Chapter 83: His Saint of Sorrows

Inside Saint Sophia’s Sanitarium, there wasn’t a single shadow in the polished hallways. The air smelled of an ointment so strong it burned your nose.

Through the windows, you could see the gardens, perfect and symmetrical, without a single leaf out of place.

Lara was clinging to Lucian’s arm as if she were about to drown.

Her eyes darted from one side to the other, wide with terror, and every few steps, she would flinch.

Lucian, for his part, looked at everything with an aristocratic distrust.

His hand rested on the hilt of a dagger hidden under his tunic.

Patients dressed in simple white robes walked through the halls or sat on stone benches, smiling with an empty serenity.

Raziel activated his skill in silence.

[SKILL ACTIVATED: WHISPERER OF SECRETS]

The smiles didn’t change, but the air around them filled with muffled whispers.

…it hurts… get me out of here… I don’t want to forget…

…the Mother said pain is an illusion… but it burns…

…my name… what was my name…?

Raziel clenched his jaw, every patient was a prison.

Sister Elena led them to a circular reception hall, dominated by a statue of an unknown saint with a veiled face.

There, a woman was waiting for them.

She was the Mother Superior.

She was the most beautiful and motherly woman Raziel had seen in his multiple lives.

She had silver hair tied in a flawless bun, kind wrinkles around her deep blue eyes, and a smile that promised warmth and safety.

She radiated a peace that made you want to kneel and confess all your sins to her.

“Sister Elena, thank you for bringing our new guests,” the woman said with a soft voice. “You may leave, I’ll take it from here.”

Elena bowed and left without looking back.

The Mother Superior approached, her steps made no sound on the marble.

“Welcome to Saint Sophia, children. I am Sister Celestine, here you will find rest for your bodies and peace for your souls.”

Raziel’s System flickered, trying to analyze her.

[ANALYZING TARGET…]

[NAME: SISTER CELESTINE]

[LEVEL: ???]

[AFFILIATION: ???]

[STATUS: ???]

[WARNING: UNCATEGORIZED ANOMALY DETECTED. UNABLE TO READ DATA.]

It was the first time the System couldn’t read someone.

’What the fuck is this woman?’

On the outside, he bowed his head humbly.

“It’s an honor, Mother Superior.”

“The honor is ours, Novice Raziel. We’ve heard a lot about you, and about you as well,” she said, looking at Lucian and Lara. “Come, have a seat, you must be exhausted from the journey.”

She led them to a small adjoining room where a table was set with steaming tea and delicate pastries.

Lara didn’t dare to move, so Lucian gently sat her down on a cushion.

Raziel sat across from the Mother Superior.

Celestine poured the tea into fine porcelain cups.

“Afraid, novice?” she asked.

Raziel took the cup, the warmth felt good in his cold hands.

“Should I be, Mother Superior?”

Celestine’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“In this place, we cure fears, you shouldn’t worry.”

Raziel brought the cup to his lips, pretending he was going to drink.

The aroma was sweet, but underneath the honey, there was another smell, one he knew very well from the funeral pyres.

Ash.

He didn’t drink, he just placed the cup back on the table carefully.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Of course,” Celestine said, her eyes still on him. “You have been assigned individual rooms in the West Wing so you can meditate and prepare for your treatments. Sister Agnes will guide you, so rest now, for tomorrow your purification will begin.”

A young, silent nun appeared at the door and gestured for them to follow.

Lucian helped Lara get up.

Before leaving, he shot Raziel a look that clearly said: ’This is a trap.’

Raziel nodded subtly.

’I know.’

Raziel’s assigned room was as spotless as the rest of the sanitarium.

A simple bed with white sheets, a wooden desk, a window overlooking the perfect gardens.

There was no dust, no mess, no life.

It was a luxury cell.

Raziel locked the door.

THUMP.

He leaned against the wood, finally alone.

The parasite in his chest pulsed constantly, he had less than two months to live and couldn’t afford to wait.

The Oracle.

According to the memory fragments he had absorbed, the ritual to cure his corruption needed the blood of a living Oracle, and according to those same echoes, one was hidden here, in Saint Sophia.

He needed to find it.

But he couldn’t just go breaking down doors.

Every move had to be calculated.

For now, he had to play his role as a pious and scared novice seeking a cure.

He unpacked his modest luggage, placing his folded robes in the small closet.

He washed his face in the porcelain sink.

He looked at his reflection in the small mirror.

A fifteen-year-old boy with the soul of a thousand-year-old.

Night fell quickly over the sanitarium.

Raziel lay on the bed, fully clothed, listening.

The exhaustion from the battle and the journey weighed on him, but fear was a strong stimulant.

Hours passed and the only sound was his own breathing.

Until he heard it. A song.

It wasn’t a prayer or a hymn of the Church.

It was a simple, melancholic, and strangely familiar melody.

A wordless hum coming up from the depths of the building.

Raziel sat up straight in bed, he knew that song.

A fragmented memory hit him.

He was bleeding out in the ruins of a chapel, his side torn open by a demon’s claw. The world was fading to gray and then, a figure knelt beside him. A young novice, her eyes filled with an infinite sadness. She couldn’t heal him, it was too late, but she stayed with him. She took his hand and started humming that same melody. A lullaby for a dying soul.

“Don’t be afraid,” she had whispered to him. “The end is just another beginning, we’ll see each other again.”

That was the only time in all his deaths that someone had shown him compassion in his final moment.

It was her.

The Oracle.

She was down here, somewhere beneath his feet.

And she wasn’t singing to comfort.

She was asking for help.

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