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The last light of day dies behind the walls of the abbey.
You follow the echo of his soft footsteps out into the open fields, where dusk is now pooling like ink between the tall stalks of neglected grass.
The air hums- alive, waiting.
When he appears, Papa Perpetua is not cloaked in ceremonial robes but rather, in shadow and the faintest gleam of moonlight shining down on his silhouette. His wings unfold slowly, immense and grandiose. Claws flex against the earth, carving crescents into the soil as though he is testing the strength of the world itself. The tail flicking mindlessly beside him, moves like a living question.
“You called me from the stone,” he murmurs, voice deep as the wind moving through the ministry crypts. “Now see what the moon awakens.”
The ritual circle lies ahead of you- an old one, erected long before the rise of the Abbey itself. You begin lighting the waiting candles, the flames immediately bending towards him as if they are just as transfixed on him as you are. Perpetua steps into the center of the circle, and the air immediately thickens with the scent of old incense and rain.
You approach, barefoot, as you delicately move through the cold wet grass. The hem of his jacket stirs around you like smoke as he reaches out for you- not to claim, but to include you. His metallic claws barely touch your skin, tracing patterns that are half blessing and half memory. The brief contact sends tremors through you, his sheer power feeling older than language itself.
Bowing his head, his brow just nearly touches yours.
“Life and death walk together tonight. You and I will show them how.”
The ritual begins: your hands mirror his, palms lifted and facing up towards the sky. The wind rises, blowing through the curls that spill down his neck, carrying sparks from the candles into the darkness. You speak the words he teaches you, syllables that taste of iron and honey. Power that you can feel pulsing in the air and flowing through your veins. The field around you sways in a rhythmic pattern, flowers blooming and opening though no sunlight remains. The fields are teeming with the afterlife- souls frolicking, dancing, laughing and playing. You watch in awe, completely bewitched by the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.
When silence eventually falls again, it is complete. His wings fold inward, wrapping you both in a half circle of light and shadow. You feel his breath against your cheek, slow and deliberately measured. For no longer than a heartbeat, it seems the night holds its breath itself.
The rite is done now, but something remains unfinished- some thread between you that neither of you dare to break nor tie. His claws rest gently on your shoulder, and as you look up, his eyes catch the moonlight- silver, ancient and unreadable.
“Go, before I forget which world you belong to.” He murmurs softly.
Neither of you move. The fields hum with energy, the candles putter out, and the night waits- patient, all-knowing- that one further step will change everything, and that is exactly what you intend to do.