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Ilias stepped through the heavy oak doors, the

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massive iron hinges groaning a hollow

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protest that echoed into the rafters.

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Inside the world shifted.

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The air, thick with the scent of ancient

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stone and lingering incense, seemed to hold its

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breath.

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He was swallowed by the scale of the

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cathedral, where towering pillars of gray limestone rose

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like the trunks of a petrified forest, vanishing

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into the vaulted shadows of the high ceiling.

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The silence was profound, broken only by the

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rhythmic tap of his boots on the worn

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flagstones.

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As he reached the center of the nave,

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the late afternoon sun finally pierced the cloud

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cover outside.

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The transition was instantaneous.

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The vast, intricate stained glass windows, masterpieces of

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deep cobalt, crimson and burning

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amber, ignited.

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Brilliant, prismatic beams of light sliced through the

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dim atmosphere, cutting through

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swirling dust motes like blades of colored fire.

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These radiant shafts danced across the detailed carvings

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of saints and gargoyles, breathing

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a ghostly animation into the cold stone faces.

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Ilias stood motionless in the center of a

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swirling galaxy of reflected light.

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The reverent atmosphere pressed against his skin, heavy

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and solemn, making his own heartbeat

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sound thunderous in the stillness.

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He felt small, a mere flicker of life

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against the weight of centuries.

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For a long moment, time ceased to function.

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There was only the play of light against

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shadow and the profound sense that he had

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stumbled

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into a cathedral not built for men, but

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for the light itself.

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When the sun dipped lower and the brilliance

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began to fade into a dusky violet, Ilias

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turned

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to leave, his footsteps quieted, carrying the weight

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of the silence out into the world

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beyond.