My fingers didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.
The sound that followed was loud.
So loud that for a moment, the children screamed and backed away, and the adults around me flinched.
It was like thunder cracking within the walls of this cursed chapel.
A single shot.
I knew what they must have thought.
That I had just shot Aelwen, the little girl who had fallen mid-performance, seizing and foaming at the mouth.
But their panic settled the moment they saw where my gun had aimed.
There, just a few inches away from her small trembling form, lay the teddy bear.
Its chest torn open, a gaping blackened hole where my bullet had struck.
Its insides,the cotton fluff, floated into the air like soft snow.
And then something unnatural happened.
As the cotton floated upward, the air around it shimmered purple.
One by one, those pieces began to burn—not with fire, but with some sort of ethereal corrosion.
The strands shriveled and dissolved into glowing violet embers, then vanished.
The bear followed next.
Its fur melted and sizzled like wax under an invisible flame.
From the hole I made, a deep violet energy spilled out—dark and swirling, like a silent scream.
An unholy aura.
Tainted.
The kind of energy you didn't just see.
You felt it crawling on your skin like maggots.
"How long has she had it?"
I asked flatly, turning to the nanny beside me.
The nanny to my left was shaking.
Her hands were already clasped tightly in prayer.
Her lips trembled as she answered, eyes shut tightly.
"For…for as long as I can remember…"
Her voice cracked.
I could see she was overwhelmed.
It wasn't just fear...
It was the raw unraveling of someone whose beliefs were breaking in real time.
Most people in this world… they had no idea.
They prayed.
They recited verses.
They built churches and followed holy customs without ever truly understanding the horrors buried in the soil of their world.
The idea of the divine was something warm and peaceful to them.
But the darkness… the darkness that dwells beneath that false light?
It was real.
And it always had a way of finding its way into the places we called sacred.
I sighed internally.
This woman was a follower of Lumina.
One would think she'd be trained to confront evil, to stand strong in the face of unholy things.
But here she was, knees trembling, eyes closed, repeating words like a child afraid of the dark.
I couldn't blame her.
Even soldiers break.
The original Noel... while not as religious as his household's name would suggest, knew enough about holy doctrine.
More than that, he was a soldier.
That mental fortitude he possessed? It was buried somewhere in this body.
Even now, I could feel it holding me upright when my own instincts screamed to collapse.
I looked down at Aelwen again.
Her limbs had stopped thrashing.
The seizure was over.
She lay limp now, still clutching the half-burned teddy bear in one hand.
"She's unconscious…"
I murmured.
Which only confirmed what I had suspected.
That bear was cursed.
And not just with any curse.
It was a Death Curse.
Something that required an authority—specifically one governed under the Eighth Law.
"The infirmary..."
I said sharply to the nanny still kneeling by Aelwen.
"I assume this chapel has one?"
She nodded stiffly, barely able to get to her feet as she motioned for help.
The other nun, the one who had been crying and chanting, quickly moved in to help guide the other children away.
Her voice cracked as she sang a prayer, urging the children to follow her quietly.
I stood and tucked the revolver back inside my coat.
My hand lingered near it, just in case.
"Sir… will she be okay?"
It was the boy—Bran—the one who had proudly said he wanted to be a knight.
He stood frozen, staring at me with wide, worried eyes.
"She will be..."
I said calmly.
"There's no need to panic."
This was the first time I had been in such a line of work, so even I didn't have complete faith in the words I said.
He didn't look convinced, but he nodded.
Then he gently took the other girl's hand who'd been in the play with Aelwen and led her away.
Once the children had gone, I turned to the remaining members of Division IV.
I began.
"There was unholy energy surrounding the stuffed bear.
Heavy, oppressive… and unmistakably tied to the Eighth Law."
They all went quiet.
"Whoever cursed that object did so with a level of authority I had no idea had users.
An 8th Law Authority."
I glanced down at the bear, which had now crumbled into ash.
"To use that kind of law so subtly… on a child no less…"
My fists clenched.
That wasn't just blasphemy.
It was strategy.
Whoever did this wanted something. Or someone.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Father Gideon drop to his knees, hands clasped, muttering prayers under his breath.
He looked more shaken than before.
Not because he doubted Lumina.
But because something was happening in his house of worship that even divine blessing couldn't stop.
"Has something like this happened before?"
I asked him.
He looked up at me, and I saw it—raw, honest fear.
"We… we've had children disappear..."
He admitted.
"Disappear?"
"Yes. But… there was a pattern in their dissapearance.
They'd fall ill with fevers, vomiting, hallucinations.
We started watching the sick ones closely, treating them nonstop."
He paused, his voice breaking.
"They got better.
We thought it was over..."
"And then?"
"The sick ones didn't go anywhere and instead the others started to vanish.
Without warning, without a sound."
He looked down, ashamed.
"I don't know if we were being punished… or if something found a new way in."
Silence.
Then Cassel, my blue-haired subordinate and former Holy Grail Knight, stepped forward.
"Eighth Law…" he muttered.
"That's the Law of Death."
"No follower of Lumina would ever practice it.
It's the ultimate betrayal—not just to the faith, but to the continent itself."
He looked at me.
"That kind of authority… it only exists in the Church of Noctis.
And they're far beyond our borders."
"You're forgetting something..."
I said, narrowing my eyes.
Cassel stiffened.
"Even with all our doctrines and laws, people always break.
So don't be surprised if someone under Lumina is playing a double game."
Cassel said nothing.
But I knew the gears in his head were spinning.
And mine too.
Because if an 8th Law user really had embedded something here… then this chapel was already compromised.
And we were standing right in its jaws.
***
We sat in a circle using the wooden church chairs.
The chapel was silent now.
The incident earlier had left everyone with questions.
The girl Aelwen was resting in the infirmary and the other children had been sent to sleep under careful watch.
My coat was still wrapped tightly around me as I looked around the circle.
The seven others who made up Division IV sat with tense expressions.
They were all waiting for me to speak first, but I did not want to give any commands without hearing what they thought first.
"So," I began, voice low.
"We can all agree that we cannot rely only on our eyes and ears.
The question is how we go forward."
Cassel was the first to speak.
He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, the edge of his blade glinting under the candlelight.
"We should guard the children's halls directly.
Post a person near each wing.
Patrol the corridors.
Make sure each room is checked every hour."
"It will be hard..."
Another member, Lynne, added.
"There are more than thirty children in this place.
Some are spread out in the east and west wings of the chapel.
We don't know the exact moment or how they disappear.
Watching them one by one like that is not only tedious… it's impossible.
We don't have eyes everywhere."
"I agree," said a younger member named Tallen.
He adjusted the gloves on his hands and then looked directly at me.
"But I have a suggestion.
I was blessed with something that might help."
I raised a brow.
"Let's hear it."
Tallen nodded and then placed his hand to the floor.
A small golden circle appeared under his palm before fading again.
He looked up at me with quiet confidence.
"My blessing allows me to connect to small creatures.
Birds. Rats. Creatures of keen senses.
I can see through their eyes if they're within range.
And this church…"
He glanced at the tall walls and the dusty corners.
"...has plenty of both."
"Birds?"
One member questioned.
"Yes..." Tallen said.
"There are several perched outside near the chapel windows.
I can place them near the ones closest to the children's rooms.
If anything strange happens or someone enters, I'll see it immediately.
As for the inside of the walls… this place has a lot of mice.
I can use them too."
He said it so calmly that even I was surprised.
There was no pride in his tone, just certainty.
I thought for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"That works.
Use whatever you need, just make sure it doesn't alarm the staff or children.
Report anything out of the ordinary directly to me."
"Yes, Praetor," he said.
I stood up.
"Everyone else..." I said.
"...choose your posts.
Patrol in pairs or alone if you are confident.
Do not fall asleep.
And remember we are here not just to investigate, but to protect."
They all stood, the chairs sliding slightly against the chapel floor as they did.
Phoebe walked up beside me as the others began to move.
"You still planning to look into each worker?"
She asked.
I gave her a glance and a tired smile.
"I have a strong feeling the answers are not just hidden in cursed objects."
"Whoever is responsible for this has help.
Someone inside."
Phoebe nodded.
"This way..."
Father Gideon who had been apart of the small meeting said bowing his head as we followed him.
***
Father Gideon led the way through the dimly lit corridor, a single lantern in hand.
The chapel's long stone halls stretched endlessly, the silence only broken by our boots brushing against the old floor and the occasional groan of old wood.
Phoebe walked beside me, hands behind her back, eyes sharp as ever.
She said nothing, but I could tell she was doing the same thing I was.
Watching, listening, measuring every little thing about the rooms and the people we passed.
"We'll begin with the dormitory wing..."
Father Gideon said gently.
"Most of the staff stay here.
Others tend to sleep near the nursery halls depending on their duties."
The first room we stopped at belonged to a young woman named Mirell.
She was in her mid-twenties, modestly dressed in the chapel's plain grey robes, and looked surprised when she saw the three of us at her door.
Father Gideon explained our presence kindly, and I asked simple questions.
How long she'd been here, if she'd noticed any strange behavior, if any particular children had stood out lately.
She answered calmly but nervously.
Her hands fidgeted, and she kept glancing at Phoebe like she recognized her status even without it being spoken.
We left without much to go on.
The next room was another caretaker.
Same questions.
Same polite answers.
No useful clues.
As we continued down the hallway, the faint buzz of my communication crystal went off.
I tapped it once and brought it to my ear.
"This is Cassel."
Came the voice through the crystal.
"No movement in the east garden. Birds remain calm. Will continue observation."
A few seconds later another voice followed.
"West corridor clear..."
Tallen reported.
"Two mice picked up small noise in the wall but just wind shift confirmed.
No hostile energy detected."
I gave a soft breath of relief.
"Copy that. Stay alert."
We kept moving.
One of the nuns we questioned said she had worked here for ten years and had never seen anything like what had been happening.
"Sometimes I hear things in the walls," she whispered, voice trembling slightly.
"But I thought it was just the age of the place."
Phoebe gave me a look.
We kept going.
We were reaching the older quarters when we passed a room with the door slightly open.
I paused, something pulling at me.
Inside sat a man who looked a few years older than Father Gideon.
His beard long and white, eyes half-lidded with the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.
His room was simple, almost too neat except for the stacks of books that filled one wall.
Father Gideon stepped ahead and cleared his throat.
"This is Brother Elian," he said softly.
"He… joined us after losing all his children.
He came to us broken, seeking healing."
He shook his head quietly, letting the weight of that statement settle.
I looked at the man again.
But Brother Elian, despite the story, smiled as he stood.
"Well now! Visitors.
Apologies..."
He said, knocking over a stack of papers by accident.
"Oops—sorry, sorry!"
He scrambled to pick them up, knocking into a small table with a tin cup that clattered noisily to the floor.
Phoebe watched him with careful eyes.
"I'm terribly clumsy these days..."
Elian chuckled.
"You'd think someone living in a chapel would be a bit more graceful, wouldn't you?"
I nodded slowly, studying the room.
Nothing suspicious.
Just as we were about to leave, my crystal buzzed again—louder this time.
I pressed it to my ear, already sensing tension on the other end.
"This is Cassel.
You're going to want to come to the south wing..."
He said, voice low and tense.
"We're in the hallway of the rooms where the missing children stayed..."