[Codex Fragment: The Holy Wall of St. Catherine & The Last Gate of Michael]
âA wall is raised not to conquer, but to cradle.â
In the centuries following the First Demonic Sundering, when the Void split the skies and shattered the world, survivors fled across the broken continents. Among them was a healer named Catherine of the Bleeding Cloth, who walked barefoot for forty nights, binding the wounds of strangers with her own garments. Where her blood last fell, a sanctuary rose. A haven untouched by demonic presence. Over time, the Holy Wall of St. Catherine was raised in her name. Unlike the towering fortresses of the northern cities, it was not built to fight but to shelter. White stones etched with sigils of binding and mercy lined its core. Mothers, widows, and broken soldiers found rest inside its embrace. It was said that even demons would not cross the wall unless invited.
But the wall did not stand alone. At each cardinal point stood four gates, armoured, consecrated, and deadly. The largest and oldest of them faced the northern frontier. It was called the Last Gate of Michael. Named after the Archangel who once cast down the Void Serpent in forgotten ages, the Gate of Michael was a place of final judgment.
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CHAPTER 7
The forest thinned ahead. A golden hue filtered through the canopy, brushing over moss-covered trunks and mist-laced air. Ritzo and Aurora moved in silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by everything they hadnât said.
âLook, Ritzo,â Aurora said, pointing forward.
Rising from the horizon like a mirage carved from divinity stood a wall, yet not a wall. A shimmering veil of energy, both seen and unseen. Solid without stone. Sacred without voice. The Holy Wall of St. Catherine. And within it, the Last Gate of Michael.
They walked toward it slowly, but just before the threshold, Ritzoâs fingers drifted down, brushing the hilt of his blade. The moment his skin touched cold metal, he faltered. The world twitched. A vision flickered behind his eyes. A sky he didnât know. A place he didnât remember. A figure wrapped in red, tall as the trees, standing on nothing. The moon burned behind it, forming a halo. Its eyes did not glow; they bled. Thin trails of red light poured from the darkness where a face should have been. It did not speak. It did not move. Ritzo couldnât breathe or look away. That presence wasnât watching. It was waiting. He gasped, and the vision was gone. Only the hilt remained beneath his palm, cool and silent. His hand trembled as he released it. His voice barely rose above the wind.
What was that?
Aurora glanced back, and a glimmer crossed her eyes. She was weary, not from the journey, but from the weight of what Ritzo was becoming. Power had come too soon, and power without balance was always a risk. But now was not the time.
As they crossed the bridge, a figure approached, his silhouette sharp against the fog-lined city beyond. He wore a royal blue cape edged with gold trim, and beneath it, a crisp white uniform, immaculate. A soldier, but not just any soldier.
âWhat brings you past Holy Catherine?â His voice was calm and deliberate, each word measured. He exuded authority, but not the kind that chilled. It was the kind that told you that you were safe, at least for now.
Aurora offered a faint smile. âWeâre here for the Examination Board.â
The manâs brow rose with a trace of disbelief. âYou two? Very well. But Iâll say this, it is not a test you walk away from easily.â He leaned in slightly, his tone shifting. âI would hate to see you hurt because I let you through.â
Auroraâs voice was quiet and steady. âDonât worry. Weâll be fine.â
Ritzo blinked, glancing at her. Examination Board? After a pause, the soldier sighed and stepped aside, gesturing them forward. Aurora nodded her thanks as they passed into the outer district. The city lay within walls, shielded by myth. Ritzo slowed for a moment, his eyes caught on the manâs cape as it shifted in the breeze. Near the shoulder, stitched in silver thread, was a badge. Three letters shimmered faintly.
L.E.P.
He didnât recognise it, but he knew it wasnât decoration. It was a mark of belonging, a deliberate designation stitched to be seen. Ritzo turned forward again. After a while, Aurora tilted her head slightly, her eyes still fixed on the road.
âI feel like you have a question, Ritzo.â
He stared at her. I swear she can read minds. Scratching his head, he muttered, âUhh⦠what exactly is an Examination Board?â
Aurora lifted her chin, her gaze drifting toward the skyline as though caught in memory. âDo you remember who the D.S.O are?â she asked.
Ritzo slowed, uncertain, yet somehow he knew it didnât matter. Not now. Ahead stood a building. No, a monument. Cathedral-like in its frame, where old stone met new alloy, sacred blended with the scientific. Towers reached into mist-veiled skies, etched with runes so old they hummed in silence. At the centre, carved into black metal and inlaid with silver, stood three letters:
D.S.O.
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The emblem pulsed faintly, like a heart that had never stopped beating. Ritzoâs breath caught, his eyes widening. He had never seen something so vast, so deliberate, so impossibly real. Aurora smiled softly beside him.
âCome, Ritzo,â she said.
Inside, a crowd had gathered. Some clustered in tight-knit groups, others stood alone like islands in a storm, but no one spoke without calculation. Eyes flicked across the room, unseen but felt, measuring, sizing, weighing every movement and every breath. This wasnât a lobby. It was a proving ground. Not a place where the strong gathered, but a place where the weak were buried and the strong were born again. Aurora and Ritzo stepped through the threshold. The glass doors shut quietly behind them, yet the air inside reacted like thunder. It began with a whisper, a murmur near the far wall: White hair⦠both of them? Then another, closer this time: Is that⦠the Tenshiro girl? Eyes turned. Subtle at first, then sharper, longer. Some lowered their voices. Others didnât bother. They donât look like trainees. Look at the kid, heâs barely tall enough to reach the desk, but thatâs Tenshiro blood if Iâve ever seen it. Silence followed, recognition settling into place. Legacy walked among them. Not a legend from stories, but two of flesh and breath.
They continued down the main corridor. A navy-blue carpet stretched before them like a ceremonial path toward the reception. A womanâs voice rose from behind the tall registration booth. âHello. How can I help you?â Ritzo blinked. He couldnât see the speaker, the desk towering above him. Curious, he stepped forward, rising on his toes, fingers brushing the counterâs edge. Slowly, his head peeked into view, wide blue eyes shimmering like a tide pool in moonlight. Aurora spoke first. âWeâre here to register for the trainee exam.â There was a pause. The woman leaned forward, just enough to glance at Ritzo. âWe?â Her voice tilted. âHow old is he?â Aurora placed a hand on her brotherâs head, gentle but firm. âHeâs six.â Ritzo, a little thrown off, took it as his cue. âIâm Ritzo,â he said. His voice was soft but eager, trying to sound grown-up despite the tremble beneath. His innocence washed over the woman, disarming, almost painful. Child soldiers werenât unheard of, but they never felt right. She smiled politely and played along, fingers hovering near the keyboard.
âOkay, Mr. Ritzo. Whatâs your last name?â she asked. She expected make-believe. A childish name. A joke, perhaps. Instead, she received something else. Ritzoâs smile faltered, and a shadow crossed his face. My last name⦠huh. He spoke: âTenshiro.â The word fell like iron, and the reaction was immediate. Recognition echoed through the hall. Someone gasped audibly. Then the whispers: He said it. Tenshiro. That confirms it. Thatâs her brother. So itâs true⦠theyâre still alive. A few people stepped back. Others froze where they stood. It wasnât fear that filled the room; it was reverence and also dread. No one needed to speculate now. There were no doubts. The Tenshiro line still lived. The receptionist didnât move for a full second. Then she blinked quickly, typed both names into the system, and forced a thin, awkward smile. âThe next exam will take place... in one year.â But her voice wasnât steady anymore. Because she, like everyone else in that room, now understood. This wasnât just an application. It was the return of a legacy. The return of the Tenshiro bloodline. She looked like she wanted to say something else, maybe an apology, but all that came was silence.
Aurora gave her a faint nod, then turned around. âCome on, Ritzo.â He hesitated, his eyes flicking around the room, catching the way people still stared. Some with awe. Some with fear. And a few with something colder. Envy. He then followed her without a word. The city gates stood open when they reached them. The air outside was different, sharper, as if the world itself was watching. Ritzo exhaled slowly, kicking at a loose stone as they stepped beyond the boundary. âWhatâs wrong with everyone?â he asked. âTheir eyes⦠I can feel them watching.â Aurora didnât answer right away. The sun was dipping low behind them, casting their shadows long across the stone path ahead. Finally, she spoke: âFocus on yourself, Ritzo. Donât let their thoughts become your own.â Ritzo looked up at her, but she was already moving again. Silent. Certain. Toward whatever came next. Toward the exam.
The pair walked with a new goal in mind. For Aurora, it was preparation for something greater than herself. For Ritzo, it was proof that he was no longer the boy who failed to wield the Void, that he wasnât fragile anymore, that he was more than a shadow in someone elseâs legend. Two years ago, the power had rejected him. Now it moved through him. Or perhaps he was the Void itself, not just a wielder, but an embodiment of what it meant to carry its presence. Iâm strong now, Ritzo thought as they crossed the long bridge beneath a sky just starting to burn gold. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. I can fight beside her now. He reached for his blade, and in one clean motion, he drew it, the edge slicing the air with a sharp whoosh. His grin widened. Not a childâs smile, but pride. Something he had never felt this deeply before.
They crossed the last span in silence before Aurora stopped. Ritzo halted just behind her, confused. Her gaze wasnât on the sky or the road ahead, but turned inward. She had been wondering how she would teach him restraint. She had always been praised, called a prodigy, told she was everything the world needed. Meanwhile, Ritzo had been given silence, told he was too much or not enough, except when they were together. And in that realisation, something clicked. He didnât need more power. He needed space to grow without fear, to feel what it meant to hold strength and be held anyway. She would give him that, the compassion he was never offered. She would let him bloom quietly, violently, beautifully. And when the storm inside him surged too far, she would be there to show him how to soften. How to stay human.
âRitzo...â Her voice cut through the stillness, soft, measured, but heavy. His eyes widened, anticipation coiling in his chest, winding tighter with every breath. Then the air changed. It thickened, collapsing inward, as if the world had taken a deep breath and forgotten how to let it go. Ritzo staggered back instinctively, but it didnât help. Something cold began to crawl over his skin, a silent shiver moving beneath the flesh, up his arms, and down his spine. âWhat... what is this?â The words slipped from his lips like a reflex, as if his own body was trying to flee through sound. But he couldnât move. Not anymore. His soul was locked in place due to the unrelenting force that was void pressure.
âRaise your weapon, little brother.â The sound of steel leaving its sheath split the silence like lightning splitting the sky. He looked up. There was no moon this time, no shadows dancing under silver light. Only the sun. Blinding, golden sun. And in its blaze, she stood. Aurora. Sword in one hand, the edge of the blade gently resting on the other. Her figure was cast in silhouette, as if even light hesitated to touch her. Her very presence was commanding. Untouchable. Absolute. âHesitation kills, brother.â A warning. And in that moment, Ritzo understood that this wasnât training. It was survival.
Training Begins.