The next day, Hedi followed the nun out of the guest room, walking southeast along a road of glossy black stone, like a ribbon of wet obsidian.

A mild breeze combed their sleeves; in the air drifted the choir’s low humming, there and not there.

This song carried no lyrics, offered to the gods alone—the Priest used to say so.

The sound wandered through the towering, lonesome Sacred Cathedral like smoke curling in a bell.

“This is a song asking the gods to bless the living,” the nun said as they walked, turning her head as if teaching a newcomer an old rite. “We sing it every morning.”

“Hymn to the Dawn.”

The nun slowed, her eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. “You a follower of the goddess Aier?”

“Sort of.”

“Then you shouldn’t throw magic around, because—”

Irritation rose first, then Hedi cut her off like an axe dropping a drawbridge rope. “All members must strictly follow the Holy Canon. Those whose words or deeds endanger the common good, or betray doctrine, are branded heretics and expelled from the Sacred Cathedral.”

“Chapter Three, Section Sixteen of Aier’s Doctrine. You recite it well, but doctrine isn’t for parroting; keep it in your heart.”

“Sounds like something the Priest would say.”

“John? The Holy Maiden mentions him often. You met him?”

“Mm.”

“Sadly, Father John died of illness six years ago. The nuns and children who lived here with him left soon after. Only Sister Bertha and the Holy Maiden stayed—until now, Sister Bertha too has returned to heaven.”

“Of all the old memories in the Sacred Cathedral, only the Holy Maiden remains?”

“The way you put it...” The nun smiled, soft as a folded fan. “But you’re not wrong. Too much has happened in six years.”

“Last night a nun came to receive me. Where did she go after?”

“The Confinement Room.”

“Your threshold for punishment is that low?” Hedi flicked a lock of hair, displeasure rising like heat from stone. “Doesn’t feel like a Sacred Cathedral.”

“Our rules aren’t for outsiders to judge, and the price for your reckless magic will be purified in the Confinement Room.”

“I refuse.”

“You prefer a prison to confinement?”

“Confinement is for believers. I’m not.”

The nun paused, her lips tilting at an odd angle. “You just said—”

“My faith in the goddess Aier is flexible. Standards and bottom lines included.”

“Picking what benefits you. That’s textbook heresy, isn’t it?”

“So what? Calling it purification just polishes forced submission.”

“You may misunderstand. Our Confinement Room isn’t the harsh hole you picture. Unlike places that lock people in dark, cramped cells with hunger, we let you eat and move. During that time, you may only move within the Sacred Cathedral, and you focus on reading the Holy Canon to cleanse the heart.”

“What a dainty explanation.” Hedi let out a long breath, like mist leaving a mirror.

“There used to be strict confinement. But since the Holy Maiden revised the rules of Molokov Bay Chapel, we don’t allow harsh, punitive measures.”

A weight pressed first, then Hedi thought of Alina. The girl seemed married to the Confinement Room, often shut in by the nuns. Every time she finished her term and got paraded as a warning, she wore that unrepentant look—yet on her pale cheeks you could still catch two faint, hidden tear tracks.

Maybe the Confinement Room had no crawling horrors, and maybe it wasn’t filthy. But no matter how clean the walls, it was a dim place that pressed on the chest, thick with the breath of despair.

“If Alina saw the Confinement Room now—” Hedi smiled, a small crescent, and murmured, “she’d be delighted.”

“Alina?”

“My leader. Or the queen among our kids. She dragged me everywhere, and in the end... she was the one confined.”

The nun listened a moment, thoughtful, then asked, “You used to live in this Sacred Cathedral?”

“Not here.”

“That’s a relief. If the Priest knew his child broke doctrine, he’d be heartsick.”

Hedi nodded in silence, like a leaf bowing to wind.

“Before the Confinement Room, you must meet the Holy Maiden,” the nun went on.

“What rule is that?”

“I don’t know how you were released before our contact arrived. But the moment the Holy Maiden learned about the magic incident, she sent a nun. If you hadn’t left the police station yourself, the nun would have pulled you out. So, you should meet the Holy Maiden.”

“I don’t... know her...”

“You met Father John, but not Hedi Melvina? She often discussed magic with him.”

Hedi eyed the nun’s puzzled face and teased, “Put that way, it rings a bell.”

“A very quiet, very lovely girl.”

“As far as I know, when she turned sixteen she went to Hervor Academy, and she’s been studying there ever since.”

“That version does go around.” The nun brushed her habit and lowered her voice. “But Melvina stayed. After the Priest died, she became the Sacred Cathedral’s Holy Maiden.”

“Why? She hated being the Holy Maiden.”

“She didn’t want the Priest to leave with regret.”

“Then the regret turned into shackles, binding her arms.”

The nun turned, intrigued. “You sound like you know Melvina well.”

“I only remembered her because you nudged me. Does that count?”

“Fair enough.”

They walked in silence along a familiar path. Most of the Sacred Cathedral’s buildings—old stone walls and ivy-wreathed spires—still matched her memory.

But the garden once neglected was now trimmed and orderly, and empty patches held new benches where they used to sit on grass.

Fresh cobblestone paths replaced worn slabs; panes of stained glass, bright as new lacquer, caught the winter sun and returned it as softened light.

“This is the Holy Maiden’s room,” the nun stopped at a door. “She stays inside unless it’s important.”

“The more I hear, the more it sounds like chains.”

“Whatever you think, don’t call her Melvina. Even if you met her, that was then. Now she is the revered Holy Maiden.”

Hedi nodded assent, rapped twice, and pushed the door open. The room spread wide, with windows open on every wall.

Through the nearest window, a corridor of pale wood drifted by like a stream of light.

The Holy Maiden sat leaning on the sill, watching a blue sky clear as mint candy.

Her hair—on closer look, not like Hedi’s; snow-white, tender to the eye—fell smooth and unbound.

Parted down the center, it spilled to both sides and flowed all the way to her waist.