Desires & Heresy

Zane learned quickly. He had to.

The Church Treasury was a machine—one that ran on faith, donations, and quiet corruption. Gold poured in, but much of it never reached the hands it was meant for. Offerings for the poor were siphoned off, ledgers adjusted with practiced ease, and chests of coin disappeared as if swallowed by divine intervention.

At the center of it all sat Senior High Priest Gregor.

Zane didn't need to ask how things worked. He listened.

"Another chest short this week. Gods know where it's gone."

"Best not to ask. Senior High Priest Gregor handles these matters."

"Priest Aldrich should be careful. If he wants to last here, he'll keep his head down."

Zane smirked.

Keep his head down? No.

He would rise—higher than all of them.

For days, Zane observed. He noted when funds were collected, where they were stored, and, more importantly, how they vanished. Gregor's system was effective but sloppy. He relied on fear to keep people from asking questions, but his methods left tracks—tracks that Zane could clean up.

And refine.

But Zane had no patience for slow, backhanded schemes. He had spent a week adjusting to his new role, learning the inner workings of the church. Now, it was time to act.

The next morning, without hesitation, Zane pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, Senior High Priest Gregor lounged behind an ornate desk, his fingers heavy with gold rings. Across from him, a junior cleric clutched a sack of coins, his knuckles pale with tension. The cleric stiffened at the sight of Zane. Gregor, however, barely looked up.

"Ah, the new High Priest," Gregor mused, rolling a silver coin between his fingers. "I was wondering when you'd come sniffing around."

Zane stepped inside, the scent of expensive wine thick in the air. His gaze flicked to the trembling cleric.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked lightly.

Gregor smirked. "Merely a transaction of faith. You understand, don't you? The church runs on gold just as much as devotion."

Zane clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head as if considering. "True enough. But faith alone doesn't fill coffers."

Gregor's smirk wavered.

"Go on."

Zane smiled. "You and I aren't so different, Gregor. The people need faith, but they also need structure. Stability. And stability… costs money." He gestured toward the junior cleric's sack of coins. "Yet, why scrape crumbs when we could feast?"

Gregor's fingers drummed against the desk. His amusement thinned into calculation. Then, he chuckled.

"Finally, someone who understands how things work."

Zane's smile sharpened. Hook. Line. Sinker.

The next two weeks were methodical.

Zane didn't just watch—he worked.

Gregor's operation had been crude, running on brute force and fear. Zane replaced it with efficiency. He cleaned up trails, adjusted figures, and spread the missing funds more discreetly. Small amounts funneled through different accounts. Bribes to key officials increased—not just to silence them, but to make them invested.

Gregor thrived.

And under Zane's direction, the corruption became smarter.

"The merchants can handle an extra tax. If we stamp it with the church's seal, they'll pay without question."

"The orphanage won't miss a chest if we spread the cuts over time. A little here, a little there—no one will notice."

"A hundred gold today is nothing. But in a year? We could be drowning in it."

Gregor soaked in Zane's words like a man savoring the finest wine. His greed swelled with each suggestion, his ambitions stretching further than before.

And that was exactly what Zane wanted.

For every coin siphoned away, Zane made sure another was placed into the right hands.

Not all of it, of course—just enough to create an illusion. Enough to make sure his name spread.

He arranged donations with surgical precision—public enough to be noticed, but always humble in execution. A pouch of gold discreetly left at an orphanage's doorstep. A sudden supply of medicine for the sick. An "anonymous" contribution to repair the crumbling chapel walls.

The whispers started quickly.

"High Priest Aldrich gave to the orphanage again."

"He healed five sick villagers just yesterday."

"A priest who truly serves the people… it's been so long since we've had one."

And, of course, it reached the one person whose attention he wanted most.

In the quiet shade of the garden, over tea and delicate pastries, Viviana d'Arcy crossed her legs beneath the layers of her flowing gown, the soft fabric hugging the full curve of her hips before pooling at her ankles. She broke a cookie in half, placing a small piece on her tongue with deliberate grace, her plump lips closing around it in a slow, practiced motion.

"High Priest Zion Aldrich…" she murmured between bites. "He's been rather charitable, hasn't he?"

Across from her, Eleanor Sanctis sat straight-backed, always disciplined, her high-collared robes smoothing over her full chest, the modest fabric doing little to hide the firm swell beneath. She took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle before responding.

"I've heard too."

Viviana toyed with the crumbs on her plate, her voice light yet thoughtful. Her delicate fingers—trained in embroidery and the slow, practiced art of noble etiquette—brushed absently over the table's surface. "It's uncommon. A man of his rank, giving so freely. Most would be more... cautious with their wealth."

Eleanor picked up a cookie but didn't take a bite. Instead, she studied it, as if its delicate shape held answers. Her golden eyes, sharp and unreadable, flickered with something unreadable—curiosity, suspicion, or something deeper. "Do you doubt his intentions?"

Viviana shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips. The movement made her chestnut-brown hair shift, thick waves slipping over her shoulder, brushing against the generous swell of her full, heavy chest. The soft press of her corset kept everything in place, but no amount of expensive tailoring could make those curves subtle.

"No," she said. "But I wonder what drives him."

Eleanor finally took a bite, chewing slowly. She didn't answer right away.

Because, if she was being honest with herself, she had begun to wonder the same.

[Eleanor Corruption: 0%]

[Time Left: 5 Months, 9 Days]