01-23-2026, 10:38 PM
It had been ten years. Ten long winters and as many muted seasons since last the Kremlin had dispatched an invitation to the Apostolic Palace. As before, it had been addressed with full ceremonial flourish, embossed with seals, signed in the proper form. And as before, it had been met with silence more resolute than denial.
Which was why, when at last a reply came, and not merely a reply, but an acceptance, the corridors of the Kremlin stirred like a hive disturbed. What had moved His Holiness, Patricus I, to cross beyond the walls of his sacred city-state, none could say. He was a pontiff known more for stillness than for spectacle, a man whose presence had become synonymous with the Eternal City itself. Rumors whispered of his recent sojourns into the North Norway, possibly even Siberia, but the nature of those travels was as clouded as the breath of men in winter air. The Ascendancy's advisors speculated that it was not diplomacy that called him forth, but something far more political.
Nikolai, for his part, cared little for the cause. Let the man come. The Custody, predictably, had taken to the task with overzealous fervor scheming to frame the Pope's visit as a gesture of deference to the Ascendancy, or at the very least, a recognition of its dominion in all matters worldwide.
But the CCD, outside the mutterings of the Brotherhood of Ascension, had never concerned itself with the trappings of religion. Not openly. Not since the DV affair years prior though that had been less about theology and more about rebellion.
It was Myshelov who insisted on the second invitation to the Brotherhood’s Luminar. It was a subtle move and carefully played. Nikolai had met the man once: a formal greeting, a carefully staged photograph, and a handful of words traded like passing smalltalk. Left to his own judgment, Nikolai would have let the matter lie. But with the Vicar of Rome arriving in Moscow, the game had shifted.
The two poles of the spiritual world, one ancient and encumbered by centuries, the other fervent and forged anew would meet at last. Now that would be a sight worth watching.
Which was why, when at last a reply came, and not merely a reply, but an acceptance, the corridors of the Kremlin stirred like a hive disturbed. What had moved His Holiness, Patricus I, to cross beyond the walls of his sacred city-state, none could say. He was a pontiff known more for stillness than for spectacle, a man whose presence had become synonymous with the Eternal City itself. Rumors whispered of his recent sojourns into the North Norway, possibly even Siberia, but the nature of those travels was as clouded as the breath of men in winter air. The Ascendancy's advisors speculated that it was not diplomacy that called him forth, but something far more political.
Nikolai, for his part, cared little for the cause. Let the man come. The Custody, predictably, had taken to the task with overzealous fervor scheming to frame the Pope's visit as a gesture of deference to the Ascendancy, or at the very least, a recognition of its dominion in all matters worldwide.
But the CCD, outside the mutterings of the Brotherhood of Ascension, had never concerned itself with the trappings of religion. Not openly. Not since the DV affair years prior though that had been less about theology and more about rebellion.
It was Myshelov who insisted on the second invitation to the Brotherhood’s Luminar. It was a subtle move and carefully played. Nikolai had met the man once: a formal greeting, a carefully staged photograph, and a handful of words traded like passing smalltalk. Left to his own judgment, Nikolai would have let the matter lie. But with the Vicar of Rome arriving in Moscow, the game had shifted.
The two poles of the spiritual world, one ancient and encumbered by centuries, the other fervent and forged anew would meet at last. Now that would be a sight worth watching.