The two men stared at one another for a silent moment.

The Emperor’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You can’t mean…?” he whispered.

“Long, long ago, mankind defied the Angel’s will. Our defiance brought death into the world, and shrouded half of time itself behind the Veil of Night. The Angel Fell to give His belovèd creations a chance to redeem ourselves.” Verune paled. “What do you think He will do if we betray His Love for a third time—and let there be no doubt, this blasphemy is betrayal,” he pointed at the window, “betrayal in its truest form. Agan is Sunbasked—a gnostic, doubly damned. He denies the Sacraments. He denies the Church’s role in the temporal plane. He denies the wealth of scripture. ”

Phila rose from her seat. “What? Eustin…” She looked to her husband, and then to the severed head staring up from the floor. “What is going on?”

“Mankind was punished for its pride,” Verune said, ignoring the Empress. He pointed at the window. “And now, look! Look! He bows to the mob for the sake of worldly power. He debases the Church’s sacred hierarchy to suckle Hilleman’s dreams for a republic!” The now-former Lassedite trembled. “Unless we stop them and bring an end to this madness, the Angel’s will mete out his wrath, and the world, as we know it, will end.”

Verune’s eyes dug into Eustin’s soul. “We must act. There is no other alternative.”

The Emperor nodded. “I understand.” He turned to his wife—still waiting for Madeleine and the fan. “You will have to excuse us for a moment, my darling.”

“Come,” Verune said, and Eustin followed.

The two men walked into the hallway leading to the dining room. The Emperor noticed Verune’s hands trembling as the Lassedite shut the doors behind them.

Verune stepped forward, but stopped as the Emperor grabbed hold of his arm.

“Your Holiness,” Eustin said, fearfully, “what if the Angel becomes displeased with us?” He spoke with a meekness entirely unbefitting of an Emperor.

Without hesitation, Verune grabbed the Emperor by the shoulders and shoved him up against the wall. “You idiot! You ingrate!” he yelled, arms trembling. “You don’t understand!!”

Verune wanted to claw off the man’s face. But then he recognized the sin tainting his own heart in that desire, and let go. He stepped away from the stunned Emperor, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Darkpox was our punishment for Eadric’s sins! It is our fault! Our sin brought that horror into being! We broke the world, not once, but twice!” The Lassedite started to weep as he looked away, averting his gaze. “All the countless children that die in darkpox’s clutches die because of our sins!”

“W-What?” Eustin went bug-eyed again.

Verune shook his head as he turned away from the Emperor.

“Eadric used the Sword’s powers to maim, torture, and kill. His violence was unparalleled. Near the end, he seemed more demon than man. His wretchedness tore open a window in the air, unleashing vile things the likes of which no man had ever known, before or since. The monsters were slain, but barely, but that was a false victory. According to the secret records, it was in the creatures’ blood—darkpox. It came from them, and, ever since, Eadric’s cruelty has lived on in the horrors that darkpox wreaks across the world.”

“A window in the air?” he asked, Eustin asked—but he said no more than that.

Verune turned back to face him. “Yes. The contagion spilled out from Hell itself, as punishment for our blasphemy.”

For once, the Emperor was truly speechless. He made the Bondsign, but no amount of prayer could hide his abject terror.

The Lassedite nodded. “And that was not even the first time.” He took deep breaths. “The first was the Lass’ death. For her worldly ambitions, she was slain by the Angel’s hand. I dread to think of what will happen should we fail God for a third time. Now, come, there is little time left. We must act now, while we still have a chance to avert the unimaginable.”

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According to legend, the Sword’s departure was mankind’s penance for Eadric Athelmarch’s gross pride. That was what the people believed. And it was essential that the people believed it, for it was a lie.

The Sword had never left the earth. It had merely been hidden.

Verune made the Bond-sign before stepping into the dining room, as did Eustin.

The Imperial family’s dining room was as large and sumptuous as any other part of the palace. Violet curtains flanked the walls’ wide windows, interwoven with threads of silver and gold. Climbing sunlight shone through the windows and frolicked among the precious crystals that adorned the chandelier that hung above the long, silk-covered table. Most impressive of all, however, was the ornamental fireplace.

“To think that sin could be so beautiful,” Verune muttered.

The fireplace resembled a pipe organ, bounded all around by metal rods—gold, silver, bronze—that seemed to dance as they glinted in the daylight. Intricate carvings adorned every inch of the fireplace’s stone in grooves, holes, and many other figurations of frozen motion. Three sculptures surmounted the fireplace, invoking awe in all who beheld them.

To the right, the Hallowed Beast, majestic and dire—the raw power behind creation itself. To the left, the Moonlight Queen, with the words of Truth and Law writ upon her auroral gown—the Laws of nature, man, and God.

And above them both, the Holy Angel. His mask was pure bronze. It reflected all who gazed upon it, like a mirror for the soul, peppered pointillistic by glistening gems—His all-seeing Eyes. In His hand, He bore His Might and Justice: his spiraling sword, wrought from burnished platinum.

“You know, this fireplace is older than the Second Empire itself,” Verune said. His thoughts turned toward Light. “The man who’d carved it had been a savant beyond compare, and this was his crowning masterpiece. So great was his love of God that he offered himself to the flames in recompense for his sin in making it.”

“I… I never knew.” Eustin said. “Why?”

“Eustin,” Verune shivered, “we stand within arm’s reach of a living piece of God. This should be the holy of holies in the grandest temple humankind has ever known, but… no.” He shook his head. “We are so fallen and bitter and broken that we cannot even give the Triun the respect They are due. It has sat here for centuries, in the company of people who eat and jest. Sin has been committed in this very room, in the presence of God. To hold the Sword here, even for its own safety… it is nearly sacrilege.”

The Emperor stared. “I could never eat in this room with my back to the fireplace. I can hardly eat here at all without chills dancing down my spine,” Eustin said. He turned to the former Lassedite. “No matter what happens, at least you will have liberated it from this gilded cage.”

The Lassedite turned to the Emperor. “Do you remember what to do?” Verune asked.

“What do you take me for?” Eustin replied, aggrieved.

Moving to either side of the fireplace, the two men inspected the fireplace’s pipe ornamentations, searching for the proper holes. At the left, beside the Moonlight Queen, the Emperor pressed his finger on a tiny button hidden in the darkness deep within one of the pipes.

“I’ve pressed it,” the Emperor said.

Verune did much the same on the right. The button was hidden in a pipe near the Hallowed Beast. “Now for the third,” Verune said.

The Emperor nodded. Keeping his right index finger in its place, pressing down on the first button, Emperor Eustin reached for a third pipe not far from the shadow of the Angel’s sword. Eustin grunted, straining his arm, and then his fingertip found the third and final button, hidden within the pipe, like all the rest.

Stone scraped against stone. It coughed, scratched, and gasped. The back of the fireplace’s hearth folded outward, swinging on a pair of hidden hinges, also of stone. A plate of solid metal hid behind the hearth’s false back. The plate’s satin finish was featureless, save for a keyhole in its center.

Verune reached beneath his collar and pulled out a brass key the size of his hand, linked to a golden chain that dangled from his neck, beneath his cassock. The key had been handed to him upon his election to the seat of Lassedite. It was to be worn at all times, and removed only upon his death.

“The Key to the Faith…” the Emperor whispered.

Since the inception of the Second Trenton Empire, no reigning Lassedite had ever left the city of Elpeck. And, despite the passage of centuries, no one ever thought to wonder why.

“It is far more than a symbol,” Verune replied.

“I know,” the Emperor said, stepping away from the fireplace. He rolled his arm and rubbed his left shoulder. “Even so, I can hardly believe it.”

With the Emperor looking over him, Verune crouched down and reached into the hearth, key in hand. Inserting the key, Verune twisted his hand.

It turned. Something clicked.

“Gently, now,” Eustin said.

With a trembling hand, Verune tapped the metal plate. Gingerly.

Verune’s breath caught in his throat.

Slowly and smoothly, the plate swung inward on hidden hinges, revealing a secret compartment built into the wall, filled with a mass of asbestos sheets.

Lowering to his hands and knees, Verune reached in and pulled out the mass. He grabbed it with both hands, trembling in awe.

It was solid. It was real.

Eustin crouched down beside the former Lassedite as Verune set the several-foot-long mass onto the floor. The two devout Angelicals unwrapped the asbestos swaddling to reveal a large, weighty, unmarked wooden case. It was drier than bone and older than the palace itself.

Slowly—together—they opened it. The sight within brought them to tears.

“Glory,” the Emperor muttered. “Praise and glory.”

There, within the case, lay the Sword of the Angel.