Nimeth didn’t flinch. Her gaze remained fixed on the terrified boy huddled beside her, his small frame still trembling from the severed thread. The golden-robed woman stood framed by fallen rock, a coronet of concentrated radiance burning above her brow with heat that scorched the air. Yet, all Nimeth saw was another person pushed past endurance, albeit one carrying an empire's warrant. “You must be exhausted,” Nimeth said, her voice soft, entirely devoid of fear. “That light, it’s… intense. And you’ve travelled far.” She gestured vaguely towards the cratered entrance, where shattered stone still smoked. “You’ve clearly used considerable power to breach the wards.” Faelis's hand, poised to summon a binding aura, froze. Her brow, usually serene, furrowed in confusion. No one had ever addressed her with such prosaic concern. They knelt, they wept, they begged for blessings or mercy, but never did they inquire about her travel fatigue. Nimeth reached for a small, woven pack resting by her knee. “Here. I have some dried river-root and a flask of springwater. It’s not much, but it helps with the journey-sickness.” She nudged the hemp pouch across the grit with the toe of her boot, sliding it toward the invader's spotless hem. “And your hand,” Nimeth continued, her eyes now on the faint red abrasions scoring Faelis’s knuckles, “the impact must have left some scrapes. You’re bleeding, just a little.” Faelis stared down at the coarse pouch, then turned her palms over. The brilliant coronet above her brow shrank, its flare dulling into an amber taper. Her focus had stayed locked on protocol, on the decree, on the heresy; she had ignored the sting of shattered granite against skin. Her years had been counted in litanies, rites, and sacerdotal commands. No one had ever offered her a simple kindness, unburdened by supplication or awe. A strange, unfamiliar tremor coursed through Faelis. It carried neither dread nor rage, but a raw, unmoored ache behind her ribs. Nimeth, the supposed traitor, the one who had defied the very order of the Dominion, regarded her not as a divine being, but as a fellow human who needed a moment’s respite. Slowly, Faelis knelt. She picked up the bundle, rough twine scraping her split skin. The gesture was hesitant, almost tentative. She looked at Nimeth, her stern mask crumbling, leaving her pale eyes exposed and hollow. “Why?” Faelis whispered, the word barely audible above the distant groaning of settling rock. “Why would you offer me this?” “Because you’re hurt,” Nimeth replied quietly. “And you look hungry. Everyone deserves a moment of peace, even an imperial envoy come to drag me to the block.” She even managed a small, tired smile. Tannik, observing from his perch among the shadows of the shattered wall, felt a cynical laugh bubble up in his throat. It was obscene. The weaponization of pure, unadulterated kindness. Nimeth did not strike or posture; she quietly stripped the holy icon down to mortar and dust with dried river-root and an unhurried gaze. He had seen warlords break under torture, but never had he seen a divine emissary falter before such an absurd, gentle assault. Faelis’s stare, formerly sharp as a magistrate's brand, went wide and unsettled. She ate the river-root, slowly, deliberately, as if savoring each bite. The water, cool and fresh, was a revelation. It carried no consecrated oils or temple chants—only crisp, subterranean chill given freely. It answered an unnamable void inside her ribs, an ache starved of ordinary human warmth. As Nimeth watched, Faelis’s shoulders slumped, the rigid posture of anointed authority dissolving into sheer fatigue. She looked up, her eyes bright with a sudden, fierce loyalty that was terrifying in its intensity. “Nimeth,” Faelis said, her voice now firm, “I… I won’t arrest you. I will protect you.” Her halo pulsed again, but this time not with fury, but with a quiet, unwavering resolve. Just as Nimeth began to process this bewildering shift, a different kind of thrumming began. Not the hiss of lightcraft, but the heavy scrape of ironshod patrol boots on the overhead tiers. Their presence, too heavy for the ancient structure, triggered a cascade. A series of groans echoed through the subterranean chamber, growing louder, more frantic. Dust began to rain down in earnest, thicker than before. “The ceiling,” Tannik grunted, finally stepping out from the shadows. “The structural integrity around the breach has given way.” Nimeth looked up in horror. Cracks spiderwebbed across the cavern roof, widening with alarming speed. Small pebbles became chunks, then boulders, tearing free from the weakened rock. The air filled with the screech of fracturing stone and the whistling rush of falling debris. A colossal slab, easily the size of a small dwelling, detached itself directly above them, hurtling down with crushing finality. Faelis instinctively raised her hands, a barrier of searing light flaring into shape, but it was too slow, too defensive against such raw physical force. Garran, who had been clinging to Nimeth’s side, let out a choked cry. His small hands, bandaged by Nimeth, shot out. Not in fear, but in a strange, primal instinct. And then, the world stopped. Or rather, it warped. The air around the falling boulders shimmered, twisting like heat haze. The massive slab, just feet from crushing them all, shuddered, groaned, and then, with an almost silent *pop*, disintegrated. Not into dust, but into nothingness. The smaller rocks following it dissolved similarly, vanishing mid-air, leaving only a lingering tremor and the faint, acrid smell of ozone. Silence descended, thick and absolute. The only sound was Garran's ragged breathing, pupils blown wide, fingers curled into rigid claws. His small form, once a picture of utter helplessness, now radiated a subtle, humming power that made Tannik’s scalp tingle. Tannik stared at the space where the boulders had been. The Calamity. It wasn’t just a legend, a prophecy of cosmic destruction. It was a trembling child who could unmake matter with a whim. This was no longer a rebellious exile and a wavering holy icon; it was a spark set against dry tinder. This was a force that could unravel the very fabric of their world. And Nimeth, bless her bleeding heart, had just given it a reason to live, a reason to cling to humanity. He had to see this through. He had to protect them. The implications were too grand to ignore. He pulled a small, faceted crystal from his belt, its surface cloudy until he pressed a thumb against it. It pulsed with a dull, emerald light. “This is Operative T-47 to High Inquisitor's office. Targets eliminated. The cavern has collapsed, ensuring no witnesses.” The crystal hummed, then a gravelly voice responded, distorted but clear: “Excellent. I am descending into Orazir to verify the corpses myself.”

Halo of the Heretic