In Backlund's West Borough, a grand, imposing cathedral stood on the side of Edward Street closest to the Royal Palace. Its main structure was a four-story building with a bell tower, buttresses, and enormous stained-glass windows. It was decorated with natural, unpolished obsidian, its surface covered in jagged textures like solidified lava, shimmering with dreamlike colors in the sunlight.
This was Saint Triss Church, the Witch Church's only cathedral on the North Continent.
It had been completed half a month ago, but its doors remained firmly shut. It received no believers, and only a few servants with features characteristic of the Rorsted Archipelago were cleaning, wiping windows that were already spotless.
After making her routine rounds, Trissy returned to the empty Prayer Hall. She wore an archbishop's robe with a black base embroidered with flames, also black, distinguished only by subtle variations in texture. Sitting on a pew in the first row, she faced the Witch Church's sacred emblem, lowered her head, and closed her eyes as though asleep.
The church's interior had long since been finished, and some believers had been transferred from other dioceses in the Rorsted Archipelago to handle its daily work. Yet the Prayer Hall had not opened, nor had any missionary activities begun. As archbishop, Trissy could only spend her days idling in the church, feeling as though she was about to grow mold.
Of course, she knew that establishing a church in Backlund was already fraught with difficulties. The Three Great Churches were deeply entrenched here, and nearly all the "believers" had already been divided among them. Even an orthodox faith like the Church of the Earth Mother had only one small church in the city and maintained a modest armed force of Beyonders. It was forbidden from actively proselytizing outside the church and