blood to blood.

And Shanoa, bowing before the deluge – the sight of centuries steeped in sin – let Dominus consume.

IXI

It fell to Its knees. An undignified birth, but one It lacked the means to feel shame for. There were creatures standing before It. One old, one young, both sets of eyes upon Its mortal form. A brief recognition fluttered inside Its mind. The ghost of a name, yet something else rose within It. A force, a creature, possessing a will far beyond Its own. The name was devoured, taking something else with it. An inclination It once knew to be emotion, now not even a memory, for even that had been taken.

"You…" It said. "Who… Are…?"

The young creature said nothing. Just continued to stare at It.

Another moment passed, before It collapsed, falling to the floor, and then the blackness took It.