Chapter 119: The Living Saint
Kian's eyes widened to the size of brass throne-coins. He looked at the Canon-Preceptor, then at Theresa, then back again.
"Ha? Theresa? A Living Saint? You've got to be joking. Did you inhale too much incense, old man?"
"Impudence!" the Cenobite aide hissed, stepping forward with his staff raised. "How dare you speak to the Canon-Preceptor with such filth! You—"
The Canon raised a pale, mechanical hand, silencing his subordinate. His gaze remained fixed on Kian, his eyes unsettlingly soft.
"The kinsman of a Sainted Soul is entitled to their skepticism," the Canon purred. "Please, follow me. We shall discuss this in a more... sequestered sanctum."
The Canon offered a graceful gesture of invitation, leading Kian deeper into the Cathedral's restricted wing.
They arrived at a private reception chamber. The decor was standard High Gothic: austere stone benches, a heavy timber low-table, and a single flickering glow-globe suspended by a rusted chain. The air was thick with the scent of sacred oils.
The Canon sat across from Kian, a persistent, saintly smile etched onto his face. Kian felt a shiver of discomfort. The man was being too polite. If he weren't already well past his prime, Kian would have suspected the priest had some very un-holy intentions for him.
"Master Voss," the Canon began, his voice like velvet. "You are clearly more than a simple traveler. I can sense the resonance of a Pure Soul emanating from you. Tell me... would you care to join our Order? To stand closer to the Golden Throne and hear the whispers of the Master of Mankind?"
Kian was momentarily stunned. One meeting and he's already trying to recruit me into the 'System'?
The Ecclesiarchy—the Ministorum—was one of the most terrifying powers in the Imperium. They owned entire Shrine Worlds, commanded their own Battle Barges, and held a political and military hierarchy that existed entirely outside the standard Imperial law. Joining them was a fast track to absolute power, but it was also a death sentence for a man like Kian.
Hive-life was dangerous, but religious fanaticism was a special kind of madness. In the Ministorum, a single "clerical error" or a "lapse in dogma" resulted in being judged a heretic and spent as fuel for a pyre. Kian preferred his current life of smuggling and "auditing."
Kian shook his head. "I appreciate the invitation, Lord Canon, but my soul is too restless for a cage of stone. Now... why the title? Why are you calling this girl a 'Saint'?"
A Living Saint was a title of legends. Usually, the title was granted posthumously—after someone died doing something impossible, like holding a bridge against a thousand Orks with a broken tooth-pick. To be named a Saint while breathing meant the person had performed a miracle of galactic proportions.
Theresa was a sixteen-year-old girl who had spent her life in a hab-block. Putting a target like that on her back felt like a cruel joke.
The Canon smiled wider, looking at Theresa with an intensity that bordered on the fanatical. "She is not a Saint... yet. But she possesses the Aura of Grace. I have served the Throne for sixty standard years, Voss. I have seen Cardinals and Arch-Confessors, but I have never felt a spirit this clean."
He leaned in, his eyes glowing with a faint, reflected light. "Occasionally, I sense the Emperor's own radiance flickering within her. He has turned His gaze upon this child. And you, Master Voss... your soul carries the same scent. You must spend your nights in deep, agonizing prayer for the Master of Mankind to have shielded your spirit so thoroughly."
Kian's face went stiff. Crap. He's sensing the 'Emperor's Benediction' buff.
He realized his mistake. He had given Theresa the Sanctified Rations to keep her from starving, and he had eaten them himself to boost his Mental Clarity. He hadn't realized that to a high-level priest, the "Pancake Buff" was a literal beacon of divine energy. He needed to be more careful about who he "fed" in the future.
"Lord Canon," Kian said, choosing his words like a man walking through a minefield. "Theresa is just a girl. Her parents and her brothers are in the sub-levels, working and waiting for her. Directing this kind of attention toward her... is it a blessing, or are you just using her as a trophy? Can a sixteen-year-old carry the weight of a district's faith?"
The Canon's expression turned somber. He looked at Theresa, who sat between them, looking small and overwhelmed by the golden embroidery of her new robes.
"I understand your concern, Master Voss," the Canon whispered. "But the Hive is suffering. The darkness grows every cycle. People need a light to follow. Theresa has the 'Gift.' With my guidance, she can achieve what ordinary mortals cannot. She can forge a legacy that will be remembered for ten thousand years."
She's just a kid who ate a holy wafer, Kian thought bitterly.
He was about to renew his argument when Theresa, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke.
"Uncle Kian," she said softly, using the term of respect for her family's benefactor. "I have my own thoughts. I want to accept the Canon's guidance. I want to follow the path he has laid out for me."
Kian frowned, searching her eyes. He didn't see brainwashing. He saw a cold, desperate resolve.
He understood. Theresa had watched her family's world vanish in a heartbeat. She had been dragged from her home, stripped of her life, and thrown into a world of dogmatic violence. She had felt the weight of her own powerlessness.
Now, a Spire-tier authority was offering her power. He was telling her she could be a "Saint." She wasn't accepting the religion; she was accepting the Weapon. She wanted to be strong enough so that her family would never have to be "Dispossessed" again.
Kian let out a long, heavy breath. If she wanted to dance with the golden fire, he wasn't her father; he couldn't stop her.
He had spent his time consorting with rebels, murdering PDF officers, and bribing Marshals. He was a dead man walking by Imperial law. Who was he to tell her to choose a "safer" path?
"Fine," Kian said, reaching out to pat her shoulder. "If this is the game you want to play, I won't stop you. Just remember, kid... don't believe your own press. The fire that warms the Hive can also turn you to ash."
With the bargain sealed in blood and dogma, Kian Voss stood up, prepared to return to his own industrial war.
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