The early morning sky was stained a pale violet. The stone steps of the Grand Cathedral Claritas were cold, and through Seliana's kneeling knees, that chill transmitted through her entire body. The morning sun was slowly lifting its face above the eastern horizon, casting soft light across her hair. Her lustrous black short bob should have been as neat as always, yet now it appeared somehow disheveled. Traces of tears. The marks that had streamed down her cheeks reflected in the dawn light, glimmering. Her deep amber eyes were hollow—seeing without perceiving, as though nothing registered in their depths. Seventeen years old. As the Saint of Light, she had held the position of bestowing blessings upon this city's people. But last night's proclamation of defrocking—the Church's final sanction, stripping a cleric of all authority—had taken everything from her. *Collusion with the Shadow Essence.* Those words echoed in her mind again and again. That moment last night—when the cardinals of the Claustra Conclave had surrounded her and shattered her crown ornament. The sound of the silver filigree circlet breaking into fragments. A single shard that had fallen from within it. She still gripped it now, pressed deep into her left palm, yet she felt no pain. The white vestments of the saint were now hidden beneath a soiled gray cloak. That cloak too was ancient and worn, its collar torn, its hem caked with mud. Where were the eyes of the people who had once gazed upon her? Seliana lifted her gaze. Slowly, she began to descend the steps. One, then another. Her feet were heavy, as though she were walking through water. All strength had drained from her body. Seraphim Alta—the name of this city—was still quiet in the breaking dawn. Light-essence lamps—illumination vessels imbued with the magic of light—hung from the eaves of buildings, casting pale white radiance. She walked through that light. Beyond the cathedral plaza, into narrow alleys. Eventually, toward a place of activity. The Dawn Market—Morgen Markt. With some two hundred stalls, this market was the most vibrant place in Seraphim Alta. As the sun rose higher, the market's people began to stir. Those stacking vegetables, those filleting fish, and countless shoppers. Seliana slipped into the crowd. Everyone was busy, none looking at her. Whether that was fortune or misfortune, she could not say. Her head felt light, unmoored. How long had it been since she'd eaten? Yesterday? Before that? Her vision blurred slightly. Dangerous. She was falling. Just as her body lost its balance, a strong arm caught her shoulder. "Oh—" When Seliana looked up, a stern-faced woman was looking down at her. Perhaps in her fifties. Tall, muscular, bearing the unmistakable air of someone who had once served in the knight's order. Her short hair was beginning to gray, her eyes sharp yet warm. "Former Saint, you mean to collapse here?" The voice was cool, but the arm supporting her was steady and strong. Seliana stared at the woman's face for a moment. She recognized her. "...You are—" "Hannah Ruthel. Once served as quartermaster in the knight's order. Now I manage this market. And your face, Saint—well, anyone would know it." A faint smile crossed Hannah's lips. But it was not mockery—merely recognition. "Come." With that, Hannah took Seliana's arm lightly and guided her to the edge of the market. Away from prying eyes, deeper into the stalls. At last, she stopped before a door leading to a storage room. When she opened it, the interior was dim. Old wooden crates were stacked upon one another, scraps of cloth and worn nets lay scattered about. A warehouse. Hannah led Seliana deeper, indicating a small space. "No one will notice here." With that, Hannah settled herself. She withdrew a bundle from her pocket and offered hardened bread and a leather water skin. "Eat. If you collapse, it becomes troublesome." Seliana accepted the bundle. Her hands were trembling. How long had they been trembling? "Thank you..." In a thin voice, Seliana offered her gratitude. She brought the bread to her lips. It tasted plain. Yet it seeped into her body. "Why...did you help me?" "Is that what you're asking? Well then." Hannah gazed intently at Seliana's face. Something nostalgic seemed to dwell in her eyes. "Long ago. When I served in the knight's order. I saw you healing the people. You lifted an injured child in your arms and mended them with light-essence magic. The expression on your face then...it was not a lie." Seliana raised her head. "Therefore," Hannah continued, "I believe that story is false." Silence fell. "But," Hannah's voice grew slightly stern, "do not show weakness here. If anyone sees the Saint collapsed, it will make you a perfect target for them. The Church's eyes are everywhere. If you wish to survive, be strong." Those words pierced Seliana's heart. For the first time, tears overflowed. Everything she had endured, everything she had held back, crumbled all at once. Seliana covered her face, her shoulders trembling. Hannah, without speaking, tapped her shoulder. Several times. Quietly. "Rest here tonight." Hannah pointed to the back of the warehouse. There, old blankets were piled high. "Decide for yourself what comes tomorrow. Understood?" "...Yes." Seliana nodded. Night. In a small room, Seliana was alone. Wrapped in blankets, lying on the floor. Yet sleep would not come. Each time she closed her eyes, that moment returned. The cardinals' cold gazes. The sound of the circlet shattering. The words "proclamation of defrocking." Seliana opened her hand. In her palm, a silver fragment gleamed. A piece of the crown ornament. That small shard still held a faint luminescence—the fading residue of light-essence. Lost power. Lost status. Lost future. Everything had been taken. Yet this fragment alone... Seliana gripped it tightly. "I am..." No sound came. She tried several times before words finally emerged. "I am...not finished yet." Those words echoed through the dark small room. From the window outside came the bustle of the market. Voices of people, calls of merchants, and occasionally the laughter of children. Everyone living ordinarily. Everyone passing through their days as though they were natural. Seliana listened to these sounds and waited for dawn. The next morning. When Hannah opened the door, Seliana was already awake. She had folded the blankets and was retying her hair. In her eyes, the color of despair from yesterday was gone, replaced by a faint but certain light of resolve. "Hmm." Hannah nodded with satisfaction. "Earn your breakfast in the market. If there is work, do it. You can obtain food that way." "I understand." Seliana stood. She wrapped herself in the cloak and stepped out into the market. The morning sun of Seraphim Alta illuminated her hair once more. This time, it was different light. Not the light within despair, but the light of rebirth. Seliana dissolved into the market. A new step. The beginning of a new journey for the saint who had lost everything. Yet there was something she did not yet know. West of this city, beyond the Verna Spine Mountains, in the five cities of the Dispelsia Union—particularly in Gründel, a city of learning—there was one who held deep interest in her power. A sorcerer who had systematized shadow-essence—the source of shadow magic—as an academic discipline. Cold, calculating, and harboring some profound obsession. His name was Walter Neustadt. He already knew of Seliana's existence. And he quietly desired to possess her.