"Dull. Bland. Shallow. Gray."

Licht strolled along the ancient gallery, his gaze fixtured on the swarm of religious paintings that drowned the walls of the cathedral he was visiting. They were vibrant and alive; animated by Lightcasting to transition into the next art similar to a hand flicking of a page in a novel.

He paused at the end of the hallway, turning towards the final composition that occupied the largest space— a lone Julius, the hierophant of the Order of Luminos, kneeling in front of the Goddess Lumiere, one palm raised high as if to welcome the radiant prowess the deity would bestow.

"Our beloved Lumiere," a cruel voice intruded the night, the sound of which is waning, like a candle's last wisp before its flames vanish. "The first historical moment between man and the Divine. She is the bearer of blessings and our savior who had given us the might to weave and conquer. If not for her, we would have long perished from history by the Shadows. She should be respected and served, not viled and trampled by mere creatures like you."

Licht turned behind the owner of the voice berating him—a bloodied, elderly priest clutching the hole in his chest. It had been ripped apart and invaded. Tendrils of shadows leaked from the sternum as it searched for areas that had been untouched. This was the abomination of Shadowcasting, a dark power that held the ability to control and create shadows with a malevolent intent. The tendrils, like insidious agents of chaos, spread their influence, seeking to infect the very essence of existence—the Nexus, the sacred lifeforce that flowed through all beings.

"Such is the faith of a servant to her benefactor. They see only the good that they have received, but not the consequences of it," Licht's voice resounded, his words carrying a weight of introspection. With unwavering determination, he locked his gaze with the priest, piercing through the veil of their differences. In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade, replaced by a colorless, fragmented landscape that beheld his reflection; a young, wavy haired man who donned a black tunic with golden buttons. "To you and to the world, it is a marvelous miracle. To me, it has always been the same four words."

"Blasphemer!" The priest screeched in resounding fury, consumed by the pain that ravaged his being. Rivers of blood fell from the corners of his eyes. The shadows, relentless in their advance, had now invaded the sanctuary of his mind, sneaking their way thorough his consciousness. He was on the verge of becoming a thrall, a mere puppet that would follow orders with a wave of a hand.

Yet, the priest possessed an unyielding spirit, a stubborn defiance that refused to succumb to the might of the lion before him. With a defiant gesture, he raised his arms, summoning forth the very essence that had animated the paintings adorning the walls—the Lightsource, a radiant energy pulsating with brilliance and life. It coursed through his palms, surging into his weakened body, its luminescence intermingling with the encroaching shadows.

Licht watched the clash of brilliance and the sinister shadows he himself had conjured. However, he remained detached, unable to truly feel the warmth of the light or fathom the depths of the priest's righteous wrath. The Shadowcaster found himself caught in a web of confusion. How could this man, the very perpetrator of acts that defied The Edict of Lumiere, still possess the audacity to defend the deity he had so callously betrayed?

The paintings lining the hallway paled, drained of their vitality and vibrant hues with each passing moment. The once-illuminated corridor descended into a murky abyss, where only the faint glow emanating from the priest's aura remained. Licht stood unaffected, his nonchalant gaze fixed upon a world devoid of color and emotion, a realm he had grown intimately familiar with.

Then there was silence. Only the sound of liquid light leaking out of the priest could be heard. Too much Lightsource had been absorbed. He was fragile, old, and no master of Lightcasting unlike the Bishops and the Inquisitors. His body convulsed from the tempest that raged inside, and within surged a supernova of holy light. The solid stone walls, the dome shaped ceiling, the giant stained glass windows. Everything was scorched, blackened, but blazing afire. Almost everything.

Unfazed by the cataclysmic display of power, Licht stood before the priest, his silhouette casting a stark contrast against the blazing backdrop. Shadows writhed and danced around him, undeterred by the all-encompassing inferno.

"How... How is it even possible?" The priest's voice trembled with fear, his once fervent conviction now shaken to its core. "Just... Just what are you?"

Licht's voice carried a whisper, the ethereal light passing through him as if he were but a phantom. His gaze remained fixed, peering beyond the priest, down the length of the dimly lit hallway. "What am I?" he murmured softly. "I am...  nothing."

  "Stay... Stay back!" The priest recoiled in horror as Licht slowly paced towards him. Then, he felt something from below. Looking down, he saw dark, ghostly arms rising from his silhouette. They crawled into his skin, consuming the light like tiny leeches draining blood. He tried to tear them apart by hand, but like the endless ocean tides, it simply swished back double the amount. Light shrunk from him, replaced by shadows that grew as it devoured him until he was reduced to nothing but black.

Licht reached out, his hand trembling with anticipation, towards the Nexus in the center. Its radiance seemed to have intensified, shining brighter than ever before. Surprisingly, the Lightsource within him managed to fend off its corruptive influence. Perplexed, he couldn't help but question why it hadn't caused him pain as expected. Nexuses were said to be forged from the souls of mortals and blessed by the divine, their sapphire orbs said to burn as fiercely as the Sun God's flames. Only the Suncasters were said to wield such artifacts. Yet, they were nothing more than folklore, concoctions of exaggerated tales spun by ancient sorcerers to deter the study of Nexuses. It struck Licht as strange that people would readily accept fabrications rather than seek the truth. But now, if he could uncover even the smallest shred of reality amidst the myths...

Suddenly, a searing heat engulfed Licht's hand. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for what might come next. Twenty heartbeats passed, and he reluctantly released his grip on the Nexus. It fell, clattering onto the cobblestone floor, alongside the charred remnants of the unfortunate priest. Shadows converged upon Licht, swirling and weaving into his palm, seamlessly replacing the burnt flesh with new skin. As the physical vessel that had contained it was now absent, the Nexus began to dim, gradually fading until the last vestiges of it vanished into the ether.

Disappointment filled Licht's heart as he let out a soft sigh. It seemed that his search had once again yielded no results. He snapped his fingers, and a chilling specter swept through the hallway, consuming any remnants of the previous battle. As the darkness receded, the surroundings appeared restored to their former state, with one notable exception—the drained and lifeless paintings hanging motionless on the walls.

The act of restoring the place held no genuine concern for Licht, be it the church, the nuns, or the orphans who resided within its walls. It was merely a pragmatic choice, a means to evade suspicion and maintain the facade of normalcy. Emotional attachment or empathy were foreign concepts to him, eclipsed by his singular focus.

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The door behind Licht swung open, revealing a woman in golden attire, rushing towards him with labored breaths. Despite her disheveled appearance and the scowl etched upon her face, there was an undeniable allure about her. Her sleek blonde hair cascaded gracefully around her shoulders, swaying with each hurried movement as she looked at Licht with a scrutinizing gaze from head to toe.

"Are you deliberately trying to put my life in jeopardy?!" Luna exclaimed, crossing her arms in disbelief. This was the fifth instance where this man had managed to elude her watchful eye. She had been assigned as his designated Beacon  by the inquisitors of the order, entrusted with the task of ensuring the safety of foreigners within the city. However, recent rumors of missing priests in the vicinity had prompted a clandestine directive, compelling them to monitor the actions of those under their care.

Licht stood silently, observing the woman before him with a detached gaze. He wondered if she would eventually relent and leave him be, just like the countless beacons who had been assigned to him in the past. It seemed futile, however, as the Order would simply replace her with someone stricter and more dedicated to their profession.

"No, I wasn't," Licht finally replied, his hands smoothing out the dust in his attire.

"Well, perhaps if you weren't so fixated on maintaining an air of mystery and disappearing when a mass is about to begin, I wouldn't be constantly pestered by paranoid nuns wondering where this 'foreigner' has gone," she scowled. "Do you even realize how dangerous and suspicious it is to move without my guidance?"

"I do understand the severity of it, to some extent," Licht conceded. "But let's not forget that you also need to keep track of me due to the recent rumors circulating. The Order is afraid of another foreigner incident occurring, especially after the assassination of the archbishop."

"Exactly," Luna nodded. "So if you could just please cooperate and follow me—"

"Or is it because you're concerned about your position as a Beacon?" Licht interjected, clasping his hands behind his back and gazing out of the stained glass window, his eyes fixated on the moon casting a jade glow on the horizon. "I see now, the determination you exhibit in tailing me. You're worried about yourself, your future. Rest assured, I will make note of your perseverance and my own disobedience in not adhering to the rules."

"Blessed Lumiere! This isn't about me, it's about you, you airhead!" Luna exclaimed, flustered. Her words felt hollow, even to herself. Could she truly protect another life after everything that had happened... after that fateful night...

No, don't go there, she admonished herself, refocusing her attention on Licht's face now bathed in the moonlight. Had he always been this young and attractive? It was a pity that the one she was tasked to care for possessed the stubbornness of a mule.

"Do you find something amusing about my face, woman?" Licht inquired, taking a step closer and locking eyes with her.

"W-What do you think you're doing?" she stammered, blushing, and pushing him away.

"I was merely trying to see if there was something intriguing about my face, nothing more," Licht replied nonchalantly.

"And you chose to move closer when you could have examined your own reflection in the window?"

"Yes, I needed your eyes," Licht responded, his tone unaffected by her flustered reaction.

    Luna raised an eyebrow. She sighed and pulled something out of her right pocket, a squarish object that was covered in multiple runes. It was a Hex— a beacon's way of generating Lightsource by channeling a part of her Nexus to the artifact. Closing her eyes, she lifted it up in the air and released it. The Hex stayed aloft and made a whirring sound as it spun, the runic symbols glowing blue.  She opened her eyes and tapped her forehead with her middle and index finger and flung it towards the Hex, a translucent thread of sapphire discharging from her forehead to the center of the Hex. It bonded their energies; conjoined as if belonging to one container.

    "I suppose it's not a surprise that the gallery isn't properly attended, seeing that even those careless nuns have trouble looking for Father Lazarus," Luna snapped her fingers and the Hex shimmered brightly, draping the gallery in sapphire, "Ironic, since I'm having trouble finding you either," she chuckled.

    "I doubt that the nuns would ever find him, nor would there be a Father Lazarus overseeing a mass again ," Licht sauntered towards the painting he was inspecting before, gesturing for her to follow. "They need not to be concerned anymore, I've met briefly with the man before he was gone."

    "If he was such in a hurry to be off somewhere, then why didn't you inform us of that earlier?" Luna trailed from behind, the Hex following her.

    Licht ignored her and pressed his palm against the painting. He closed his eyes, inhaling. The portrait split into tiny pieces, like glass shattering into fragmented shards. Then it vanished, replaced by a double door of geometric patterns.

    "The painting was an illusion? But why?" Luna asked, confused.

    Licht opened the door and beckoned for Luna to light the other side with her Hex. She entered the room and immediately began to scream in terror, hands cupped in her mouth. The inside was littered with lying, withered corpses of orphans on slated tables. Surgical equipments were scattered on the floor, used for dissecting bodies and separating Nexuses.

    "To conceal something that shouldn't be seen," Licht said, trailing from behind,  "In front of many eyes, what you see is a kind priest preaching the holy words of your goddess. A false identity to camouflage a hidden desire, an agenda that should've been discovered long ago if people weren't so gullible to begin with."

    "H-How could someone from the order do such a thing!" Her knees trembled as she sank to the floor, tears welling down her face. She couldn't believe it— children being horribly experimented by none other than the people who devoted themselves to the Goddess, who promised to obey the Edict and spread goodwill to those in need. Their nexuses had been destroyed, preventing them from being judged in The Boundary, where souls are evaluated when departing. They weren't only dead, they were removed  from existence itself.

    "W-We must apprehend him at once," Luna said, her voice a mere wisp. She clutched her chest, feeling her heart in a frenzy. All her life, she devoted into studying to join the Order of Luminos; she thought it was her faith, her calling to be an instrument for the Goddess to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Because no one had protected her that night. She revered the Order to be true to their ways. Had she been mistaken all along? Years of dedication, for this. She wanted to vomit. How dare they deceive her.

    Luna began to hear voices. They flooded the air and sang in chaos, begging for her help to save them from damnation. She closed her eyes and covered her ears. She was supposed to guide  their souls by returning their Nexuses back to the Boundary. But there was none, and so none she could do but wait for it to stop.

    And then it stopped.

    Luna opened her eyes. Licht was crouched in front of her. She couldn't see her own reflection in his eyes. Nothing was there. She blinked. Was she hallucinating? For a second, she thought she had gone mad.

    "I'm sorry," her eyes went down, "That was very unprofessional of me. If you were in danger, and I was having one of these laughable breakdowns, I would've failed you. I'm sorry."

    "It was unwise for you to do so," Licht said, "To immediately assume that I am not a threat to you. What if I had been one of Lazarus's lackeys, luring you to this place, deceiving you so I could deliver a killing blow in the back when you were in your most vulnerable. You put your faith in others so easily, without thinking that one may take advantage of that trust. But you, all of you do it anyway and that is incomprehensible."

   "Yet I'm still alive, so I was right to trust you," she chuckled, wiping a tear, "You are a peculiar man. You speak as if you are made of machinery. Faith isn't bounded by logic; it is born out of the emotional bond we have developed from others. Sometimes it is cognitive, and so in a way, we believe in ourselves to put faith into someone whether or not that individual is a long time friend or an acquaintance."

    She stood up, offering a hand. "We really haven't introduced ourselves properly. I was having trouble finding a nickname for you, so airhead was a temporary fix that came to mind."

    "Licht," He reached for her hand, "You can call me Licht. I don't have a last name."

    "Licht," she smiled, "I was hoping something a little more uncanny. You are an enigma, after all."

    "I'm Luna. Luna Etelvina. The first person who you will trust."