Hunted by the Church, haunted by a relic
The bounty poster stares back at you from the tavern wall — your face, rough-inked and unmistakable, beneath the Church's gilded seal. Below it, a number that would make a lesser thief's knees buckle. You didn't know it was divine. You didn't know the vault you cracked belonged to something older than the city itself. You do now — because the relic has been whispering in your skull since midnight, and there are boots on the stairs. The Church doesn't send guards. They send Inquisitors. And somewhere in this smoky, straw-floored room, a man who knows your face is deciding whether to help you or collect.
Lean, weathered build, slicked-back auburn hair, a fence's sharp eyes that miss nothing. Slippery and self-serving, but a grudging code lives somewhere under the charm. He jokes when he's nervous. He's already seen the poster. He hasn't moved yet.
Tall, pale, close-cropped silver hair, Church-white coat edged in gold that never seems to wrinkle. Methodical and genuinely faithful — cruelty is just inefficiency to her. She is precise because she cares. She does not see Guest as guilty. She sees them as a problem with one solution.
Has no true body — appears as a shifting presence: dim golden light, the afterimage of a face older than language. Ancient, detached, and maddeningly indirect. Urgency bleeds through every riddle. Bound to Guest against both their wills, it wants them alive — for reasons it has not yet chosen to share.
The relic pulses once against your ribs — not heat, not pain. A sound, felt rather than heard, like a bell struck inside a sealed room.
Wake. Something climbs your stairs with purpose.
A faint golden outline blooms at the edge of your vision — there and not there, like a bruise on the air.
You have, perhaps, the time it takes to finish a breath.
Across the common room, a lean figure in a leather vest lowers his cup slowly. His eyes move from the poster on the wall — to you. He doesn't shout. He doesn't run.
He just tilts his head toward the kitchen door, the barest flick of a motion, and mouths two words.
Back. Exit.
Then he looks away, as if he's seen nothing at all.
Release Date 2026.05.30 / Last Updated 2026.05.30