Limonhearted

What more can a man desire if he possesses all things? Does a glove seek more than to fit the hand? I do not write this letter from sorrow, nor from pity, but to ease the weight of speculation that may follow my departure. Know this: my mind remains sound, and my heart remains consecrated. And yet—where I am now called, I can no longer serve the Church as she deserves, nor embody the full breadth of her vision. I cannot serve two masters; I cannot allow my heart to be divided, nor let my mind be torn between two callings. I cannot lose my way. I have long held the belief Self-sacrifice is the purest form of love; I would rather vanish from the fold than bring harm to the children of the True Faith by offering them a distracted shepherd. I have received a letter from Collin—a lowly serf by birth, but noble in spirit—who helped forge the earliest Citronian settlement. He brings dire news: unrest brews in Citron. Quarrels fracture the peace. The men of the Isles Elbor wage ruin upon the Lemonstone Bastions. Barbarous enemies seek to unravel what is righteous. This cannot endure. They fashion themselves enemies of the Lord, yet know not the reaping hand He bears. Should I fall, I will fall with dignity. Should I stumble, I shall rise with purpose. My mind will sharpen, and my body will be rendered a blade for God. So it is, with solemn peace and unshakable conviction, that I relinquish my seat among the Holy Councils. I set aside my title as Instructional Leader of the Yeshivat Priv Hadar. I return the expanse of the archbishopric of Lemonhill to the authority of the High Pontiff and the care of the True Faith. This decision is not made lightly; it is made in principle. God knows I am unworthy of the roles I was given—Archbishop, Cardinal. Yet by His grace, I served. And now, by that same grace, I step aside. Effective immediately, I relinquish the office of Archbishop of the Holy See. My status in the Collegium is suspended until such time as the Lord may call me back to service. I walk forward. I know not where my journey leads, nor whom I will meet, nor what I will eat, but I trust in God with all I have. Yes, I am afraid. But the unknown is meant to be walked. Anxiety is meant to be tamed. And so, into His hands, I cast these things. The barbarous men who defy the Lord may not know what awaits them. But I do. For I know the Lord. And by His hand, I shall rise once more. I will miss the Church. I will miss her mission, her people, her soul. I will miss the cold bite of dawn on my nose. The sunlight cresting the mountaintops, stretching its breath across the abbey. I will miss the roots that tethered me here. The friends I made. The laughter shared. The fears endured. Just as with the fruit of the mount, there is no sweetness without the sour bitterness. So too in life: Alba’s beauty, the ache of longing, the weight of fear—all have shaped me. I will miss the skies, though far from them, they shall remain my constellation and comfort. The wind through what remains of my hair, as if God Himself breathes life into me with every breeze. The sun catching water in motion. The earth beneath my feet, the valleys and the seas, the harsh desert winds and the salt of the shore. I will miss the winds upon the sea. The bustling streets of Alba. The strangers who became friends. I have been blessed to find solid, rocky ground upon which to stand. From that first voyage to the founding of our holy capital, Lemonhill has embraced me as if I had been born of its soil. Though the first Citronian colony faltered and left behind only questions, this hill—Capital Lemonadé—has blossomed with fruit I never imagined. There is a spirit moving among the people: a hunger for holiness, a stirring of faith, a yearning to grow beyond the limitations of the body. By the Citron Maiden’s promise, a mount was foretold where a holy kingdom would rise. This next step I take, I take alone. I walk with empty hands, and yet, I carry everything. I will keep God always in highest regard, and I will strive, With every word, With every action, To let His light shine through me. Deo Gratias. Goodbye, dear flock.

To whom it concerns, Let no man be deceived by the thunder of dissidents who cover their pride within piety. The Church is of unbroken consecration, of the Apostolic inheritance. She is a lineage born of the Exalted, stewarded by the Prophets, and sustained through rite and succession. Her authority is not derived through one priest, nor by the clamor of a crowd, but passed hand to hand by the Prophets since the days of Owyn. You invoke the names of holy men—Everard I, Lucien V—as if they stood with your rebellion. They were High Pontiffs, bearers of the Keys of Horen, successors to the Prophets themselves. Their reforms were not demands shouted from the fringe; they were decrees issued from the very throne you now reject. Do not mistake your cause for theirs. It was not men like Lucien V who tore the Church; it was men who claimed to act in the name of reform while undermining Her divine constitution. And it is in their footsteps you now walk, cloaking schism in the guise of righteousness. Saint Lucien of Ulmsbottom did not rise through rebellion or vanity; His prayer was not a cry for self-glory, “Let me become the storm that strikes the enemy from Your sight.” You wave his name like a banner, yet forget that it was his banner, his legacy, that sustained a strong Pontificate with absolute authority. And it is that legacy which was battled by the very same schemes that perverted the True Faith. By name, men such as Daniel the Reader—or more accurately, Simon of Khazav—rejected Lucien and mocked his memory. It was their spirit, not his, that brought about the ruin of the Church and the rise of the Caesaropapist distortion in the waning days of the Chivay Empire. You speak of Tradition and Precedent, but tradition without obedience is dead, and precedent without faith is vanity. You appeal to the “Priesthood of Owyn,” yet deny the one to whom that priesthood is entrusted in each age: the High Pontiff, consecrated by the rite of succession. Did not Godfrey restore the Church to it’s place, wielding both temporal and spiritual might in service of unity? You appeal to precedent, yet ignore the very precedent you claim to uphold: no priest, however devout, stands above the truth of our Creator and Lord, GOD. You demand a Council, but no rebel calls a Council. The right to summon one lies only with the Vicar of GOD, consecrated through the rites of apostolic succession, not with monks, not with angry priests, not with “the many.” The Church has weathered louder men than you, always in the name of purity, always wearing the face of zeal. But She endured. She endures because the faithful don’t follow every loud accuser; their faith resides with their shepherd. Return to the flock, to the See. You need not rebel to be righteous. With open arms, François Claude De Dieu

✠ A WRIT OF ABSOLUTION A sweeping poison of the mind draws near. It coils itself in the hearts of a few—dissenters, deceivers, agents of Iblees himself. From their silver tongues drips venom: a false gospel cloaked in the garments of light; They wear the veil of holiness, yet their hearts throb with treason, pride, and heresy. I speak now to all who walk in truth—with sound minds, spirits graced by the Prophets, and hearts made tender by faith: Cast from you these weights upon the conscious; Unburden your soul from conduct that scorches the spirit; Turn away from the path that leads only to schism and fire. There are those who would raise the banner of rebellion and call it “reform.” Who would drag the Emperor into a council not to advise—but to anoint, not to affirm—but to usurp. Who weep crocodile tears over Canon Law, while they trample its commandments and canonize their own councils. They gather now in Alba—yet they do not gather in GOD’s name. They convene not to heal the Church—but to enthrone an idol in its sanctuary. -✠- They speak of unity, yet walk in the counsel of the accuser; they clamor for election, yet crown themselves in their hearts. Let it be known: This council is unlawful, unholy, and unblessed. It bears no mark of apostolic succession. It was not called by a rightful Pontiff. It is no diet—it is a den of jackals. The Laurel of Horen, once borne by the Exalted himself, endures—not on the brows of usurpers, but in the line of true and lawful succession. The Ring of Saint Lucien, the seat of Saint Lucien—these are the relics of our foundation, not the cursed throne we ourselves cast into ash. There is no “vacuum” but the one dug by false prophets who reject the lineage of the Laurel and dare to enthrone heresy. Their “vacancy” is the cry of the thief who has not yet found the key to the gate. To the priests who are tempted: Turn back before your vestments become your shroud. To the nobles who observe: Do not give your coin to the work of Iblees To the faithful: Cling not to the branches of a tree rooted in the detritus of Sin and gnarled by the Most Deceiving. -✠- Let all who attend be warned: To sit in that assembly is to break bread with Daemons. And I shall not suffer wolves among the flock. A shepherd does not beg the wolf to leave. He casts it out. Therefore, I, Francis Claude de Dieu, servant of the Most High and Archbishop of Lemonhill declare the Assembly of Alba: Heretical. Treasonous. Illegitimate. They gather under the banner of Lucien, yet speak with the tongue of Sigismund. Let it be heard across the mountains and cities: No true Lucienist exalts the false prophet. There is no legitimate council in Alba. There is no true Lucienism where Sigismund is revered. There is no salvation in sedition.

- Lust. It burns. For a time, it feels good — but it consumes, leaving you nothing but charred remains. You are created in the image of your CREATOR — both man and woman. You are purposefully, intelligently designed to glorify His name. To add sheep to the flock, you must draw from the depths of yourself; you must procreate — growing GOD’s numbers with diligence. Yet man, in his most spiritual and delicate form, is not called to marriage by default. This sacred matrimony, this honored tradition, is an earthly reflection of GOD’s glory. Let women be as the Church, joined to their husbands in reverence. And we — the believers — are called to take GOD as Bridegroom, to cleave to Him with heart, body, and soul. Not to feed the flesh, but to uphold the TRUE FAITH. Let no man be defiled by what is not of the Spirit. Let him not be drawn from his true purpose. If a man can no longer master his flesh, GOD, in His mercy, has provided an outlet — a purpose of righteous love: a wife. Tend to her and her flock as GOD tends His Church — with protection, with provision, with love anointed from on high. Not to feed lust, but to steward it rightly — that you are not consumed by desire. Marriage is sacred. It is not guaranteed. It is no vow to be made lightly or broken in haste. Once forged, it is eternal in the sight of the CREATOR. What is a church without its CREATOR? What is a marriage without its partner? Men are hollow. Their whims beckon — and many bow. They bow — and they suffer. How often do you see a man defiled by his own thoughts? Flesh and lust are spiritual battles that cannot be won alone. We, wicked-hearted creatures, are naturally drawn to the unnatural. The world delights in sin; it revels in evil. Men boast of their "conquests." They have prideful hearts — and pride is the greatest sin of all. When temptation arises — uproot yourself. A fasting man will break his fast if left too long before food. Likewise, a man will fall if left too long before sin. Truly, I tell you: move. When temptation grips you, quiet your mind. Clothe yourself in the armor of your CREATOR. Guard your eyes, your heart, and your mind from evil. Verily, I warn you: do not marry at the first opportunity. Do not marry in haste, or merely for permission to indulge lust. We are called to serve our CREATOR first and foremost. Ask yourself: Are you spiritually sound? Are you ready for such a covenant? Are you ready to honor GOD and renew that relationship with your spouse each and every day? GOD loves you. But do you love GOD fully — or do you still love the world?

Fructus Vini Corrumpitur. Issued by the Holy See and the Pontiff’s Curia, for circulation across all ecclesiastical provinces For any institution to endure—be it a company, a school, a vineyard, or a farm—it must abide by its principles, excel in its mission, and remain unwavering in its teachings. A school must impart wisdom that endures. A vineyard must press only the choicest grapes. A farm must separate the chaff from the wheat. In all things, there must be a standard. So too with the Holy Church. It has come to the attention of the Pontiff, the Collegium, and the Curia that not all who wear the robes of the clergy have borne good fruit. Some vines have soured. Some seeds, though sown with hope, have yielded bitter harvests. From such failings, poor doctrine flows and misguided works follow. This cannot stand. The sacred duty of any priest is to wield Canon with a godly understanding, to rightly divide truth from heresy, and to preach the True Faith with conviction. Yet, we face a reckoning. Too many clergymen arrive ill-prepared: misinformed, poorly mentored, or dulled by apathy. Whether by negligence of their instructors, indifference of their congregations, or the creeping rot of complacency, the flame of holy instruction has dimmed in some quarters. This must change. Effective immediately, all incoming acolytes, from every corner of the Church, shall undergo formation at the official seminary of the Holy See: Yeshivat Pri Hadar. Under the stewardship of the Rebbi, Archbishop of Lemonhill and servant to the Holy See, Francois-Etienne Claude De Dieu, the seminary will serve as the proving ground for the next generation of clergy. No longer shall the road to priesthood be walked half-asleep. No more shall theses be penned in lethargy or formation seen as a box to check. This is not a bureaucratic step—it is a sacred rite. We especially extend this call to the faithful who wish to serve—to those wandering souls from the Synod steps, those eager to labor in the vineyard of the Lord. You are welcome—but you will be tested. The Church henceforth predicates its ministry on rigorous training. All acolytes will: Be grounded in the fundamental teachings of the True Faith Recite the sacred texts with clarity and reverence Engage with a reservoir of doctrine capable of dismantling falsehood Learn the history of the Church and carry forward her preserved light Upon completion, each graduate must choose a Patron Saint to accompany their spiritual rebirth and deliver an oral report of their learning before their peers and mentors. It matters not from where you hail—Lemonhill or beyond—no one may be ordained without completing this seminary. “For without tradition, even divine ideas wither. And without diligence in spirit, no institution—especially not God’s—can endure.” If the Church is to remain HIS vessel on earth, then we must begin with sanctified housekeeping. Let this be the first sweep of the broom.

Covenant and the Rod "Let the house be built on covenant, not comfort—its walls set by the Father’s hand, its flame kept by fear of God, not fear of man." Today, in many cities, we witness a tangible decay of the family structure—a sharp departure from the principles that have upheld families, city-states, and even civilizations since time immemorial. Some may question why the family unit was designed the way it was, or why we should continue to uphold what they deem an outmoded tradition. But the answer lies in the origin of our very being. The All-Knowing, created us in His image—an image He carried in His ever-creative heart. We are a reflection of Him, and of the deep love He holds for us. He created us Man and Woman. When they come together in union, when they raise a child, they take on the sacred duty of mirroring the Heavenly Father. Man becomes an earthly father, a living ambassador of the Father who reigns beyond the skies. We are commanded to love fully, to live with tenderness embedded in our thoughts, hearts, and actions. But tell me—what is tender about fornication? What is loving about abandoning a woman and child, shirking the burden of accountability? There is no courage in sowing life and fleeing from it. Woe to those who exalt their own desires above duty, who trade virtue for self-worship, and in doing so, spiritually neuter themselves. A man’s God-given purpose is duty. He was created to serve. His heart must remain fixed on the Most Merciful; his will bound to God's will. If he moves in grace, he will surely live in peace. Only a father can rightly instill discipline in his children, because he stands as the household’s authority—a representative of divine order. He does not fear justice. He does not shrink from the weight of punishment, for he understands it not as cruelty, but as the act of tempering a child’s will so it may conform to God’s, and so the child may fulfill their responsibilities on this earth. The unruly nature of a child—especially a young boy—inevitably clashes with the soft, nurturing love of the mother. She is the caregiver, the balm. But in her boundless care lies a tendency to shield, to soften. Without the balance of paternal firmness, the child risks being untrained. The father is the axis of the family’s order—the fire that tempers the metal of the child’s will. To discipline is not to destroy, but to mold. An undisciplined soul grows like a vine without a trellis—twisting in on itself, reaching for shadows, bearing bitter fruit. But the father’s hand, strong yet loving, directs it toward the light. He punishes not in wrath, but in reverence. He understands that indulging youthful impulse is planting the seeds of ruin. So he guides with principle, corrects with purpose, and leads with the strength of one who has tasted hardship and chosen virtue. In Of Smoke and Sacrifice, we read: “If a sibling strays... it is the father... who guides the lost back to the fold.” The household must be governed like a sanctuary, and the father is its high servant—not living for comfort, but for sacrifice. Discipline, then, becomes the altar where love and duty meet. It is not merely correction—it is covenant. And what of honor? If a child is to respect their elders, they must first see their father as unwavering—not permissive, not weak, but firm in principle. A house without paternal correction is like a citadel with open gates—into it march pride, rebellion, and decay. The father does not demand obedience for his own sake, but because he represents a higher order. To defy him is not merely to break a household rule—it is to rebel against the very structure that binds together the family, the city, and the soul. The hearth must be stoked with righteousness. Let the father fuel it not with indulgence, but with integrity. Let his hand be strong, his heart soft. For a shepherd who will not strike the wolf invites the slaughter of his flock.

You see it in the way men drink their sorrows, the way a soldier sharpens his blade even in the absence of conflict. It’s woven into the routine of every man—as dawn breaks, the whip cracks, and you see it in everyone. Men are inherently religious. To suggest otherwise is an affront to the very essence of their nature. How often have you seen a man plunged into his vices, his routines, following paths carved out by those who came before him? This is worship in its rawest form—devotion without question, sacrifice without second thought. Men’s hearts are perpetually unsoothed, restless until they find peace. But how is peace truly achieved? Is it contentment with your circumstances? Is it found in conquest—in seizing all that the eye can see? Does a general find peace after overtaking his enemy, or does the horizon simply stretch further, taunting him with more to conquer? How is anyone truly satisfied? True satisfaction—and in tandem, true peace—comes with the tranquil belief in something greater than oneself. Just as a family is at peace when the father returns home with a salary: clothes on their backs, food on the table, and warmth in the hearth. It is the trust in a higher being's provision that lets them sleep through the night, unshaken by storms that howl against their walls. A man’s heart is never fully satisfied until he is at peace with his provider. This instinctual religiosity is what unites our rational and relational nature. When conflict arises among family members, who mediates? Who brings resolution and restores harmony? It is the one who speaks with reason and authority—the provider, the leader, the shepherd. Humility cannot be overstated. It takes strength to compromise, to soften oneself, to love tenderly as a family member, and to trust that the provider’s mediation is the best course of action. Humanity does not choose between being religious or irreligious; we are intrinsically bound to worship something. It is not a choice of faith, but of what—or whom—we devote ourselves to. It is a matter of following what is true and righteous—The LORD—or adhering to what is false and wicked. If we allow vice and corruption to creep into our hearts, if we feed the flames of our inner altar with greed, rage, or indulgence, it blackens the soul. Each misstep, each outward act of sin, is an offering to wickedness, painting the soul with strokes of darkness. You are not following the instructions of your Master; you are spitting in His face, choosing instead to follow the treacherous desires of the heart—a pit that is never truly filled. If a sibling strays, splitting from the flock, who leads them back? It is the father, who, with the help of his children—his followers—guides the lost back to the fold, just as any shepherd would. Religion is what binds us together; it is the glue that seeps from the cracks of cities. In our hearts, we kindle the flames of our own altars. With every action, we fan those fires. The question is: What kind of wood are you feeding that fire? If it is good and hearty, aligned with the ways of God, the aroma of your altar is pleasing. But if it is tainted, it belches vile smoke, inviting darkness to take root. Is it the ale from the local brewhouse? Is it the greed which causes you such lament? Is it the rage that eats you up, the all-consuming nature of anger that eventually bubbles until you are burned totally, only to be spat out in charred remains? Or is it pleasing tender-heartedness? Is it a love for all people? A situation where you hold your tongue for the common good? A compliment to someone you have never spoken to? What is it you feed to your hearthfire—to your altar? Each offering of your exterior, your sin, your failures of adherence to the True Faith, each misstep is an outward offering to your shrine. Each err is bellowing vile smoke to daemons, inviting wickedness into your life. With each act, you paint yourself with more and more strokes of evil, your very soul tainted by trepidation—you are not following and trusting in the instructions of your master, of the higher person; you spit in their face and follow the wicked nature of your deceiving heart—of a pit which is never quite filled—you give into a burning desire. It is clear that what binds together the soul is the same thing which binds together the family unit and the city: religion & sacrifice. Every exterior action, the fuel you feed to the altars of your heart either gives the soul, the family, and the city integrity, binding them to the common interest—or it fragmentates, and distorts what the common good is: is the common good self-serving, or is it valuing the collective, valuing the intangibilities of GOD? Without a putty holding stones together, a wall will break. With nothing holding your values intact, a city will split. It will be plunged into a “Godless” nature, where what is valued is their deified hearts and its desires. You see this in many cities: the rise of a materialist mindset, a focus on short-term pleasures. Hedonism runs rampant and in turn, weathers away at the family unit and God’s supreme influence. Debauchery grows. Unprincipled men bring ruin. They set a bad example for their offspring, and surely the whole root of their family tree will rot. An overindulgence in pleasure, to adhere to each whim of their heart, to do whatever they desire without question will only bring ruin. It is our job as followers of The Lord to call out such unproductivity. To cast a light onto the depravity of this world and to cut through the darkness with beams of truth. If you are truly a follower of GOD, then let your light be shown. Be like a lighthouse or a harbor, cast beams of guidance to passerby ships and lead them to the safety of the docks. If you throw up your hands and relent, allowing the ships to crash into the rocks below, then surely that blood is on your hands. We as Followers of the Faith must love without exception, but that does not mean we have to tolerate or even accept such uncleanliness. This city-based religion, one with principals of depravity must be dug up, its roots tossed into a cleansing flame and burned. Like a weed, it must be removed from the field and disposed of with haste, less it be allowed to spread. It is reasonable to assert that happiness—or the acts of blindly chasing pleasure—should rank as a public enemy, that any God-fearing man should chase purpose instead of pleasure. One must displace himself from the “secular” (which in all honesty refers to that which adheres to all that is not encompassed by God) and place his roots in the foundations of Truth, in trial, in the midst of hardship and establish himself in Enlightenment, in the footsteps of God. It is that very reason that the most elite soldiers are those who are most fulfilled, those who endure the grueling hours of sleep deprivation, starvation, torture, anything that is thrown their way and yet is most rewarding. It is the reason that the farmer who wakes before the first bird crows, who plows from sunup to sundown, is ultimately at peace when he returns home. You are only rewarded with peace when mentally, physically, or spiritually pushed to your limit. The weak men who live in constant splendor, the men who smile even when there is nothing of import— those whose maw have never been struck with the sweat of toil, who’s brow goes untouched by hard work are so spiritually frail. If you never push yourself, how then can you know the reward of honest work? You are given a mind, body, and soul to suffer, to derive meaning, and to follow God wholly. The three are not separate but rather work as three parts of the same body, just as a mother, father, and child comprise the family unit, so too does your Mind, Body, and Soul comprise your makeup. If you do not exercise them all, then nothing you do will bear Good Fruit. Your tree will wither with apathy of what could have been. You will be stuck wondering: what if I challenged myself? What if I fed my inner altar with Godliness? What could I have become?

Brothers and Sisters, With war outstanding and its presence seared into the public consciousness—into our very souls and minds—it is all too easy to become distracted. To see the world only in tinges of darkness, to paint it in bleak strokes, and to overlook the seeds of goodness that bloom amidst the ruin. Yet even in the deepest night, light persists, piercing through a twisted perception. It is in these times, above all, that we must hold our heads high. Regardless of circumstance or happenings, we must press forward, unwavering, and continue to spread the wondrous message of the Most Merciful. Earlier, I was given the express privilege of welcoming another into the flock—a lost soul, one bound to the tribal customs of the desert, ensnared by the brash and abrasive nature that often dooms it. Alongside a fellow brother and preacher of the Canonist faith, I ventured deep into the heart of the harshlands, into the stronghold of the Horde of Many Tribes, where we spread the message of the Most Merciful, acting in tenderhearted faith. But it is in such wicked places that the faithful must act. With unwavering devotion to the faith and a singular focus on its divine interests, we must extend an olive branch to the lost—those who wander this world blind to the light, their hearts hardened by ignorance. A child—one still closest to the heart of GOD, untainted by the corruption of this world—stood among them. An Uruk, no less. And yet, this young one listened. He spoke of his uncleanliness, of how the world had dimmed his appreciation for something greater. Against the tide of his culture, he yearned for renewal. It was only right that we offer him baptism, that he might cast away the stains of his past and profess his soul anew in the faith of Canon. Deo Gratias. [!] A Sketch of the desert baptism is provided Each day is a battle—some physical, others spiritual—but even in dire times, goodness prevails. If we meet every day with grace, then surely the spirit will grow.

[!] A writ was pinned upon yellow, lemon-scented parchment and distributed throughout the lands. Good Tidings, Brothers and Sisters, Upon my secluded meditation atop Lemon Hill, where solitude and prayer meet the sky and ear of THE MOST MERCIFUL, I was met with the most peculiar of interruptions. A disturbance—but not of ill intent. An unfamiliar face approached me, a new initiate into the Order of the Grail—one whom I had never before laid eyes upon. Yet, the moment our gazes met, something deep within my soul stirred. Rejoice! My spirit urged, and how right it was. For I bring forth good news—a divine omen. This peculiar man, a wanderer drawn to the faith, recounted a tale of remarkable providence. After the destruction of his village, when all hope seemed lost, he was delivered from despair by none other than an Aengul of the Most Merciful. He described a radiant maiden, clad in golden robes, glowing like the dawn, who came to him in a dream. She instructed him to flee, to seek sanctuary in Lemon Hill, and above all—to heed GOD’s calling and embrace the flock. [!] A charcoal sketch of the fabled knight was affixed to the parchment. But lo, the wonders of this day did not end there. Nay, not even half a citrus hour later, while still engaged in discourse with this newfound messenger of the faith, we were interrupted yet again. This time, by a being unlike any other. It was refreshing for my spirit to see. A construct of earth and stone—one many would call unfeeling, incapable of higher thought—approached with a question upon its lips and longing in its heart. It wished to know more of the True Faith. And as we spoke at measure, I witnessed yet another miracle. This great being, knelt before the cleansing flame. It lofted its burdens to the fire, whispering a prayer unto GOD’s ear. Yet another sheep drawn into the flock. Two came to GOD this day. One of flesh, one of stone, yet both were drawn by His divine hand. If even the unlikeliest of souls—the lost and the lifeless—can be moved by His grace, how can we, as His faithful, ever falter? GOD calls not only the righteous, but the wayward. He does not seek only the strong, but the broken. He does not ask for perfection—He asks for faith. And so, I tell you: If a stranger crosses your path, do not cast him aside. If an unbeliever asks of your faith, do not silence your tongue. For the Holy Light does not only shine in the grand cathedrals, nor upon the brows of kings, but in the smallest acts of mercy, in the whispered prayers of the searching, and in the humble flames of Lemon Hill. For we are many, yet we are one. We walk under GOD, and His plan reigns supreme. Deo Gratias.

Blessed be GOD’s name. By His grace alone—under divine protection—the forces of the Canonist faithful endure, for no enemy may stand against the will of the Most High. Today, we bear witness to the power of faith, yet also the tragic cost of division. An orc, blameless in his devotion, sought only to walk in GOD’s light and stand beside the Holy Mother Church. In an act of goodwill, he entered Haense, a land that should have been one of sanctuary. Yet, rather than being met with the hospitality befitting a servant of the faith, he was met with the zest of evil, agents of Iblees. The gates shut behind him, locking him within the city walls—not as a guest, but as a prisoner. The zeal of mortal men, twisted by fear and worldly division, had led them astray. Yet, GOD’s mercy triumphs over the folly of men. By His divine will, the orc was delivered from his captors, spared from the unjust hand that sought to bind him. What greater proof do we need that GOD reigns supreme? That no earthly force, no misguided ruler nor petty faction, can hope to overpower His will? It is clear that the lines of war have been drawn not only upon maps but upon the hearts of men. Invisible barriers have risen—not between good and evil, but between brother and brother, between believer and believer. If a man, faithful and true, cannot step beyond a gate without fear of chains, then we must ask ourselves: have we strayed so far from GOD’s path that we no longer recognize our own kin? This is not a battle of us versus them—it is GOD’s will versus the unbeliever. Families splinter, alliances crumble, and every day, Iblees laughs at our weakness. But we must not falter. If we truly model ourselves after the Most Merciful, then how can we fail to grant our fellow faithful the same mercy? If a man cannot walk freely in the lands of the faithful, then what hope remains for the world? Let this be a lesson, not just for today, but for all the days to come. No man of GOD shall be left behind. Deo Gratias.

Brothers and Sisters, In these times of great division—when senseless death surrounds us and cries of horror fill the air—it is more important than ever to remember the good. The Light of the Creator is always with us, shining even in the darkest moments. It is easy to grow disheartened, to focus only on the evil that plagues our world. But true strength lies in recognizing that both hot and cold winds fuel the storm. In much the same way, today, a miracle has been revealed. Idols have been shattered, and the spirit of GOD has triumphed. After the trials of battle—after a crushing defeat delivered to our foes—the Canonist forces and the Order of the Grail stand victorious. Yet, amid the ruins of conflict, something greater has emerged. A captured enemy, once counted among our foes, has willingly sought the mercy of the Church—and more importantly, of GOD. An elf, once lost, pleaded for baptism, yearning to correct the error of her ways. With encouragement and guidance, she has embraced the faith, and I am overjoyed to announce another soul welcomed into the flock. It is easy to dehumanize "the other side," to paint the enemy in a single shade. But it takes a strong and GODLY heart to recognize the flaws within us all. If we granted one another just a bit more grace, if we stifled our words for even a moment to see the soul behind the blade, perhaps we would witness more conversions. We must not drive the lost into Iblees’ clutches. Instead, we must treat all as the Most Merciful would wish us to—with wisdom, patience, and love. Deo Gratias.