Dame Seraphine, still sitting on the edge of the bed, inched closer to Lucien. There was a burning fervor in her eyes that made the air in the room feel heavy.

  "How did you do it?" she asked again, her voice barely a whisper.

  "The Hollow Sovereign," Lucien said, his voice flat.

  "Him?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

  "Yes," Lucien said, shifting slightly despite the protest of his muscles. "I mean, you must have figured out by now that he was the original Warrior of Light. He has a direct connection to your order. You do know that, right?"

  The two Paladins exchanged a look.

  "Yes," Seraphine admitted. "His tattered vestments matched our oldest historical records. Also, his familiar yet foreign light was another clue. Although... we still don’t know exactly who he was."

  "Someone as powerful as him should have left a massive trail in the archives," Valerius added, his voice sounding uncharacteristically troubled. "But we found nothing. No name, no lineage. It’s as if he were erased from the books."

  Lucien lifted his eyebrows. Now that is curious, he thought. An existence that cultivated to the 10th Vein was a total ghost in the Church’s own history? There was definitely a story there, but he wasn't about to go digging for it. That was the Church’s headache to solve, not his.

  "Anyway," Lucien continued, steering the conversation away from the mystery. "I have a special curse-hunter technique that allows me to amplify existing power. I’m guessing that man’s remnant energy was powerful enough that, when I boosted it, it forced a connection with your Goddess. If she’s even real, that is."

  Valerius and Seraphine both scowled instantly.

  "She is real," they snapped in unison.

  She might be, Lucien thought privately. Those images—the garden, the boy, the celestial beings—felt far too vivid to be mere hallucinations.

  "Did you guys see anything in that light?" he asked, testing the waters.

  "No," they both said. Valerius stepped forward. "Why? Did you?"

  Lucien gave them a bold-faced lie without blinking. "No. As soon as the light erupted, I blacked out. I did too much. I pushed myself to the point that my body is still broken, even after three months of beauty sleep."

  He looked down at his trembling hands, playing the part of the exhausted victim. He needed them to believe he was just a talented, overextended kid, not a witness to a divine vision.

  "We need to get back," Lucien said, looking toward the door. "Three months is too long. My family... they're going to be a problem."

  Sebas cleared his throat, shifting his weight nervously. "Sir, we have to go back to the academy. We are on a sabbatical, after all. The timeframe is... well, it’s long overdue."

  "That’s right," Lucien said, his voice dropping into a practiced, weary cadence. He let his head loll back against the pillows, leaning into the pity play. "I have to go back. Look at how out of it I am... I can’t even remember things correctly. Three months of my life, just gone."

  Seraphine and Valerius exchanged a skeptical glance. Seraphine moved closer, her expression softening only slightly. "I would like to let you leave, Lucien, but you are still severely injured. Besides, we still have questions regarding your background—and how a student came to possess such... forbidden knowledge."

  "Well, you can ask on the road back," Lucien shot back instantly. "Preferably in a very fancy, well-cushioned carriage."

  "We can’t go with you," Valerius grunted, crossing his massive arms.

  "You will," Lucien countered, his eyes sharpening. "At least one of you."

  "We cannot," Seraphine repeated, her tone firm. "We are still investigating the mysterious group behind this curse. We don't know when or where they will strike next. We can't leave this site unguarded."

  "Well, I can answer that," Lucien said, a cold smile touching his lips. "A couple of months from now, there will be a coordinated attack on the Empire during the Festival of the Founder."

  The air in the room chilled. Valerius stepped forward, his shadow looming over the bed. "How could you possibly know that?"

  "Espionage and good connections," Lucien lied smoothly.

  In truth, he remembered the blood-soaked streets of the future. The Festival of the Founder had been a brutal massacre, a wound the Empire had spent decades trying to heal. He knew the timing, the entry points, and the sheer scale of the slaughter.

  "Why do you think I came here in the first place?" Lucien added, letting the implication hang.

  Seraphine looked at him intently, her emerald eyes searching his for any sign of a tremor. "You get more mysterious the more you talk, Lucien."

  "It’s part of my charm," he quipped, though his heart was still thumping against his ribs.

  "Fine," Seraphine said, standing up. "I will go with you. On the way, I will have many more questions for you."

  "Good," Lucien said, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "For a second, I thought you guys were going to imprison me here."

  "We were," Valerius admitted bluntly.

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  "Good thing you didn't. I would hate to think your Goddess punishes good deeds just because of a little paranoia."

  Both Paladins glared at him again, the religious tension resurfacing. Lucien just held up his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender.

  "Fine, fine. Leave. I need to rest. I’m still exhausted."

  They both got up, the silk of their robes whispering against the stone floor, and exited the room to let him recover. As the heavy doors clicked shut, Lucien’s mask finally slipped. The exhaustion was real, and the weight of the coming war felt heavier than the stones above his head.

  "Sebas," Lucien called out softly.

  "Young Master?"

  "Stay on guard. Don't let anyone in without waking me first."

  "As you wish," Sebas replied, his hand instinctively reaching for the hidden dagger at his waist.

  The heavy doors of the infirmary clicked shut, leaving the "Expert" to his rest.

  "What do you think?" Valerius asked, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the hallway. "Can we trust him?"

  "No," Seraphine answered immediately. "He has too many unknown qualities and is a natural liar. He weaves truths and falsehoods like a seasoned diplomat, not a fourteen-year-old boy."

  Valerius nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial blade. "But—"

  "But he did save us," Seraphine interrupted, her voice softening. "If he had not been there, we would both be in an eternal slumber, hopeless to do anything. This incident has shown us how weak we truly are, Valerius."

  The memory of the Hollow Sovereign’s weight made them both somber. They were 8th Vein Paladins—titans of the Church—yet they had been toyed with by an undead remnant. If that had been the full, living might of a 10th Vein being, they wouldn't have lasted a minute.

  "Luckily," Seraphine said, a small, genuine smile breaking her composure, "we had an 'Expert' come along."

  "Some expert," Valerius snorted, though there was no malice in it.

  "Yes," Seraphine giggled. "Some expert indeed."

  They arrived at the sacristy, a room filled with the scent of old parchment, sacred vessels, and heavy vestments. Valerius stepped toward a nondescript bookshelf and pulled a hidden handle. With a low rumble, a secret door swung inward. They descended the spiral stone stairs in silence, the door sealing shut behind them and cutting off the light of the upper Cathedral.

  "You think he is telling the truth? About the festival?" Valerius asked as they reached the bottom.

  "Yes," Seraphine said.

  "On what basis?"

  "Gut," she replied simply. "He did too much to stop the curse for him to be on their side. He clearly has a vendetta against the group that attacked us. I believe the threat to the festival is real."

  Valerius nodded. He had survived many battlefields by trusting Seraphine’s instincts.

  They arrived in a small, subterranean chamber illuminated by ever-burning white candles. In the center stood an altar of white marble, and upon it lay an infant boy, sleeping with a peacefulness that seemed unnatural given the chaos of his birth.

  "Do you think it's a bad idea... not telling Lucien about this?" Valerius asked, looking down at the child. "He is the expert, after all."

  Seraphine smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "No. I don't think our 'Expert' is needed for this part. Besides, he has his secrets; it is only fair we have one of our own."

  She stepped forward and gently picked up the infant. He didn't wake, his breathing steady and rhythmic. Valerius stood beside her, pressing his palms together in a silent prayer.

  "Thank you, Goddess, for your love and your grace," he whispered.

  As Seraphine shifted the child's weight, the swaddling cloth fell away slightly, revealing the infant's bare back. There, etched into the skin in a faint, golden luminescence that thrummed with the frequency of the stars, was a shining symbol.

  09.

  Lucien lay in the high-quality bed and let out a long, rattling sigh. A month. He had been awake for a full month, and yet the phantom needles of pain still danced across his nerves every time he tried to shift his weight. It didn't make sense. In his previous life, he’d taken hits that would fell an ox and bounced back in weeks. But this... this was different. He hadn't just bruised his body; he had overstressed the very architecture of his soul.

  Father Julius entered the room, the young acolyte trailing behind him like a nervous shadow.

  "Sir," Julius said, his voice soft but firm. "It is time."

  "Finally," Lucien moaned, the word dragging out. He was bored out of his mind. A month of nothing but dusty religious texts and the silent, judging stone walls of the Cathedral was becoming its own kind of torture. "If I had to read one more verse about the 'Purity of the Horizon,' I think I would have actually died."

  Father Julius stepped forward to assist him, but Sebas was faster. With a practiced, effortless motion, the butler scooped Lucien up "princess style."

  "Well, this is a new feeling," Lucien remarked, dangling in Sebas’s arms. "I’m a princess in distress. Where’s my knight in shining armor?"

  Father Julius’s lip twitched, but he maintained his pious composure as he led them through the vaulted corridors. "I have been briefed. Dame Seraphine is indeed accompanying you," he said.

  "Yes," Lucien replied. "Important business that needs tending to."

  "And the instructions you gave regarding their status?" Julius asked, his voice tinged with conflict. "We have relayed the message as you requested."

  Lucien smiled, though it looked more like a smirk. He had insisted that the Church keep the survival and health of the two Paladins a secret. To the outside world—and more importantly, to the enemy—the status of the two 8th Vein titans was to remain "unavailable." They had even officially informed the Empire that neither would be attending the Festival of the Founder due to "unforeseen complications."

  Keep the front foggy, Lucien thought. The less they know about our strength, the more mistakes they’ll make.

  They reached the courtyard, where a plush, heavily cushioned carriage waited. Sebas carried him inside, settling him onto the soft velvet seats. Sitting opposite him was a woman in a travel-worn cloak, her sharp emerald eyes the only giveaway of her true identity.

  "Madam," Lucien said, nodding to the disguised Seraphine.

  She nodded back, silent as the driver whipped the horses and the carriage began its slow roll out of the Cathedral gates.

  For the first couple of hours, the only sound was the rhythmic clattering of hooves. But every time the wheels hit a rut in the road, Lucien’s body flared with a fresh spike of agony. He couldn't help it; he started to grumble.

  "I wish I had some wine," he muttered, clutching his side. "Something to numb this damn pain."

  Seraphine looked at him in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything? We could have easily brought a vintage from the cellars."

  Lucien blinked at her. "Wow. You’re really going to let a child drink?"

  "You're not a child," she said flatly. "You're fourteen. You're old enough to hold your liquor."

  Lucien froze. He looked at Seraphine, then slowly turned his head toward Sebas, who was sitting in the corner of the carriage.

  "Ah," Sebas said, his face turning a bright, sheepish pink. "I knew I was forgetting something. It was your birthday two months ago, Young Master. While you were... well, asleep."

  Sebas gave him a small, nervous smile. "Happy birthday, Young Master."

  Lucien’s face crumpled into a mask of pure annoyance. "Damn you, Sebas," he growled. "I slept through my own birthday?"

  "Technically, you're a man now," Valerius’s voice rumbled from the driver’s seat outside. "Try to act like one and stop complaining about the bumps."

  Lucien leaned his head against the window, watching the cathedral fade into the distance. Fourteen. He was fourteen now, and the clock toward the massacre at the Festival was ticking faster than ever.