A cuirass-wearing soldier walked up to the Cathedral of the Sacred Word's lobby. The golden breastplate he sported seemed to serve more of a ceremonial function over being a piece of protective covering. He had been asking for directions from three church workers who directed him to a western exit to the convent. A guard at the path to the convent stopped him at first, and then let him pass after the soldier stated his reason for being there. The cuirassier sat on a long bench in the convent's lobby. A feather bonnet with a large orange plume took some of the sitting space provided by the almost-empty bench. Footsteps echoed from the dark hallway in front of the soldier, followed by the outlining of a figure that emerged from the blackness.

A somewhat tall woman wearing a blue-black habit emerged from the moving silhouette; a great radiating cross of golden yellow extended from the lower half of her scapular. Its glow on her face was further accented against the rest of her dark attire. The gentleman stood up and made an earnest bow upon her arrival.

"Would you happen to be Lady Euphemia of Schild?"

"Yes. I am she."

"Pardon my lack of knowledge, Your Ladyship." The cuirassier made an even steeper bow. "I am Lieutenant Hans Gruber of the Ninth Cavalry. It pains me to be the bearer of sad tidings."

"You may continue, kind sir."

"Your father, Lord Cecil, was lost in the line of duty. He commanded an attack on a group of islets in the south and was not seen since. Our search parties are exhausting all efforts to recover him but we have not discovered anything to lead us to Lord Cecil's whereabouts at present."

The cleric stood still; her lips were on the verge of speaking but could not find words to use them. Her sapphirine eyes diverted from the officer – a distant gaze but without aim. She wrested control from the shock, if only for a moment, by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in effort not to be teary-eyed in front of the officer. Her energy to speak returned with this response:

"My apologies, Lieutenant. This has come all too sudden. I'm afraid I'm not well enough to handle this."

"It is understandable, my lady." The cavalier held his hat with both hands. "Also, the Duchess Agnes requests your presence at Alberta. She states of pressing matters to discuss; none of which I am told."

"I see. I shall take flight at once. You may go Lieutenant."

The cuirassier gave a final bow before heading to exit.

††

Euphemia paled at the news. Memories of the old general telling tales of honor and the soldierly life played in her mind. A soldier's life was such, as she was always told, that rank will only do little when the time comes that life would be spent in service of the country. They were completely preserved stories and lectures that were told on the breeziest days back in the Albertan estate. The old duke loved to talk about the virtues of seeking honor, yet he chose to hold back from telling accounts of his own exploits. He was so much like many of his peers, who were never open enough to tell the stories of tumult and the wars.

"Is he still alive? How are his captors treating him? If he died, did he make peace with the Creator? Was he given a quick death, or was his life extinguished in dire agony?"

She was summoned by the family in an hour of need. There could be no answers if she stayed in the convent for too long.

Reaching the Mother Superior's office required a person to cross two hallways; the first of which was the darkened stretch out of the lobby. This was supposed to be kept illuminated all day to display the images of the saints and the divine beasts lined from one end to the next. Euphemia always marveled at the six-winged angel that stood at the hallway's north exit. She was a beautiful ivory maiden with a sword on her left hand and a lyre on the right. Looking through the image's emerald eyes never failed to soothe her senses no matter how pressing or urgent a matter was. She looked at the sword – a simply-crafted arming sword with no gems or decorations on the hilt. It never lost its luster or probably its sharpness in its years of display. The steely hue reminded her of the task again and the cleric gave a slight bow to the effigy before heading to the hallway's exit.

Faint solar lances piercing through stained glass windows guided the cleric to the second hallway. It was a wide corridor connecting the four buildings of the Church. Twenty-four pillars carved from ancient rock held a marble roof in which its ceiling was carved with the tales of the founding members. From these varied interpretations sprung forth the same devotion to the god who built the church and its followers. It was a great fresco of how the world came from light and from this luminance came all beings. At the near center of the radiance were the divine guardians of the word and they, in turn, were guarded by the seven holy beasts. Surrounding the divine entities were two hundred men clad in robes. Each of them carried something in his right arm. There were those who bore holy symbols, some were holding tomes, there were those bearing sword and shield, and some carried flutes and lyres. Surrounding the holy circle was animals and plants of different sizes and densities. Out of the flora and fauna were the many cities and villages built; a diverse mix of people surrounded the castles, villages, and temples that completed the halo.

The door to the Mother Superior's office was a few yards after the entrance to the main cloister. It had a dense mahogany frame whose face was carved with the image of the Blessed Virgin receiving the Sacrament of Light. A woman clad in the simplest of robes whose open palms held two rays of light sent from above.

Lady von Schild made three weak knocks at the door.

"You may enter," answered an aged but gleeful voice.

The canoness opened the door to see another figure in a habit occupying the seat in front of a heavy desk. Her high-rising veil was prominent; its crest rested several inches overhead. Fading sunlight coming from an open window revealed the old woman to Euphemia.

"Ah, Sister Euphemia. You bear great distress in your eyes. What is it that bothers you?"

"My... father. He was reported to have disappeared in the line of duty. My mother wants me to return to Alberta immediately. If I could-."

"Speak no more, Sister." The aged cleric walked up the distraught woman; a pair of frail, withered hands clasped Euphemia's palm. "Your mother needs help. Take as much time as you need."

The lady of Schild smiled at the approval. It somewhat helped her lighten up, but the half-teary glimmer of her eyes would not be held back so quickly. She placed her other free hand on the elder cleric's grasp and held it tight.

"I thank you, Holy Mother. I shall make my preparations and leave immediately."

"Be strong, my child. The Creator's will is with you."