The temple halls were colder than usual.
Stone walls held the night air like breath unexhaled. Lamps flickered in silence as the Grand Luminarch crossed the corridor, robes whispering over marble. Behind him, the other Luminarchs walked in subdued steps—no hymns, no victory, only the soft sound of disappointment.
They had returned from their long journey empty-handed.
"We chased smoke," one muttered. "Miracle talk, dead revived... it's all false. There was nothing."
"Yet we saw it. In Cindres. That light. The sky split open," another replied, quieter. "It happened. I don't know how—but it wasn't a lie."
"If that was Cindres, yes! We're talking about a neighboring country. But only our land shows true miracles at this point."
The Grand Luminarch didn't answer. His silence wasn't cold. It was watchful.
When they reached the sacred chamber, he stepped in alone.
Candles lined the altar. Incense thickened the air.
He knelt.
No words spoken aloud, but his eyes—half-closed—stared into the void like a man seeking something no doctrine could explain.
Then...
a shift.
Footsteps.
A man stood at the chamber's edge. Cloak simple. A worn Church insignia at his shoulder.
"Your Holiness," he said quietly. "I bring news."
"Speak."
"A divine light, like the sky-opening one, but smaller, witnessed from a home. I traced the pattern. The house matches other sightings. The woman connected to Mrs. Kirn. It all leads back to one place."
He handed over a scroll. The wax seal cracked open under the Grand Luminarch's thumb.
As he read, something passed through his expression... quiet, slow... a faint smile.
"Prepare the ceremonial procession," he said. "We depart before sunrise."
---
Jinn didn't sleep well.
Too many things sat on her mind, fragments of yesterday, the paladins, Lavirra's frown, Veinrad's friend barely saved. She had laid down early, but rest never came easy when thoughts kept pacing.
When the first chill of dawn crept under the window, she rose.
She didn't rush. Just moved through her small home as she always did. Wash. Dress. Heat water. Hands on muscle memory. Everything quiet except for the soft sound of boiling tea.
My back hurts.
She stretched once, then rubbed her shoulders. Her hair hung loose—she hadn't braided it yet. No glasses either. She rubbed her temple.
"I feel like I've aged ten years."
The silence felt thinner than usual.
She didn't know why, but something felt off. Like someone had exhaled beside her and forgotten to speak.
Knock. Knock.
She froze.
Too early for guild runners.
Another knock, firmer.
She padded softly to the door, adjusting her sleeves. "Yes? One moment."
When the door creaked open, the morning air wasn't what struck her.
It was the robe. The gleam. The pressure.
The Grand Luminarch stood there in full ceremonial form, framed by pale light. The rest of his Luminarchs waited behind him.
Her mind stalled.
"Y-your Holiness…?"
He looked at her without malice. Calm. Like a man who already knew what he came to find.
"Good morning, young lady. Forgive the intrusion. We've come a long way and heard a healer once passed through this place. We seek only rest."
She blinked.
In all places, why here? They're the most influential people in the kingdom. Why? Jinn's inner voice asked.
Her mind began flipping through excuses, responses, denials, but her mouth moved slowly.
"This is just… a small house. There's nothing here."
"Still," he said gently, "we chose this home for a reason. Someone says Mrs. Kirn came here yesterday."
"Mrs. Kirn," Jinn said quickly. "She knew the healer. I didn't."
A sharp voice cut in from behind him.
"How long must we wait out here?"
A tall Luminarch stepped forward, Revery. His face twisted with impatience.
The Grand Luminarch turned his head, slow and unblinking.
"Did I give you permission to speak?"
Revery stiffened. "Forgive me, Your Holiness."
The silence returned. Tighter now.
"Forgive my subordinate's rudeness, but shall we?"
Jinn's hand clenched behind the doorframe.
"Of course, Your Holiness. Sorry for the wait… You may come in," she said quietly.
They entered like wind through an old building... slow, weighty, observing everything.
The Grand Luminarch's eyes moved carefully. From her folded blankets. To the single cup on the table. To the officer's uniform drying beside the stove.
She stepped back, forcing calm into her shoulders.
"I… was preparing food. Would you like tea?"
"That would be kind of you," he said.
She busied herself in the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to turn away.
But she could feel them. Watching. Reading her like scripture.
The water hissed. The scent of roots and herbs spread through the room. When she served the tea, she bowed slightly, then turned back to her small pot of stew.
"This smells good," said one of the Luminarchs.
"Root stew. And crushed barley bread," she said.
"Would you share it with us?"
She nodded once. "It's simple food, but please."
While she served, the Grand Luminarch's eyes followed every movement -- her careful steps, the way she portioned with precision, never wasting a gram.
Then he saw it. The glasses on the shelf.
Round-lensed. Clean. Folded.
He said nothing.
As she placed bowls on the table, her inner voice hummed quietly.
Move steady. Keep your face calm. Don't rush. Just like the café back then. Serve. Step back. Smile.
She sat last, only after they'd tasted it.
Silence stretched.
"This… this tastes like home," said one.
"I haven't eaten like this since before I entered the Order."
Even Revery, arms crossed, finally gave in. He picked up his spoon, scowled, and took one bite. Then another.
He muttered, "For common food, it's not bad."
The Grand Luminarch smiled faintly. "You eat well, young lady. That's rare."
She lowered her head slightly. "Just learned from books. And… practice."
He nodded slowly. "Do you live here alone?"
"Yes."
"And always cooked like this?"
"I had to learn. No one else to do it."
"Mrs. Kirn visits often?"
"Sometimes. She brings vegetables when she can."
The questions passed like ordinary talk—but she felt the pull under every word. Fishing lines under still water.
After the meal, she quietly gathered the plates. As she turned to wash them, she caught movement—the Grand Luminarch, standing near the shelf.
He'd been quietly scanning the room with his appraisal. And when his gaze settled on the glasses—
—something pulsed.
Appraisal result: Appraisal Eyeglass. Level 10.
His breath caught.
Even he, the highest among the Church, had only Level 5. Level 3 was rare. But Level 10?
That was impossible.
He reached.
Jinn moved fast.
"Your Holiness!"
She snatched the glasses and held them to her chest. Her voice was sharper than intended.
The Grand Luminarch raised a calm hand. "My apologies. They caught my eye. That is all."
"No, Your Holiness… No harm done. Sorry for the outburst."
She placed them in a drawer.
"I was asked to keep them safe. That's all."
"Of course," he said.
Then came the quiet blow.
"If I may ask you to visit the Temple—just briefly. A few questions. And in exchange, we offer thirty gold."
Her heart stopped.
Thirty?
That was three months of food.
"Don't look surprised. You took care of us. That's reason enough."
"…Alright. I'll go."
---
The ceremonial carriage stood in the morning light like something from a festival.
Jinn stared at it, silent after stepping into a higher platform with an open view like a parade cart.
"Why is it so tall? Flags? Open roof?"
The Grand Luminarch offered a white cloak.
She paused. "This is…"
"The Saintess's cloak. Yes. Wear it. It's cold."
"I'm not—"
"I never said you were. But the people may wonder. That's not your fault."
Her fingers tightened around the fabric.
He watched her closely.
"Strange, though… how the healer left her glasses behind. Such a vital thing to forget."
Shit. I was tired. I didn't think.
He smiled. "That's why I came early. To catch you before you started thinking. Early waking fogs the mind."
She sighed. "Not just early. I barely slept."
So that's it. I walked into this.
As the carriage began to move, cheers slowly stirred from nearby roads.
Children pointed. Villagers whispered.
She looked down at her hands.
Not trembling. Just… still.
She wore the Saintess's cloak. She sat on the Saintess's seat.
And though she said nothing, the Grand Luminarch watched her from across the ride, his expression unreadable.
She wasn't running this time.
But it didn't feel like staying either.
> To be Continued