Hội Sâm Các Kiều

Spat on her. Cold. Her body was already tense. “You carried it,” Verena whispered, touching her brow with a trembling hand. She dropped to her knees, wincing at the shift in weight inside her. Her journey is one of devotion beyond pride, of suffering beyond honor. It is not glorious. Her journey is one of devotion beyond pride, of suffering beyond honor. No armor. “We need to remove it.”

“Quietly,” she said. The pressure was overwhelming. “Make it worth it,” she whispered. The heretics believed she was a captured missionary — a discarded Sister cast off by the Ecclesiarchy. What she had become. Nothing could prepare a body for this. She did not scream. She endured, because there was no choice. Caelen caught the capsule, cradling it like a relic. One eye was swollen shut. She dropped to her knees, wincing at the shift in weight inside her. Between them lay the object: a power core encased in sanctified adamantium, roughly the size of a gauntleted fist.