Morning light filtered through the high stained-glass windows of the Cathedral's inner hallway, painting the marble floors in soft hues of gold and blue. The city outside was unusually quiet — as if holding its breath for what was to come.

Inside the preparation room behind the Grand Hall, Noel stood at a broad wooden table, finishing his letters with slow, deliberate strokes. His handwriting was clean but firm, every word chosen carefully.

One letter sealed for Seraphina.

The other sealed for Elyra.

Noir sat on the table, tail curled around her paws, watching him with sharp, alert eyes.

'You write like an old man sometimes,' she commented dryly.

Noel didn't look up. "It's called being careful."

'Old man,' she repeated with smug certainty.

Noel exhaled through his nose, but his lips twitched.

Behind him, Charlotte and Orthran were reviewing the ceremony notes. Charlotte held a parchment with the revised prayer, brushing her thumb over the edge as if memorizing every syllable. Her expression was calm — almost serene — but Noel recognized the subtle tension in her shoulders. Responsibility weighed on her, but she carried it willingly.

Orthran, on the other hand, paced slowly in front of the small altar, mumbling parts of the ceremony under his breath, adjusting segments, removing others. He had barely slept.

"Grandpa," Charlotte said softly, "you've checked that part four times."

Orthran stopped, blinked, and forced a tired smile.

"Habit. Today cannot go wrong."

"It won't," she assured him.

Noel sealed the second letter and stood. "The courier hawks will take these straight to them. We should get answers before nightfall."

Orthran nodded firmly. "Send them."

The moment Noel stepped outside into the crisp morning air, two trained church hawks waited on the railing — magnificent birds with white wings and golden bands around their legs.

He tied the first letter, whispered the destination, then released them.

Both hawks leapt into the sky, wings slicing through the morning light as they disappeared into the clouds.

Back inside, Charlotte was staring at the empty hall beyond the door — the vast space where the faithful would gather in less than two hours.

Rows and rows of benches.

Soft candlelight still burning from the dawn prayer.

The pressure of a continent pressing against the walls.

She whispered, "Today… we begin rewriting centuries."

Noel stepped beside her, arms crossed. "Nothing about this will be easy. But Seraphina and Elyra will help. That gives us a larger push than most nations ever get."

Charlotte's lips curled into a warm, small smile. "I'm grateful they trust you so much."

Noir flicked her ear. 'Dad's charm is contagious.'

"Noir," Noel warned.

Orthran approached them, robes swaying with purpose now instead of uncertainty.

"The bells will ring soon," he said. "Priests, sisters, acolytes — all of them will gather. Some ready for change… others ready to resist."

Charlotte took a slow breath, placing a hand over her heart.

"I'll guide them," she whispered. "No matter how many steps it takes."

Noel watched her — every ounce of faith in her shining quietly in his gaze.

Then—

DONG— DONG— DONG—

The bells of the Cathedral began to toll.

The moment the bells rang, the Grand Hall awakened like a living tide.

Robes rustled. Footsteps echoed. Voices murmured in restrained anticipation.

By the time Charlotte, Noel, and Orthran reached the side entrance, the Cathedral's main chamber was already filling — rows of priests, sisters, and acolytes settling in disciplined lines beneath the towering arches and shimmering stained glass.

A soft hum of tension pulsed through the air.

Charlotte paused at the threshold, taking it all in.

Hundreds of faithful eyes.

Hundreds of expectations.

Hundreds of doubts.

Orthran leaned close and whispered, "You are their Saint. Stand tall."

Charlotte nodded once.

Noel stood a step behind her, arms crossed loosely, Noir perched on his shoulder with her tail brushing his cheek.

'A lot of nervous mana in the air,' Noir whispered. 'Half this room is scared out of their minds.'

Noel's gaze swept the crowd. "Figures."

He spotted familiar faces among them — some hopeful, some wary, some outright uneasy. The priests who had walked out yesterday weren't here, but their absence left a visible hollow in the formation.

Charlotte stepped forward.

Conversation immediately died.

Every head turned toward her.

Every robe straightened.

Every whisper fell into silence.

The soft golden aura that naturally clung to her as the Saint glimmered faintly at the edges, not overpowering—just present, warm, steady.

The moment she reached the podium, she placed both hands gently on its wooden surface.

Her voice rang out clear, gentle yet firm:

"Thank you all for coming. Today will decide the future of our Church."

A ripple ran across the hall — nerves, hope, fear all tangled into one.

Noel watched her with quiet pride.

'She's doing it,' he thought. 'Even with all this weight… she stands like she was born for it.'

But then—

Movement on the right side of the chamber caught his eye.

A group of older priests — the same faction that had stormed out the other day — rose to their feet again. Their expressions were stern, disapproving… but this time, they didn't leave.

Their leader, Rhedon, folded his hands behind his back and spoke loud enough for all to hear:

"We still do not support this direction," he declared. "Our stance has not changed."

Dozens of heads turned.

Tension rigidified the air once more.

Charlotte didn't flinch. Her posture remained calm, composed, radiant without trying to be.

"I understand," she said softly. "Change takes time. And I do not demand your blind agreement — only that you listen."

Rhedon's jaw clenched…

but he sat back down.

His group followed suit, their robes rustling sharply as they settled in rigid rows.

Noel exhaled quietly.

'That's… progress,' he thought. 'They stayed. They didn't walk out. They're still fighting—but they're fighting here. That means they're not lost yet.'

But another thought followed—darker, quieter, sharper. 'They're going to want a private meeting. I'll probably have to face them tonight… and convince them myself.'

Noir flicked her tail on his shoulder, whispering in his mind. 'You're thinking too loud, Dad.'

'Yeah,' Noel replied. 'Because this is going to get complicated.'

Yet even with tension crackling like dry tinder, something had shifted—

for the first time, the opposition hadn't run.

They stayed.

And that meant there was still something to save.

Charlotte continued her speech, every word measured yet warm. "Our purpose has always been to guide, to protect, to inspire. That will not change. What will change… is how we understand the truth. How we carry it forward."

Her voice reached every corner of the Cathedral.

Some acolytes leaned in, hungry for guidance.

Some sisters exchanged relieved looks.

Some older clerics frowned deeper, gripping their robes tightly.

Noel watched the tension climb again — then break when Orthran stepped beside Charlotte.

"As High Priest," he announced, voice ringing through the marble hall, "I stand with the Saint. Her reforms are not an attack… but a path forward."

That statement sent another wave of reactions scattering across the hall.

And this time…

Rhedon rose again.

Not storming out.

Not yelling.

But standing — tall, rigid, unmoving — like an ancient pillar refusing to crumble.

He projected his voice:

"High Priest. Saint Charlotte." He bowed his head only slightly. "We hear your intentions. But we do not agree."

A murmur rippled through the hall.

Noel resisted the urge to sigh out loud.

'Here we go.'

Rhedon continued:

"The doctrine has stood for centuries. We built our lives upon it. To change it now is to uproot everything we've sworn to uphold. And though we will not walk out again…"

He paused — letting the weight of his words settle like cold stone.

"…we will not endorse these changes either."

Charlotte held his gaze calmly.

Instead, her voice softened. "Then stay," she said gently. "Listen. Question me. Question us. If you disagree, do so with honesty — not fear."

Rhedon stiffened at the unexpected grace.

Several priests behind him shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to kindness instead of confrontation.

Noel saw it clearly. Cracks. Real cracks.

Not in their unity — but in their resistance.

'She's reaching them,' he thought. 'Bit by bit.'

Charlotte stepped forward, light pooling softly around her feet.

"I want you to understand this change," she said.

Charlotte let her words settle, letting the silence breathe for a moment.

The hall was no longer buzzing with tension — it was holding its breath.

She lifted her chin, hands resting lightly on the podium.

"That is the heart of my reforms," she said softly but firmly. "A truth meant to guide us forward, not drag us apart."

She glanced at Orthran.

He gave her a small nod — the kind only a mentor who fully trusted his successor could give.

Charlotte turned back to the assembly.

"With this… I conclude today's address."

A quiet murmur rolled through the rows of clergy and sisters, uncertainty mixing with curiosity.

Then Charlotte's voice strengthened, carrying effortlessly across the marble chamber:

"Before we dismiss, I will take questions." She offered a calm, open gesture. "Concerns. Doubts. Objections. Ask them now. All voices deserve to be heard."

The hall froze.

Everyone looked at everyone else.

But the ones who moved—

were the same ones who had stood against her from the beginning.

Rhedon rose.

Behind him, several older priests straightened, their expressions sharpened by duty and reluctance.

"We have… questions," Rhedon said, his voice heavy. "Many questions."

Charlotte nodded gently. "Then you are free to ask, you deserve to know what you want to know."

A priest on his left stepped forward, brows furrowed.

"What parts of the doctrine will change?" His tone held a mix of fear and obligation. "What exactly… do you plan?"

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