"I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, 'Come!'"
"I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest."
"When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, 'Come!' Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make people kill each other. To him was given a large sword."
"When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, 'Come!' I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, 'Two pounds of wheat for a day's wages, and six pounds of barley for a day's wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!'"
"When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the fourth living creature say, 'Come!' I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth."
"When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, 'How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?'" — The Revelation to John
Whenever Mikhail Rurik, the future founder of the State Church of Kislev, recalled the moment he first beheld the Master of Mankind, even as an old man in his eighties, he would tremble with uncontrollable emotion.
In that instant, his God appeared before him in person to praise and reward him—the ultimate glory for any believer. It was the absolute proof that his faith was true and that the God he worshipped indeed existed.
The weather during the Emperor's manifestation led Mikhail to believe that the Master of Mankind—the biological father of his foster son—carried a monumental responsibility, and that He had placed a heavy burden upon Mikhail's own shoulders.
Though Mikhail did not consider himself a man of great cunning or strategy, he would carry out any duty bestowed by God without hesitation—just as he had raised Perturabo when the child was entrusted to him.
It was a rare night of thunder and torrential rain in Kislev. The city's inhabitants had long since retreated to their homes to seek refuge from the storm.
Mikhail, however, had not returned to his quarters. He remained kneeling before the icon in the Great Cathedral, deep in prayer. He never neglected his daily prayers or his ascetic disciplines, regardless of the scorching heat of summer or the bitter freeze of winter.
Clad in the black robes unique to his rank as the Archbishop of Kislev, Mikhail knelt in devout prayer while the wind and rain lashed against the windows outside. His stubbornness placed his servants in a difficult position; they knew that if anything happened to the old priest, his foster son would never forgive them.
"Lord Mikhail, please, return to your quarters! If any accident befalls you, His Majesty the Tsar will be furious!"
Mikhail's attendants urged him anxiously. They dared not gamble with his safety. If Mikhail came to harm tonight due to his own persistence, Perturabo might well send every one of them to their graves.
"Hehe, children, do not worry. I will explain things to Abo when the time comes. I will ensure your safety before him."
"Moreover, if I am to pass tonight, it would be a death in service to God's work. I would die with no regrets."
Hearing their frantic voices, Mikhail offered a slight smile and shook his head to comfort them.
"But..."
The servants were at a loss. The old priest was so stubborn that he would neither listen to reason nor accept rebuke. They could only suppress their anxiety and frustration as they waited for him to finish his devotions.
Fortunately, the cathedral remained peaceful that night. The old priest completed his tasks safely, as he always did.
The servants breathed a collective sigh of relief. They had survived another day without incurring the wrath of the Tsar's foster son.
"O omniscient and almighty Lord, hear the plea of Your servant. Protect Your son, the Tsar of all Kislev! Amen!"
This was his routine closing prayer. As always, Mikhail did not pray for himself, but for his foster son and the High Tsar of the land. Naturally, being a silent object of wood and paint, the icon offered no direct "response."
Mikhail rose from the stone tiles and looked toward his servants.
"Let us go," he said.
Just as Mikhail and his retinue prepared to leave the cathedral, a voice drifted toward them from behind.
"I truly do not understand why you continue to pray to these dead objects." The voice was devoid of piety, carrying a faint, mocking undertone regarding Mikhail's faith.
"Who goes there?!"
Hearing the irreverent tone, the servants immediately went on high alert. The cathedral should have been empty except for Mikhail and themselves.
Amidst the sharp shouts of the guards, a man dressed in a simple long robe stepped slowly out from a dark corner into the light. He was a man of somewhat dark skin and long black hair—features rarely seen in the predominantly fair-skinned and blue-eyed population of Kislev.
Strangely, despite the routine sweeps performed by Savinkov's assassins and Perturabo's own Streltsi to ensure no anti-Tsarist killers were present, this man had somehow remained hidden until now.
"Who are you? Are you here to assassinate Father Mikhail?!"
The servants stood before Mikhail with high suspicion, drawing their concealed weapons as they questioned the stranger.
"Loyal guards. Admirable. However, I did not come here today to assassinate this venerable priest. I only... wished to have a chat with him."
The dark-skinned man chuckled softly at the interrogation, his voice calm.
"In that case, I, Mikhail, will not refuse a friend who wishes to speak for a while. Put away your weapons. Let me talk with him."
Mikhail nodded slightly and patted the servant blocking his path, speaking in a low voice.
"But Lord Mikhail, we have a duty to protect you... We should wait until the Tsar and the Streltsi arrive before deciding anything!" The servants were worried, whispering their protests at his lack of caution.
"No. If I am to die tonight, it can only be by God's will. No amount of protection will change that. Conversely, if God intends for me to live, then any hardship is merely a trial."
Mikhail shook his head and spoke slowly, disregarding their warnings. He walked toward the long-haired man until he stood directly before him.
"You wish to speak with me. Very well. May I ask your name?"
"My name?" The long-haired man appeared slightly surprised by the question, then a smile touched his lips.
"My name... Mr. Mikhail, you may call me..."
"Neoth," the man said.