Sergeant Vane stopped abruptly.

Nero nearly walked into him, catching himself at the last moment.

The Sergeant stood before another slab, this one no different from any of the others. The body was wrapped. The candle burned. The stone bore no inscription, no marking to distinguish it from the thousands of identical graves surrounding it.

But Vane stared at it as though it were the only thing in the world.

"This is my father's grave," he said.

Nero blinked. He glanced at the slab, then back at Vane.

The Sergeant's face had changed. The harsh lines had softened, just slightly. The cruel glare in his eyes had dimmed to something quieter. Sadder.

"My family has served the Church for generations," Vane continued. His voice was low, almost distant.

"I come from a long lineage of nobles. We dedicated our lives, our blood, to the fight against the darkness. My father. His father before him. And his father before that."

He paused, his gaze fixed on the flame above the grave.

"I was taught scripture before I could walk. Trained with a blade before I could read. I know of the Church's doctrines better than most because that knowledge was hammered into me from my birth."

Nero said nothing. He stood beside the Sergeant, staring at the wrapped body.

"Do you understand now?" Vane asked. He didn't look at Nero. His eyes remained on the flame.

"This is why we fight. Not for glory. Not for honor. Not even for salvation."

He turned his head slightly, just enough for Nero to see the edge of his profile.

"We fight because if we don't, there will be nothing left. There will be no humanity. There will be nothing of this world but darkness, madness, and the things that crawl within it."

The words settled over Nero like a cloudy storm. Their fight brought them no glory or honor, the man had said.

He wondered how true that was.

After all, the image of the Templars was glorified across the Empire, so much so, even those from places like Gor had learned to be fearful of their visage and wrath.

"You must not speak of what I've told you to anyone," Vane said, his voice hardening again. "Knowledge in the wrong hands is a dangerous thing. More dangerous than any blade."

Nero nodded. "I understand."

Vane studied him for a moment longer. Then he turned back to the grave and clasped his hands together.

His eyes closed and his lips moved silently, forming words Nero couldn't quite make out.

A prayer.

Nero hesitated. Then he clasped his own hands together and bowed his head.

However, he did not pray.

Instead, he spoke to the Oracle.

'Oracle,' Nero called out silently. 'Why is the concentration of Ein Sof here so great?'

The presence in his mind opened before him, that familiar emptiness that existed between thought and speech. The Oracle's presence pressed against his soul, cold, vast, and absolutely inexplicable.

{It is because of Adam's Light. It draws in the energy of the world to fuel the souls being burned in this place}.

'Adam's light? It is also responsible for this?' Nero's brow furrowed beneath his clasped hands. His head remained bowed, mimicking the posture of prayer as his thoughts raced in directions far removed from devotion.

'Burned? What do you mean?' he asked.

The Oracle was silent for a moment. Then its words wormed their way into his soul again;

{This place is a Soul Furnace. Souls are everlasting and can only be consumed by beings of divine origin. And even then, their essence is merely transformed, not wholly devoured. A Soul Furnace allows for the extraction of that vital energy, which is fed into the essence of the "gods" to bolster their divinity. It is a feat of divine engineering created in the Age of Gods that allowed the ancient Grigori to increase their latent powers during a time of war. Now, at the cost of the eternal suffering of these souls, the power extracted is used to maintain the lives of these slumbering gods, that their essence may not fade away}.

Nero's jaw tightened. His clasped hands trembled slightly but he forced them still.

A furnace.

That's what this place was. It was not a mere resting place, nor was it a memorial to fallen heroes, at least beyond how it appeared on the surface.

It was a furnace fueled by suffering.

He thought of the candles, thousands of them stretching endlessly into the dark.

If what the Oracle said was true, then each flame was steady and unwavering because it was fed by a soul in eternal torment.

How was that any different from being cursed to wander the wilderness for eternity, or simply being reborn a mindless, corrupted Abomination?

'But the Sergeant said they simply serve the gods for eternity.'

{Their servitude IS their suffering. Suffering is what fuels the furnace. That, is the price of power}.

The Oracle paused. Now, Nero felt like he could feel, perhaps even hear, the wretched screams in the silence.

Of course, it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Or maybe it wasn't...

{As for the words spoke to you by the old warrior... You must know, that lie and truth are simply two sides of the same coin. It is nigh impossible to discern what is what if they are both mixed together in the same well. It is very much true that he believes those whose souls are confined to this place live in blissful servitude for all of eternity}.

Nero's breath caught in his throat.

He understood now.

Sergeant Vane wasn't lying. Not in the way most men lied, with deliberate deceit and malicious intent. He genuinely believed what he'd said. He believed his father served the gods in peace, guided by candlelight through an afterlife of purpose and meaning, even though he would never find rest.

That was a much better fate than any of the alternatives.

In reality, the truth was darker.

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