She was not always a heretic.
Tonight, she would prove it.
The guardian screamed.
Her fingers brushed the cold cylinder of the APK device strapped to her thigh—a chronometric anchor, version 0.15, scavenged from the Wexrchan ruins. The heretics who carved those tunnels had learned to fold time into pockets, to whisper to their past selves. The Church burned them all. But Virodar had memorized their cants. -18 - dawnhold Sister Virodar APK v0.15 wexrchan lasud
Sister Virodar knelt on the frozen slate of the Penitent’s Spire, her woolen habit soaked through with the perpetual drizzle that clung to the city’s lower tiers. Above her, the Golden Cloister blazed with false dawn-light—hollowforged lamps that mimicked a sun Dawnhold hadn’t seen in eighteen years. She was not always a heretic
Dawnhold, Year of Ashen Saints -18