Corruption.

The church was as corrupt as the darkest night. No matter how many layers Asael peeled away, the rot remained. He had rooted out the worst of them—the elder priests, the councils, the most heinous offenders—but corruption lingered like a shadow, clinging to the very walls of the holy institution.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his long, pure-white hair, his golden eyes narrowing as he stared at the ancient texts before him. Revered as the youngest and most powerful High Priest since Aranor in the 16th century, Asael’s ascension had not been without conflict. Many within the church had revolted against the idea of someone so young and unorthodox taking charge. Yet, none could deny he was chosen by the gods. His divine appearance—hair as white as untouched snow, eyes that burned like the sun—and his sheer magical prowess silenced most objections.

And then, there was his undeniable attractiveness. Noblewomen and debutantes, desperate for blessings, constantly sought him out, often forcing his hand at gatherings where his presence should have been unnecessary.

He strode out of the temple and into the bustling streets, seeking solace among the common folk.

Lost in thought, he barely registered the people moving around him, his mind spinning with questions and doubts about the path he had chosen—or the one chosen for him.

Then, it happened.

As he passed by, a sudden jolt coursed through him like lightning. His head snapped up, his golden eyes widening as a torrent of emotions assaulted his mind: Pain. Agony. Suffering. But most unsettling of all, magic. Dark and untamed, it crackled faintly in the air, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

He turned sharply, his gaze landing on a figure cloaked in shadow, their face obscured as they hurried down the crowded street.

"My lady," he called, his voice firm yet tinged with urgency.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice softer now, yet no less commanding. "And why do you carry such… burdens?"