“From holy cup comes holy light; “The faithful hand sets world aright. “And in the Seven Martyrs’ sight, “Mere man shall end this endless night.” The historian sneered. “I know the words to your so-called prophecy, madem—” “Before the Five, come unto one, “With sainted blade, ’neath virgin sun, “By sacred blood, or else by none; “This blackened veil shall be undone.” Jean-François blinked, the silence a thousand years wide. “… What did you say?” he whispered.
