Chapter 66: The Altar And The Answer

Soft light beckoned from the end of the corridor—not the harsh glare of illusion, but the warm glow of cathedral candles.

"It seems we passed the test," Cyrus said, gesturing for Kane to go ahead.

They walked side by side, neither willing to let the other out of sight again.

The pathway led them upward, spiraling back into the familiar walls of St. Aveline’s.

Father Thomas waited at the top, hands folded patiently, as though they’d merely stepped out for a moment instead of battling nightmares beneath the earth. ℯℯ𝑙.

Kane and Cyrus followed Father Thomas up the final steps, emerging into the cathedral’s main hall.

The priest’s robes swished against the marble floor as he moved with unhurried grace toward the sanctuary.

Moonlight streamed through stained glass, casting prismatic shadows across the pews.

Kane’s fur was still on end, his breathing ragged from their ordeal in the labyrinth.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and fixed Father Thomas with an incredulous stare.

"Okay, cool, thanks for the trauma. Can we have the chalice now?"

Father Thomas smiled. Without a word, he gestured toward the main altar.

Sitting plainly on the velvet cloth was the Midnight Chalice, glowing faintly.

It wasn’t hidden behind secret panels or locked in an arcane vault. It was just there, as if it had been waiting for them all along.

Kane’s jaw dropped. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

Kane approached the altar hesitantly, half-expecting another trap.

"So we went through all that nightmare fuel for nothing? It was just sitting here?"

Father Thomas reached into his robes and pulled out a battered flip phone, its plastic casing worn from years of use.

"Mr. Holloway texted me. Said you’d be coming." The priest flipped it open, showing them the message on the tiny screen.

Cyrus stood silently beside him, his expression unreadable as he studied the chalice.

"Wait, you have a phone?!" Kane turned back to Father Thomas, his mouth hanging open.

The old priest smiled serenely.

"Even those who serve the eternal must occasionally communicate with the temporal. Mr. Holloway entrusted the chalice to me three months ago. Said it was safer here than on any ship."

Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. "Bob Holloway hid it here. Not Bernard."

"The younger Mr. Holloway, yes," Father Thomas confirmed.

Kane pulled out his phone, finally noticing the notification light blinking. There it was—a message from Bob sent hours ago:

"Did you arrive safely? Find what you wanted?"

"That sneaky little..." Kane muttered, showing the screen to Cyrus.

Kane turned back to Father Thomas, frustration evident in his twitching ears. "Then what was the whole labyrinth test for? We nearly died down there!"

The priest’s weathered face remained impassive, though his eyes twinkled with something like amusement.

"I couldn’t simply hand over an artifact of such power to anyone who walked through those doors, could I? Even with young Mr. Holloway’s recommendation."

Father Thomas reached for the chalice, cradling it with reverent hands.

"The labyrinth reveals the true nature of those who enter it. Their fears. Their desires."

He looked pointedly between Kane and Cyrus. "Their bonds."

Cyrus stepped forward, his posture rigid. "And did we pass your test, Father?"

"You’re both standing here, aren’t you?" Father Thomas extended the chalice toward them.

Kane wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or scream. "Next time, maybe just use a password?"

Kane took the chalice from Father Thomas, turning it carefully in his hands.

The weight, the cool metallic surface, and the ornate engravings of the chalice felt eerily similar to those of Bernard’s forgery.

"Are we sure this is the real deal?" Kane’s ears twitched with doubt. "Because I’ve had enough disappointment for one night."

Cyrus leaned closer, his crimson eyes narrowing as he inspected the artifact. His fingers brushed against Kane’s as he traced the ancient symbols etched into the silver surface.

"The energy signature is different," Cyrus said.

Father Thomas cleared his throat softly. "If you doubt its authenticity, there is one way to be certain."

Kane’s ears perked up. "Yeah?"

"You could test the chalice yourselves." Father Thomas’s weathered face remained neutral, but something in his eyes gleamed.

"The chalice has the power to alter bonds permanently—particularly ones as... unique as yours."

Cyrus stiffened beside Kane. "Alter how, exactly?"

"That," Father Thomas said, "is the mystery. The chalice responds differently to each pair that drinks from it. It might strengthen your connection, transform it entirely, or perhaps even sever it." He folded his hands.

"The choice, of course, is yours."

Kane stared at the chalice, its silver surface capturing the cathedral’s kaleidoscope of colors.

The weight of it in his hands matched the heaviness in his chest.

Freedom—wasn’t that what he’d wanted since this whole mess began? To be rid of the constant tether, the pull of the karmic bond that had forced him into Cyrus’s orbit?

But is that really what I want now?

He snuck a glance at Cyrus, whose crimson eyes studied the chalice with unnerving intensity. The dragon’s expression remained unreadable, carved from stone.

He’s probably counting the seconds until he’s free of me, Kane thought, a dull ache spreading beneath his ribs.

Back to his perfect, orderly life without some clumsy fox messing up his schedule and raiding his fridge.

Cyrus kept his breathing measured, careful not to betray the chaos of his thoughts.

The bond had been an inconvenience, a liability—a constant reminder of his weakness in saving Kane that night. Breaking it was the logical conclusion.

Yet...

Images from the labyrinth haunted him—the visions of Kane’s death, the hollow emptiness they’d left behind.

He deserves his freedom, Cyrus decided. Not to be chained to a creature like me.

"We’ll do it," they said simultaneously, then glanced at each other in surprise.

Father Thomas nodded solemnly.

"Very well, I’ll prepare the ritual. It begins at dawn’s first light." His eyes softened as he studied their faces.

"Until then, you may rest—and reflect. This choice isn’t one to make hastily." He turned away.

"You can still change your minds before morning comes."