Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

East of the imperial city of Valeria stood the Church of the Holy Flame, a towering building of stone and bronze that had witnessed centuries pass under its watch. Its spires climbed toward the sky like fingers reaching desperately to touch something beyond mortal grasp.

Beaten by time, each block seemed stained with secrets, the cracks between them whispering prayers that had long since turned to dust.

Darkened windows set in frames told stories of gods and saints through a wash of amber and cobalt light, painting bright colors across the carved marble floors.

The heavy iron doors, scarred and dented from ages of hands pushing and pulling, creaked as the faithful entered. They did so in quiet reverence, heads bowed, robes brushing the floor as if in apology.

Inside, one could only perceive the scent of incense, the smoky plumes curling toward the vaulted ceiling far above, where images of the gods gazed down. Bronzed statues of the divine lined the walls, their eyes, though sculpted, seemed to judge and watch every soul that dared to enter.

Aric slipped in unnoticed, settling at the very back, away from the flickering candles and the muttering priests.

He watched the worshipers, each kneeling at the pews, some with hands clasped tightly, eyes shut in intense prayer. Others leaned forward, whispering wishes or perhaps confessions, their words lost in the cathedral's cavernous echo.

Aric sensed desperation in the air—a quiet, trembling kind of hope, or perhaps fear, that shook through every bowed head.

Around him, whispers filled the silence as people came to offer their hopes, their despairs, their sins to gods who hadn't answered in lifetimes. Some prayed for forgiveness, some for fortune, others for loved ones lost or soon to be.

The priests moved through the aisles like shades, draped in their robes, hands folded as they murmured words of encouragement or consolation. For a moment, Aric's gaze drifted to the bronze images of the gods mounted on the walls—each figure striking and powerful, but hollow now, faded remnants of a long-gone glory

His eyes traced the bronze images of gods set in a semi-circle along the altar, each face holding its own expression: wisdom, wrath, compassion, judgment. The light played tricks on the statues, creating shadows that made it seem as if the gods themselves were watching the worshipers below, taking stock of each prayer, every whispered secret.

Aric's eyes lingered longest on the god Kanairo, whose bronze face wore a look of both fury and calm—a god who took lives and protected them, who offered strength but demanded obedience.

Aric imagined the god's disdain for all those who now came begging, their empty hands held up in prayer.

Lost in thought, Aric didn't notice the priest until he was close. Stay tuned to empire

The old man sat beside him without a word, his robes dragging slightly against the cold stone floor. They remained in silence, each watching the other worshipers with different eyes.

Where the priest saw salvation, perhaps, Aric saw weakness.

The priest finally broke the silence, his voice low but gentle.

"Have you sinned, child?"

Aric tilted his head slightly, a bitter expression ghosting across his face.

"Yes," he said simply, as if the word itself carried more weight than he could bear to reveal.

The priest nodded, his face softening as he gestured to Aric.

"You may tell me your sins," he offered, "so that their burdens may be lifted from you. That is why we are here, after all."

Aric let out a short, humorless laugh, his gaze distant. "My sins are too heavy," he replied, voice barely more than a murmur. "They're… burdens I must carry alone." His words fell flat, as though he had already long accepted this truth.

There was no hesitation in his tone, only the quiet resignation of someone who had made his peace with damnation.

The priest was silent for a long moment, perhaps choosing his words carefully, or perhaps weighing the depth of princes's sorrow.

Then he asked, "Will you at least stop sinning, my son?"

Aric's answer came without hesitation. He shook his head, his gaze never leaving the bronze gods before him.

"No," he replied softly, almost tenderly. "I must sin many more times. My only hope is that the gods might forgive me in the end."

The priest let out a small, unexpected chuckle, his shoulders shaking slightly with a humor that was bitter and knowing.

"The gods?" he said, almost as if he were sharing a secret. "The gods no longer reside here, my son. All that remains is greed and pretense."

Aric turned to look at the priest, studying the deep lines in his face, the weariness in his eyes. Here was a man who had seen much. In that moment, he felt the irony twist like a knife. This man, who had served faithfully, had come to know the hypocrisy of those who led them.

"You know," Aric began, his tone light but cold, "sooner or later, you all will die." The words drifted out with a casual certainty, as though he were merely pointing out an inevitable truth, not delivering a threat.

The priest's smile grew faintly amused. He shook his head, a wry look on his face as he replied, "Let me guess—" he paused, arching an eyebrow at Aric, "and you are the one who shall save us from our doom?" He shook his head, the tired smile never leaving his lips. "I have been a priest long enough to know that words are the most hollow of offerings."

Aric's expression changed, a shadow crossing his face. He looked at the priest with a strange intensity, his voice low and measured.

"I may not be able to save you from your doom, priest," he murmured, leaning in close, "but I can most certainly quicken it."

The priest did not flinch, though his eyes flickered with something unreadable—a mix of resignation and perhaps, in the smallest sense, a glimmer of fear. He looked away, his gaze turning back toward the altar where the gods sat in their eternal silence.

Around them, the murmurs of prayer continued, the soft sounds of people pleading for mercy, for love, for deliverance. The weight of so many whispered hopes filled the air, pressing in like a thick fog.

Aric looked around, taking in the faces of those gathered—a mixture of young and old, desperate and serene, each one of them clutching to something they believed was sacred, something they believed could save them.

And yet, as he looked back at the priest, he saw the truth written plainly on the old man's face. There was no salvation here, only hollow rituals and empty promises. The gods had abandoned them long ago, leaving only statues and stories behind.

"What do you offer, fourth prince?" The priest asked.

Aric smiled.