Chapter 1: intro
Chapter Text
Beneath the gilded sky of eternal light, where shadows dared not linger, a land flourished under the watchful eye of the Divine. Here, every blade of grass glimmered like spun gold, every river murmured hymns of praise, and every soul was born anew, equal in grace and purpose. Or so the stories claimed.
The truth was another matter.
In this Edenic expanse, ambition crept like a silent plague. The meek became Cardinals, wielding wisdom sharpened by the whetstone of suffering. The avaricious ascended to the Papal Throne, cloaking greed in robes of piety. Wanderers were knighted, their restless hearts shackled to swords they never sought to bear. Even the despised and forgotten—prostitutes, thieves, and outcasts—found themselves adorned with crowns and titles, their laughter echoing hollowly through marble halls.
It was a land of contradictions, where equality was the mask and hierarchy the truth. The great cathedral, named Sancta Lux, pierced the heavens with spires that glittered as if made from the very essence of light. Its walls bore frescoes of celestial triumphs, but if one looked closely, the figures wept.
Across the Divide River, the boundary between the Vivid Heights and the Withering Lowlands, despair festered. The air grew heavy with the stench of decay, not of flesh but of dreams. Those unchosen by fortune lingered there, their laughter brittle, their songs dirges in disguise. They gazed upon the luminous world above with eyes hollowed by longing.
Among them was Chovy, a knight by name and nothing more. His armor bore scratches that spoke of battles he had fought but never believed in. The sword at his side was an heirloom he’d inherited, though he often wished he hadn’t. His footsteps carried him from the Withering Lowlands to Sancta Lux, his eyes scanning the horizon not for glory, but for escape.
Faker, too, wandered the borderlands of faith and rebellion. A Cardinal anointed not by choice but by circumstance, he wore crimson robes that felt more like shackles. His sermons, though celebrated, were edged with a bitterness he could scarcely contain. He walked the halls of the cathedral with the weariness of one who bore secrets too heavy for mortal shoulders.
Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. For it was in the shadow of the Sancta Lux that Chovy and Faker first crossed paths. Neither sought the other, yet both felt the pull of a shared despair. The knight with his reluctant blade, the Cardinal with his reluctant faith—two figures adrift in a world gilded with lies.
Above them, the bells of the Sancta Lux tolled, their resonance cascading like waves through the air. A call to prayer, a call to penitence or perhaps a call to something darker. As the sound faded into the stillness, Chovy turned to Faker, his voice a low murmur.
“Do you believe in any of it?”
Faker’s eyes, shadowed by the weight of unspoken truths, met Chovy’s. He did not answer. Instead, he looked toward the Divide River, where the waters churned with the currents of destiny. Somewhere in that restless flow lay the answer—or the end.
And so, their story began.
Chapter 2: the divide river
Chapter Text
The Divide River twisted like a silver serpent beneath the pale light of dawn, dividing the known world into the luminous Vivid Heights and the shadowy Withering Lowlands. Its waters shimmered with an uncanny glow, their depths murmuring secrets in a language only the wind understood. To cross the river was to confront more than geography; it was to face the weight of a history written in blood and ambition.
Chovy paused on the riverbank, the chill of the morning biting through the scratches in his armor. His gaze swept the currents, as though searching for an answer he could never voice. The faint sound of bells echoed from the Sancta Lux cathedral beyond the Heights, their tolling resonating with the rhythm of his own doubts.
Faker stood a few paces behind, his crimson robes barely stirring in the breeze. The Cardinal’s expression was unreadable, his shadow stretching long and thin across the uneven ground. He carried himself with the grace of a man bound not by freedom, but by a different kind of chain—one forged in the name of faith.
“Does it ever speak to you?” Chovy’s voice was low, barely louder than the river’s whispers. His question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears.
Faker stepped closer, his eyes catching the faint glint of the waters. “It’s not the river that speaks. It’s what we see reflected in it.”
Chovy frowned, his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade. “And what do you see?”
The Cardinal’s lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. “More questions than answers.”
The air grew heavier as they approached the narrow bridge spanning the Divide. Time had worn the stones smooth, their surfaces polished by the feet of countless travelers—pilgrims, exiles, and dreamers alike. Each step carried the weight of unspoken histories, the bridge itself groaning softly under the strain of their passing.
Faker’s gaze drifted to the far horizon, where the spires of Sancta Lux pierced the heavens. The light that spilled from its windows seemed almost alive, flickering and writhing as if straining against the confines of the cathedral walls.
“Do you believe,” Chovy began, his voice breaking the stillness, “that the Sancta Lux is as pure as they say?”
Faker’s response came slowly, like a prayer reluctantly spoken. “Purity is a veil, Chovy. Lift it, and you’ll find the same flaws beneath as anywhere else.”
The knight’s fingers tightened around the strap of his shield. He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. As they crossed the midpoint of the bridge, a gust of wind rose, carrying with it the faint scent of something burning—an omen, perhaps, or merely the residue of a world constantly tearing itself apart.
Beneath the bridge, hidden among the gnarled roots that reached toward the river like grasping hands, a figure watched. Cloaked in shadows, Mariella’s keen eyes tracked the two figures above. Her breath was steady, her mind calculating. The whispers of the river seemed louder here, almost drowning out her own thoughts.
“They’re not like the others,” Rian muttered beside her, his voice barely audible over the water’s hum.
Mariella did not reply immediately. Her scarred fingers traced the edge of her blade, her gaze fixed on the Cardinal and the knight. “No,” she said at last. “They’re not. But that doesn’t mean they can be trusted.”
Rian shifted uneasily. “What if they cross into the Heights? They’ll be beyond our reach.”
“Then we’ll see if their actions speak louder than their allegiances.” Mariella’s tone left no room for argument.
Above them, the faint clang of a bell echoed from the Sancta Lux once more. The sound rippled across the Divide River, mingling with its ancient song. And as the knight and the Cardinal vanished into the distance, Mariella’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where light and shadow met in eternal conflict.
The path from the bridge into the Vivid Heights was treacherous, not because of the terrain, but because of the weight it bore. Every step Chovy and Faker took seemed to bring forth unseen eyes from the stone and trees. The silence of the Heights was not the quiet of peace, but the hush of a predator stalking its prey.
Chovy’s hand lingered near the hilt of his blade as the first signs of life appeared—a village nestled within the shimmering fields of gold. The buildings were pristine, as if untouched by time or decay, but there was something unnatural in their stillness. Children’s laughter echoed faintly, yet no children could be seen.
Faker’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto a solitary figure in the village square. A woman, draped in a cloak of pale blue, stood with her back to them. Her presence exuded an unnatural calm, as though she were an extension of the land itself.
“Who lives here?” Chovy asked, his voice hushed.
“No one,” Faker replied, though his own voice carried uncertainty. “Or at least, no one who hasn’t given something away.”
The woman turned, her face shrouded by the hood of her cloak. Her voice was melodic, yet cold. “Travelers, you carry the weight of questions. But be wary—the answers often come at a cost.”
Chovy stepped forward, defiant. “We didn’t come for riddles.”
The woman tilted her head, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. “Then you are in the wrong place, knight. For here, riddles are the only truth.”