NOVEL NEXT Chapter 16: Suspicion
Among these landmarks stood the Cathedral of the Emperor's Ascension, a beacon of faith and history. Even the empire's wealthiest and most corrupt nobles saw value in bringing their children to its hallowed halls. For many, it was not just a visit but an opportunity to instill values and a proper outlook on life. Some imperial schools even made trips to the Cathedral a regular activity, allowing children to hear firsthand the heroic tales and magical legends of a time long past.
The Cathedral's outer sanctum was a towering Gothic marvel. Its black walls bore countless carvings depicting heroic sacrifices made for the Empire. Tourists patiently waited in long queues, guided by attendants who led them through the various exhibits. At every significant stop, priests and servants recounted the stories of legendary battles and the brave souls who fought them.
It had been 9,000 years since the hero Kayvaan fell to a dark curse on the battlefield. In those millennia, the Empire weathered countless storms under the Emperor's watchful gaze. There had been dark periods when the Empire teetered on the edge of collapse, but it had always endured. Today, the Empire was in a time of relative peace, free from large-scale wars, and its citizens enjoyed a stability that was hard-earned and deeply cherished.
The Sanctum of the Honored Dead, once exclusively a resting place for fallen heroes, had evolved. While its inner sanctum still housed the remains of those legendary figures, access was strictly limited. Visitors instead marveled at the rebuilt outer sanctum, a grand and majestic structure designed for public admiration and education.
Then, on an otherwise ordinary day, the cathedral was interrupted by a strange and ancient sound—the ringing of a bell. Its deep, majestic tone reverberated through the hall, cutting through the chatter of the crowds. What made it even more extraordinary was that it wasn't amplified by any technology; the bell's power seemed to come from its sheer resonance.
Tourists froze, startled, their eyes darting around to locate the source of the sound. Even the servants tasked with guiding the visitors were left bewildered. None of them knew why the bell had been rung.
Amid the confusion, the high priest suddenly burst onto the scene. His appearance was disheveled—he wore a simple nightgown, his ornate crown clutched awkwardly under one arm, and his bare feet slapped against the cold stone floor as he sprinted toward the inner hall. His frantic, almost undignified dash drew gasps and puzzled murmurs from the crowd.
Inside the inner sanctum, chaos reigned. Some priests panicked, while others were visibly flushed with excitement. The bishop, normally a figure of calm authority, looked uncharacteristically energized. Everyone knew what the bell signified: the "Awakening Bell" had been rung.
The Awakening Bell only tolled under extraordinary circumstances, marking the return of a a hero long thought lost to history. For those interred in the Sanctum's coffins, emerging again was akin to a miracle. In the Hall's 9,000-year history, the bell had only rung three times, each occasion representing either the resurrection of a legend or their final passing.
The bishop, aware of the magnitude of the moment, knelt in the special auditorium. He prayed fervently, his words praising the Emperor and the miracle unfolding before him. To hear the bell during his tenure was an unimaginable blessing.
Ancient machinery groaned to life, and soon a silver coffin was transported into the auditorium by mechanical arms. The bishop rose from his prayer, his hands trembling slightly as he removed an ancient golden key from around his neck. With reverence, he handed it to a mechanical servant. The automaton bowed deeply, then carefully inserted the key into the coffin's lock, ensuring every movement was precise and gentle.
As the lid of the coffin slid open, the figure of a young man was revealed. He appeared no older than eighteen, his face calm and serene, but when his eyes fluttered open, they held a depth of weariness that spoke of untold years and battles.
The bishop stepped forward, his voice steady despite his emotions. "I am Armandius, bishop of the Cathedral. I have been your servant during your slumber. Welcome back, great one."
The man who emerged from the silver coffin was not the original Kayvaan Shrike, but a traveler through time—Joe. When his mentor vanished, the essence of Joe, the traveler, ceased to exist. Now, only Joe, who had inherited Kayvaan's name and legacy, remained. He vowed to honor that name, carrying its weight forward into this world.
This was only the beginning—the very first step of a new journey. Kayvaan Shrike stepped out of the silver coffin, his movements unsteady. His bare foot landed on the cold, smooth floor with a sharp "pop." A servant approached hastily, offering support, but Kayvaan waved them off, his hand firm and unyielding.
"I am Kayvaan, captain of the Raven Guard," he declared, his voice strong despite his weakened state. "I don't need anyone's help to walk. Get out of the way."
Joe's awakening set an ancient system into motion, one originally designed by the The Sanctum to handle those returning from prolonged slumber. The first protocol was a complete isolation procedure. A massive, inflatable plastic enclosure sealed Joe away from the outside world. Medical equipment and mechanical assistants flooded into the room, setting up a sterile environment.
The examinations began almost immediately. Nine thousand years had passed, and the top priority was ensuring Joe wasn't carrying ancient pathogens. Despite the advanced medical systems of this era, bacteria and diseases still existed—tiny, invisible threats lurking in the air. Fortunately, the empire's disease prevention protocols were thorough. Every ancient sleeper and alien visitor underwent the same rigorous scrutiny.
Joe, however, warranted extra caution. Not only was he a relic of an ancient past, but he had also suffered a dreadful curse. No one could be sure what horrors might still linger in his body, remnants of his old life.
For a week, Joe endured relentless tests—blood extractions, scans, and mental evaluations. Medical staff surrounded him, monitoring his every move. By the end of the week, the scene shifted. Two clergymen arrived, dismissing the medical personnel and removing the inflatable isolation chamber. The high-tech machinery disappeared, transforming the room back into a grand auditorium. Yet, the atmosphere was different.
Joe sat alone at a simple chair before a long table. Two clergymen faced him from across the table, their austere expressions framed by the empire's double-headed eagle emblem and cross displayed behind them. Their questions came rapidly, probing into every corner of his past. Their words carried suspicion, as if they doubted his every answer. Again and again, they questioned his faith and loyalty to the Emperor.
Frustration boiled over. Slamming his hand on the table, Joe snarled, "What is this? I understood the medical tests—ensuring I didn't bring some ancient plague with me. I even tolerated your mental and intelligence exams to check for brain damage after so long. But this? This feels like an interrogation! Are you treating me as an enemy?"