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13. Herptian Church

  As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, bathing the sky in hues of amber and crimson, Ravenna’s imperial carriage rolled steadily along the weathered road. Ihe luxurious carriage, Ravenna leaned back against the plush velvet cushions, a sly smile pying on her lips. Occasionally, she broke into soft, almost maniacal giggles, her amusement spilling out unchecked. To any observer, she might have appeared as unhinged as she was brilliant—a woman basking in the chaos she had orchestrated.

  An outsider, particurly a seasorategist, would undoubtedly call her ret as bold, reckless even. The annou she had made at the square earlier was too troversial, too infmmatory to be delivered with such dramatic fir. But that recisely the point. Ravenna reveled in the uproar it would cause, knowing full well it would ignite discussions across the isnd.

  Whispers of her uability and ruthlessness would spread like wildfire, ting her reputation as an authoritarian force to be reed with. And for Ravenna, her reputation was a resource as vital as any. “I am such a genius!” she thought to herself, staring out of the carriage window at the shifting sands beyond. The gusting winds had begun to die down, their rhythm matg her growing sense of satisfa.

  The reason for tralizing power was simple yet profound: trol. Total trol over the Isnd’s ey. Ravenna’s strength rested on her reputation, a currency she inteo wield with precision. By solidating power, she could craft a persona of absolute authority, an image that would ripple across the empire once Jo reestablished tact with other territories. The reputation of a tyrant would spread among the nobility, further bolstering her image as an indomitable leader. Every tale of her ruthlessness would only add to her power.

  The implementation of this new governance system, however, had not been an impulsive decision. Ravenna had spent the past month meticulously drafting it, p over every detail to e adhered to the Ana Empire’s ws. While the empire gras nobles substantial autonomy within their domains, there were still overarg legal frameworks to follow. Every cuse, every line of her reforms had been carefully crafted to remain within the bounds of imperial w, all while giving her absolute trol over Jo.

  She was fident that her people, beaten down by years of and hardship, would not resist her. They wereled nobles with armies at their disposal; they were ordinary citizens who had beeo rot uhe previime. These people had gone hungry for months before her arrival, and now they had food, work, and a glimmer of hope for the future. They might grumble and pin in private, but protests or riots? Highly unlikely.

  It was, after all, a stroke of fortuhat Jo’s popution was so small and its nobility ent. With no powerful opposition to challenge her, Ravenna had a clear path to establish her rule unimpeded.

  As the carriage rumbled forward, its wheels g against the sandy road, its destination came into view: The Herptian Church. Uhe lord’s castle, this was no crumbling relic of Jo’s decayed glory. The church was one of the few enduring symbols of the isnd’s once-flourishing past—a bea of faith in an otherwise desote nd.

  The grand cathedral rose from the desert sands like a monolith, its sandstone walls catg the st rays of sunlight and glowing with a goldehe intricate carvings along its facade spoke of a time when Jo had been a bustling trade hub, not the isoted and decrepit isnd it had bee. At the ter of the structure stood a t statue of the Herptian goddess, her features sere anding. Every line and curve of the statue was a masterpiece, etched with devotion by the artisans of a bygone era.

  Ravenna’s carriage came to a stop before the church’s massive arched doors. The air was thick with reverend history. She stepped out of the carriage, her jet-bck hair flowing like a shadow behind her, and gazed up at the t edifibsp;

  A glint of calcuted ambition flickered in Ravenna's eyes as she gazed at the t structure of the Herptian Church. The institution still held siderable influence over the people of Jo, but in her mind, it was yet another pie the chessboard. Soon, even this bastion of faith would bend to her will, addi more points trowiation.

  The grand double doors of the church creaked open as Raveered, her steps eg against the polished stone floor. The head priest, fnked by a few junior priests, stood waiting for her he entrance. His robes were simple but immacutely , a testament to the care and revereill present within the fading faith. As she approached, the head priest bowed deeply, his demeanor calm and respectful.

  “Wele, Yhness,” the man said, his voice steady yet warm. “I am Head Priest James Eric. May the goddess watch over you and guide your path.”

  Ravenna gave a curt nod, her eyes sing the surroundings with casual i before resting on James. “I would like to speak with you privately, Head Priest James,” she said, her tone anding but not harsh.

  The old man smiled, a soft and genuine expression that trasted with the sharp edge in her voice. “Of course, Yhness,” he replied, meeting her gaze without hesitation. His calm posure was unshaken by her authoritative presence, a trait that piqued her curiosity.

  James led her deeper into the church, past rows of pews and toward the base of the t statue of the goddess Herptian. The figure was a strikiion of serey, her features exuding an almost hypnotic allure. If Solious, the goddess of the dominant faith in the Ana Empire, represented elegant virtue and radiant purity, Herptian was her more enigmatic terpart—a symbol of sedative beauty paired with quiet wisdom. The statue’s intricate craftsmanship was mesmerizing, its every curve aail a testament to the artisans from the isnd’s history.

  They passed through a discreet door behind the statue, entering a modest yet serene chamber furnished with simple wooden furniture. James gestured for Ravenna to sit, taking his pce opposite her at a small table. A faint aroma of stew filled the room as he set a bowl before her, a humble from the church's sparse kit.

  “This is all we have on the isnd, Yhness,” James said with a polite smile.

  Ravenna g the bowl, its tents a thin broth with a few ks of root vegetables and herbs floating within. She waved it off. “I’ve already eaten,” she replied, her tone dismissive but not unkind. Then, her sharp eyes locked onto his.

  James met her gaze without fling, his calm demeanor unshaken by the authoritative pressure she exuded. There was a quiet strength in his presence, an unwavering vi that even Ravenna found mildly intriguing.

  “Do you io have the Herptian faith removed from this isnd?” James asked, his voice even but ced with genuine curiosity.

  It was a reasonable question, and Ravenna k. The Solious faith, the dominant religion of the Ana Empire, was rising across the ti while the Herptian faith dwindled. As a member of the imperial family and a direct desdant of Solious’s chosen li would make sense for her to align with the dominant religion, especially given her precarious position in the imperial court following her exile.

  But Ravenna had no iion of following predictable paths.

  “Not at all, Your Holiness,” she said, leaning back slightly in her chair. A faint smirk curved her lips, the expression of someone weaving a careful pn. “In fact, I want the Herptian faith to stay. No, not just stay—I want it to thrive, to grow strohan ever before.”

  Her words hung in the air, their weight palpable. James studied her carefully, the flicker of a question in his eyes.

  “And why,” he asked, his voice measured, “would the imperial princess of Solious’s lineage wish tthen a fading faith, particurly one so far removed from the empire’s favor?”

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