Chapter:7 The crescent dilemma

  The popes of those deluded religions had stepped in to stop further bloodshed. The inn y drenched in blood from knights from the Orders of the Sun and Moon, along with bystanders, who had paid the ultimate price. In Sakpta, a tense dread filled the streets. Citizens, used to the violence beyond the fortress walls, now trembled at the sight of the sacred orders for them who were meant to protect the holy capital, had turned their bdes on each other. The faithful of the Temple of Radiance mourned Silos, once a cheerful knight, while the devotees of the Temple of Crescent wept for their hero, Linios, whose heart was cruelly pierced as he y defenseless.

  Amid this chaos, I, Malphas, enjoyed the chaos, I had set in motion. I danced on the edge of madness, captivated by every drop of blood, a note in my twisted symphony, a stroke on my canvas of ruin. And in that chaos, Hastings emerged as the vital key. Masquerading as a mere merchant of secrets, he had spent a year uncovering the city’s hidden paths. In forgotten alleys and under the veil of despair, his network turned the people’s grief into a weapon against the tyrannical temples. The fanatic inquisitions had already decimated countless lives in the name of warped devotion, making the assembly of our rebellion in the dark. Along with Harper and Ascher—my shadows of chaos—he had gathered stolen intelligence, forbidden weapons, deadly poisons, and every scrap of betrayal that could be scraped from the hidden depths of Sakpta’s.

  Within the Temple of Crescent

  Inside the sanctum of the Temple of Crescent, Meghan was tended by trembling hands, a survivor of the carnage whose pain was as real as it was performative. The Pope of Crescent, on the edge of his sanity, waited with manic anticipation as her eyes fluttered open. A wild mix of whispers and hungry stares gathered around her, like dogs circling a carcass. Outside, widows of fallen knights cried openly; their grief was a dark song in the night.

  Once she had regained her composure, Meghan found herself seated beside the Pope. He demanded, “What happened, Priestess of Crescent? Why did Linios strike down Silos of the Order of the Sun? Expin why my beloved nephew—our temple’s hero—was sin so cowardly. Why were you in that dark alley? Why did fate take him from us?”

  For a moment, her eyes filled with tears. “No… it cannot be. Linios cannot be dead, can he, O Pope of Crescent?” Her grief, partly feigned to evoke pity, was all too effective. The Pope, with no choice but to allow her a moment to gather herself, pressed on. “Steady yourself. Linios was unjustly sin—as were his brothers. Tell me what truly happened so that justice may be served.”

  Her voice, ced with despair and a hint of fury, broke the silence. “My beloved Linios… how have the gods forsaken you? You died defending my honor from that wretched knight of the Sun—a beast driven by a twisted desire. After the festival, I stepped out for fresh air, lost in thought. Suddenly, a knight of the Sun appeared, decring his warped love. When I rejected him, he dragged me onto the pavement and forced a kiss upon me. Linios witnessed the disgrace and charged forward, striking down the vile knight. But his triumph was short-lived; another knight of the Sun plunged his sword into him, and I fainted at the horror.”

  Furious and nearly mad, the Pope listened to her. The story of his fallen nephew—a hero who died for the honor of his maiden—was sin unjustly, but he knew he was the leader of a deluded religion who could not start a war against the Temple of Radiance merely to avenge his nephew. In the end, no one knew that peace in Sakpta was just a myth. Calm had long vanished from that cursed, bloody inn, repced by rising chaos and dark whispers in every corner.

  The Pope of Crescent had no time to waste. With a heavy heart, he sent a summons to all the key church members. Here was a man who cherished his power, now torn between preserving peace to safeguard the temple’s centuries-old influence in Sakpta and a strong urge to get revenge for his nephew's death. Alone in his room, he struggled with the decision: should he seek justice for the boy he loved like a son or keep the delicate bance of power?

  Soon, the summoned gathered in the temple. The Pope was promptly notified of their arrival, and he emerged from his private quarters with a determined gaze. His mind was already set; all that remained was to convince the assembled members of his resolution.

  In the dark hall, influential people took their seats, and I was there too, quietly as Ascher. Restless murmurs and whispered specutions filled the air as everyone waited for the Pope’s entrance. The long table, filled with authority, recognized me as a powerful merchant in the Temple of Crescent. When the Pope finally appeared, the murmurs died instantly, and in unison, the assembly rose to procim, “We greet the High Father of the Night, the Almighty Pope of Crescent!”

  Taking his seat, the Pope decred, “In the silver glow of our sacred moon, we unite in reverence and faith! I bless thee. Let us begin—for the decisions we make today may seal the fate of Sakpta.” All eyes fixed upon him as he exhaled a heavy sigh. “You all know the brutal truth: a vicious brawl has cimed the lives of many of our Knights of the Moon and Sun. I investigated the carnage on the Festival of Twilight—a day meant for hope that turned grim. A Knight of the Sun had forced himself upon our priestess, abandoned in a dark alley near the inn. My nephew, the hero of the Order of Moon, witnessed his beloved’s honor defiled, her dignity dragged through the mud, and her will vioted. In a burst of fury, he struck down the offending knight. His victory was brief and tragic. He was killed in a cowardly way, sparking a fierce fight among our knights. A dispute over a maid’s honor quickly turned into a bloody battle on the King’s territory.”

  A heavy silence descended—only to be shattered by a voice. A Cardinal stepped forward, “O High Father, we believe you, but this incident occurred on the King’s territory. We must answer to the royal court. Witnesses are needed to support our investigation; without them, the Temple of Crescent will be reprimanded, our people will shun us, and our faith will be mocked. We must get witnesses to support our version of events—even if we have to force them." Hesitant murmurs filled the room as the Pope nodded slightly.

  Then the Commander of the Knights of the Moon spoke, his tone edged with caution: “O High Father, I know it is not my pce, yet if we act as suggested, the bance between our religions may shatter. The royal court’s power may be rivaled by our temple’s might, but if we win public favor, the Temple of Radiance will be humiliated, and our age-old bance shall be lost. Should they lose face, they might align with the royal family—diminishing our influence in Sakpta and beyond. We must forge a solution that preserves both our honor and power.”

  The Pope's eyes bzed with anger. Even as he listened to the Commander, his hidden grief for his sin nephew—a boy he loved like his own—burned inside him. Losing Linios was more than just a loss; it felt like a part of his soul had died. In his fury, he craved both justice and revenge, even as his duty to the faith held him back. Torn between his urge to destroy the Knights of the Moon and the Commander's careful advice, he raised his voice “The Great Commander of the Order of Moon, do you truly comprehend what you propose? You ask me to forsake justice for the fallen—to abandon their spirits—and to pardon the murderers of my nephew and our noble knights, all in the name of preserving power. Should our followers learn of this betrayal, we will be shunned, and our goddess will despise our actions.”

  At that moment, his obsession with revenge became obvious. Everyone sensed the bitterness in his words. I was disgusted at the Pope’s blindness, at realizing that their idea of justice was just a cover for personal revenge. The Pope, blinded by the love for a child who wasn’t truly his, had lost his way, and the room cared more about power than mourning the fallen knights as I had expected of them. But the pope’s thought had troubled me.

  Lost in my troubled thoughts, I saw a chance to stir up conflict. I stepped forward and said, "O Pope of Crescent, may I speak to calm our troubled hearts?" His intense gre held me for a moment before he finally said, "You may speak."

  I continued, speaking in a low, determined tone: “O Pope of Crescent, you seek justice for the fallen—a noble aim. But as noble as it is, there were no survivors at the inn. The perpetrators of that night’s injustice lie dead, and every knight from that grim scene now awaits his burial. As much as I long for retribution, the dead have already exacted their revenge. Our valiant Knights of the Moon have sin their foes, leaving no one left to avenge. It’s a tragedy indeed, yet we must not overlook that the royal family has long waited to fracture our alliance. Should the Temple of Radiance lose face, our alliance will crumble. I propose that we open peace talks with them and shift the bme for the chaos at the inn onto an enemy of Sakpta. This pn will secure three outcomes: preserve our alliance, keep the royal family in check, and justify decisive action against our common foe.”

  A heavy silence recimed the room as my words sank in. Even the Pope paused to weigh my proposal. Then he countered, “Merchant Ascher, your argument holds merit, yet you overlook one truth: the incident was a csh among our knights, not an attack by an external foe. The royal family is not so easily deceived, nor is the Pope of Radiance. Your judgment doesn’t hold much in the eyes of our followers; even a child could see that the Order of the Sun was to bme. Present one indisputable incident to prove your cim, and we shall adopt your pn.”

  The air buzzed with uneasy whispers. I spoke again, “O Pope of Crescent, a year ago, we unched an inquisition against the mad Lord of Malevolence. Yet the royal family intervened, insisting we not make an enemy of him. We decred him a worshipper of an evil god and vowed his head—only to do nothing thereafter.”

  The Pope interjected, his voice ced with skepticism, “So? He was a madman and a potential threat, but he has yet to make a sacrifice to the god of Madness he follows. Are you suggesting we bme him for this massacre?”

  “Exactly” I replied, unwavering. “O Pope of Crescent, let us cast the bme on the mad Lord for this tragedy. The royal family canceled the Inquisition, and with it, we lost face—a loss they still celebrate as a perverse victory. If we assert that the mad Lord slipped into Sakpta while the royal guards were preoccupied, and then cursed our knights—driving them into a murderous frenzy against one another—we can fracture the royal family’s arrogance and shift the bme squarely onto them.”

  Agreement rippled through the room as everyone recognized the grim opportunity to rein in the royal family and safeguard our power. Finally, the Pope, his anger slowly fading and giving way to cold reason, replied “Merchant Ascher, you make sense. It is time to put the royal family in their pce and dispose of the mad Lord who cost us our honor a year ago. Does anyone object before I arrange peace talks with the Temple of Radiance? Speak now, or we shall hold the royal family accountable.”

  In unison, the assembly replied, “No, High Father. We shall do as you command.” The Pope concluded, “Very well. I will arrange a cndestine meeting between the temples. Ensure that nothing is leaked and that the witnesses are compelled to comply.”

  Thus, I had pnted the next seed of doom in Sakpta. Now, all that remains is to wait for the royal family to summon the temples in response to this dark conspiracy.