Chapter 4 Jace #3
I gave him a noncommittal nod and spooned up more stew.
Peaceful, sure.
As the meal wound down, I felt the air shift the same way it does before a storm. Conversation dimmed, and somewhere across the room, someone began humming softly. It wasn’t random; it was like a signal.
Gabriel rose and looked at me. “Evening prayers,” he said. “You can sit near the front with me.”
I swallowed the last bite of bread, wiped my hands on a napkin, and stood. “Lead the way.”
The sun was almost gone by the time we left the mess hall, the air cooling fast as night crept over the compound. I followed Gabriel to the chapel, feeling herded there by the mass of people around us.
The door stood open, a soft amber glow spilling out. As we stepped inside, I saw rows of white fabric and bowed heads.
Gabriel led us to the second row, to a spot that seemed reserved for higher members of the cult.
At the front of the chapel, beneath a large wooden carving of a radiant sunburst—their version of a cross, I guessed—stood Malachi. Next to him, slightly behind and to the right, sat Elior in his oversized throne.
He sat perfectly still, hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed ahead.
A hush rippled through the congregation as Malachi raised his hands, palms open toward the crowd.
“Brothers. Sisters,” he said, his voice clear and full of practiced warmth. “The sun has set on another blessed day. We thank the Light for its guidance, for its mercy, and for the purity it grants us.”
The congregation echoed softly, “Blessed be the Light.”
I kept my head bowed just enough to blend in, watching from under my lashes.
“The world outside,” he went on, “seeks to blind us. It lures us with false promises, with sin at every turn. But here, under the Light, we are free from temptation. Free from corruption. Free from the voices that wish to lead us astray.”
Another murmur rose from the crowd, “Blessed be the Light.”
The way their voices fell into perfect unison, no hesitation, no uncertainty, almost like it was muscle memory, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Malachi’s gaze swept over the congregation, and for a heartbeat, I swore it lingered on me. Just long enough to send a pulse of heat down my spine. Then his eyes turned back toward Elior.
“The Vessel sits among us tonight,” Malachi said reverently.
“The Vessel of Light saves us.”
Elior didn’t move, but a faint tremor passed through the room, like the words themselves carried power. Some of the congregation bowed deeper; others whispered prayers under their breath.
Malachi continued, “Look upon him, children. Behold him. He does not cry, for tears are for the impure. He does not laugh, for laughter is for the lost. His silence is the will of Heaven. Doubt him, and you doubt the Light itself. Doubt the Light, and the fire shall take you. Stand fast, obey, and follow, for the Light shall lead us to the Kingdom.”
“Amen.”
Malachi lifted his hands again, looking directly at me. “The Light has brought us a new brother on this joyous day. Do you see him, children?”
“We see him,” the congregation answered, making me swallow down the discomfort rising in my chest.
“We welcome our new brother with the story of the Vessel,” Malachi announced.
“The miracle birth and the omen. Nineteen years ago, I received a message from the Lord. When his holy messenger of Light appeared before me, I was told I would father the Light-Born Son, who would act as a Vessel to hold our sins, who would vanquish our shadows with his heavenly Light. The Mother conceived only days later through the divine seed. As her belly grew, she faded, eaten up by his Light. On the night of his birth, a star shone brighter than any other in the night sky. The Mother may have given her earthly body for us, but Heaven rewarded her tenfold, allowing her to always watch over our flock from above. The Vessel did not cry as he was born, because he shall not speak as the many speak. No. His silence shall strike the earth, and his purity will cleanse us. He will lead the faithful to the New Kingdom when the Day of Burning arrives. He will shepherd us to the promised land, guiding our way with his brightness. For he is our salvation!”
The congregation rose, almost as one, and began to chant—a soft, rhythmic pattern that looped and built, a wordless hum that seemed to vibrate in the air. The candles flickered as if the sound itself disturbed them.
I stood too, mimicking the others, my pulse ticking faster as I tried to decipher Malachi’s words.
Around me, heads swayed. Eyes closed.
Elior remained still in the Seat of Light, gaze distant, lips moving silently. Malachi’s expression turned rapturous, his arms open as if to catch the sound.
It was mesmerizing—in a “holy fuck these people are insane” kind of way.
When the chant finally broke, it was sudden. Everyone bowed. Malachi’s voice filled the space again, soft but commanding.
“Go in Light, and serve in peace.”
The people murmured, “Amen,” and began filing out quietly, heads still bowed.
Gabriel put a hand on my shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, almost dreamily.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a faint smile. “Beautiful.”