chapter 1: Ashes in the Holy Night.

...Ashes of Conviction...

...By [Francis Justin]....

Chapter 1: Ashes in the Holy Night

The night reeked of sulfur.

Ezra Veyne stood in the ruins of St. Mordecai’s Chapel, surrounded by flickering candles and the stench of burning incense. His boots crunched over broken glass and blood-streaked tiles as he surveyed the aftermath: pews splintered like matchsticks, stained glass shattered into glinting shards, and bodies — parishioners, priests, even nuns — twisted in death as if still screaming.

In the center of the altar, a demon slouched lazily atop the desecrated relics, its crimson eyes gleaming with malice. Black smoke curled from its fanged maw as it chuckled.

Ezra, clad in his battered exorcist's coat, slowly drew the silvered blade strapped to his back. His expression was unreadable, his dark hair casting shadows over eyes that had long since forgotten how to pray.

The demon hissed, a wet, rattling sound.

"Another hound of the Faith," it rasped. "Tell me, priest — do you still believe your God watches you?"

Ezra said nothing. His fingers tightened around the hilt.

He didn't believe.

Hadn’t for years.

But belief was irrelevant to the blade.

Without a word, Ezra moved.

The demon lunged with a roar, but Ezra was faster. The blade sliced through the air, igniting ancient runes carved into its edge. The holy weapon sang, a keening note that split the demon’s screech into a gurgle. Blood as black as tar erupted from the creature’s shoulder.

"Fool!" the demon spat, recoiling. "You have no faith! I smell the void in you!"

Ezra thrust the blade deep into the creature’s chest. "I don't need faith," he muttered, voice low and tired. "I just need you dead."

The demon convulsed violently, the holy blade drinking in its essence. Moments later, only ash remained, scattering across the broken altar like a final prayer lost to the wind.

Ezra sheathed the sword with a harsh breath. His hands were steady. His heart — numb.

Behind him, the shattered church doors creaked open.

Three figures entered, cloaked in the deep purple of the High Sanctum.

At their lead, a woman — tall, severe, her hair pinned back so tightly it seemed her skin would split — regarded Ezra with something between disgust and calculation.

"Ezra Veyne," she said coldly, her voice echoing in the empty chapel. "You’re needed at the Capitol."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I don’t take orders from bureaucrats."

"You will," she replied sharply. "This concerns the fate of the world."

Ezra turned to leave, ignoring the priestess entirely — but paused when she added, almost casually:

"And the protection of the Radiant Vessel."

He froze.

A whisper of old legends stirred in his mind — tales of the Seraph’s Heart, a power so pure even the armies of Hell feared its awakening.

Ezra slowly faced her.

"Where is the Vessel?"

The priestess smiled thinly.

"In a place even demons dare not tread," she said. "Among the innocent."

Next Scene: The Assignment

Hours later, beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Capitol Cathedral, Ezra sat alone at a long table lined with shadowy figures: bishops, generals, and scholars of the Sanctum.

On the massive projection wall behind them, a grainy image flickered into view.

A girl.

Sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Short, messy hair. Round, open face.

Laughing as she fed pigeons in a city square, unaware of the eyes watching her from the darkness.

Sunny Elaris.

"The Vessel?" Ezra asked skeptically. "She looks like a child."

"She is," one of the cardinals said grimly. "And that is what makes her vulnerable."

A murmur ran through the room.

"The demons know," the woman from earlier added. "They will come for her soon."

Ezra leaned back in his chair, studying the smiling girl on the screen. He felt...nothing. Just another mission. Another soul to protect. Another inevitable loss.

"What do you want me to do?" he said finally.

"Protect her," the Archbishop intoned. "At all costs."

Ezra tilted his head, almost smiling at the irony.

"You want a man with no faith... to guard a miracle."

The room was silent.

Finally, the Archbishop spoke again, voice low and heavy.

"We want a weapon," he said. "You are the best we have."

Final Scene of Chapter 1: Setting Off

By midnight, Ezra rode alone into the mist-choked streets, the city falling into uneasy slumber behind him.

The mission was clear:

Find Sunny.

Protect her.

Keep her out of demonic hands.

But in his gut, Ezra already knew.

This was no ordinary assignment.

This was a reckoning.

And deep down, beneath all the apathy and rage and bitterness —

— a part of him was terrified.

Not of the demons.

Not even of death.

But of what would happen if, somehow,

this girl rekindled the faith he had long buried in ash.

The night swallowed him whole as he rode on.

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