73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1IUzLjHVOuTHE GREAT NORTH CITY
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The cathedral doors part with a deep, echoing groan, spilling a wash of prismatic light across the threshold. Zack and Ben step inside, and the chamber swallows them. The High Council’s sanctum is a perfect circle of stone, glass, and judgment — a cathedral carved into geometry.
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The marble table dominates the room, stretching nearly wall‑to‑wall, its polished surface curving like a massive halo around the chamber. Only the center is left open, where a lowered defense stand waits beneath a beam of sunlight pouring from the circular window high above. The light strikes it like a divine spotlight, leaving the rest of the chamber bathed in shifting colors.
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Seven towering lanterns hang above the round scuplted long table, each one a different hue, each glowing with a slow, rhythmic pulse. The lanterns brighten in sequence, reflecting off the floor, surrounding them in a kaleidoscope of scrutiny.
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The light bleeds down unto the crystal‑veined floors, making the ground shimmer beneath Zack and Ben’s sandals as if they were walking across living glass.
To their left sits the first councilor — a figure draped in a red hooded robe, lantern above him glowing like a slow heartbeat. Beside him, in perfect sequence, the orange, yellow, lanterns are hung over.
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Directly ahead, across the curve of the table, the green and blue councilors watch in silence, their lanterns pulsing with a cold, measured rhythm.
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To the right, beneath a soft, radiant purple and pink lantern, sits the final hooded figures— gentle in presence, but firm.
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Zack and Ben follow the path, their sandals whispering across the glowing floor. No one speaks. No one welcomes them. The silence itself feels ceremonial, pressing in like a physical weight.
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Zack feels the exposure immediately — the way the sunlight isolates the defense stand, the way the councilors hidden eyes track them without moving, the way the colors crawl up his black robe like a slow confession.
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Ben feels it too; his breath tightens, his gaze lowers, as though afraid the lanterns might read his thoughts.
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They step into the center, into the beam of sunlight, into the circle’s judgment.
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They stand exposed.
They stand alone.
And the High Council waits.
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Ben steps forward into the beam of sunlight, bowing his head, and forces his voice to steady.
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“Honored Council… I am Benjamin of the Great City Temple. This is High Priest Zacharias, acting under urgent mandate. We come seeking guidance… and intervention.”
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His words echo at once, then it dissolves into the vast chamber.
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Silence fills the room like water.
No faces are visible beneath the hoods — only the colors pulsing overhead: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink.
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The air itself feels tinted, vibrating with judgment.
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Zack moves beside him, his black robe stark and out of place among the jeweled, radiant council. The colors wash over him but refuse to settle, as though the chamber itself is rejecting his presence.
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Still, he lifts his chin. Zack begins.
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Zacharias:(voice tight, u restrained urgency)
“Councilors…
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‘I stand before you because order is collapsing.”
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He takes a breath, steadying the anger beneath his ribs.
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“Metro — this vagabond, this half‑breed wanderer — has stirred rebellion among the people. He speaks with a serpent’s tongue, twisting scripture, turning villagers against the temple. They call him a prophet. A healer. A chosen one.”
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Zack’s jaw clenches.
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“But I have seen the truth. Wherever he goes, death follows. Five murders in the village — five — all tied to his companions, his so‑called brothers. A hundred soldiers dead after the raid of the 40,000 leafs acreage, meant to secure our standing in Province.
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And the people whisper that these movements are a sign. A miracle. A divine act.”
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He steps closer to the table, voice rising with conviction.
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“Paul — the butcher, the bandit — walks free because of Metro’s influence. His crimes are washed away by Metro’s lies. The people cheer for them. They cheer for killers.”
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The lanterns flicker, but the council remains silent.
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Zack presses on.
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“The temple is losing its grip. Our clergy is divided. Our authority is mocked. Metro’s false prophetism spreads like a plague, and if we do not act now, Providence will fall into chaos.”
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He spreads his hands — pleading, yet proud.
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“I ask — the Council’s assistance. Sanction us. Empower us. Let us put down this rebellion before it turns into a holy war.”
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His voice echoes through the chamber.
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Then silence again.
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Only the colors move. Pulsing.
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The red‑hooded councilor leans forward, the crimson lantern above him casting his robe in a deep, blood‑warm glow. His presence feels heavy, grounded, immovable — like stone carved from the earth itself.
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His voice rumbles through the chamber.
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Red Hood
“Your report arrives late. More blood has already been spilled in the village — Metro’s killings are known to us.”
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Zack’s breath catches.
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He hadn’t heard this.
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Not all of it.
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The red lantern pulses once, like a heartbeat.
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—Next to him, the orange councilor shifts, his lantern bathing him in a soft, ember‑like glow. His posture is relaxed, almost languid — but his voice cuts like a blade dipped in disappointment.
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“You let your fear and pride drive you here. You seek vengeance, not justice.”
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The white light flickeres across Zack’s face, exposing every twitch of anger he tries to hide.
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—
The yellow councilor sits rigid, spine straight, hands folded with perfect discipline. The golden lantern above him cast a sharp, unwavering beam, illuminating him like a judge carved from sunlight.
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“You overstep your station, High Priest Zachrias. You presume authority that is not yours to wield.”
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Zack bows his head — just enough to show respect, not enough to feel small.
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“I do not presume authority, honored Councilor. I only act within the burden placed upon me. The temple entrust me with leadership in a time of unrest, and I have carried that weight with unwavering loyalty.”
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He lifts his eyes, steady but controlled.
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“I do not seek to rise above my station. I seek only to fulfill it. When the people cry out in fear, it is my duty to answer. When doctrine is twisted, it is my duty to correct it. When danger threatens Providence, it is my duty to confront it.”
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His voice tightenes.
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“If I speak boldly, it is because the situation demands it. Not false ambition. Not arrogance. Only service.”
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A hand presses to his chest.
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“I stand here not to claim power… but to protect the power you have already given me.”
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The yellow lantern pulses— not approving, not condemning — simply measuring him.
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—The green councilor exhales softly, the emerald lantern above him casting a gentle, verdant glow. His posture is calm, open, almost sorrowful — the demeanor of someone who weighs hearts, not actions.
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“You speak of rebellion, yet you show no compassion for the people you claim to protect.”
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Zack stiffens as the green light is seen washing over the hooded counselor.
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Zack:(breaks and snaps)
“Compassion? Everything I do — every order I give, every risk I take — is for the safety of our people. I have watched this… this vagabond twist their hearts, blind their judgment, turn them against the very temple that shelters them.”
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He steps forward, voice rising.
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“You speak as though I am the threat. But I am the one trying to protect them from someone who leads them into chaos. I am the one standing between peace and anarchy. If it seems harsh, it is because the people are being deceived. They cheer for murderers. They defend criminals. They call rebellion a miracle.”
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His hands clench.
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“My resolve isn't cruelty. I act because no one else will. I act because compassion without discipline is weakness. And weakness is what the enemy feeds on.”
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The green lantern dims, pulsing once — slow, disappointed — but Zack holds his ground.
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and then Add to home screen.