The drizzle had softened to a gentle mist, floating like silver breath over the courtyard. After the High Priest's calming words, the people of Eddleguard finally began to breathe again. Their shoulders eased. Their grips loosened. Hope — tentative but real — settled into their hearts.
Yet the air held something else too.
A quiet anticipation.
A feeling that something important… someone important… was drawing near.
The rain-washed square, with its glistening stone and blooming gardens, waited in hushed readiness. Even the flowers seemed to tilt their petals toward the entrance of the city, as though the very earth sensed the approaching moment.
Then —
A low tremor rippled through the ground.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Not chaotic. Not hurried.
A steady, disciplined rhythm.
People turned instinctively. Children peeked from behind their parents. Knights straightened, gripping their spears a little tighter. Even the High Priest lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in recognition.
From down the main road leading into the square… they appeared.
Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-breath. Mothers lifted their children. Knights straightened. Even Conor Barrete's cold eyes shifted toward the road.
The drizzle parted slightly, and through the thin veil of rain, a silhouette began to emerge.
The Astley Family's Arrival
A single luxurious carriage approached — not ostentatious, but unmistakably noble. Its polished black frame gleamed even in the rain, trimmed with elegant silver filigree shaped like flowing vines and small sapphire-like gemstones embedded along its sides. The Astley family crest — a silver stag beneath a rising star — was emblazoned proudly on the doors, shimmering faintly as droplets streaked down its surface.
But it was not the carriage itself that made the citizens gasp.
It was the escort.
The carriage was flanked on all sides by towering warhorses — beasts bred not for beauty, but for battlefield supremacy. Their muscles rippled beneath sleek coats, each step controlled and thunderous. Their eyes were sharp, intelligent, and unwavering. Even in the rain, steam rose softly from their nostrils as they breathed, giving them the appearance of mythic creatures emerging from a fog.
Their armor was as imposing as the knights who rode them — polished plate barding engraved with flowing stag motifs, the edges lined with protective ridges designed to deflect arrows and spears. Each horse moved with disciplined precision, hooves striking the stone in perfect unison, sending faint tremors through the ground.
Riding atop these magnificent beasts were the Astley family knights — a sight rarely witnessed by common citizens.
Their armor was heavy plate steel, treated with a deep, bluish tint that distinguished the Astley lineage. Silver engravings of running stags curled along their pauldrons, chestplates, and gauntlets, each line sharp and elegant. The visor of their helmets was shaped like a narrowed T-slit, giving their gaze a calm yet commanding presence.
Blue cloaks, the color of deep ocean, billowed behind them despite the rain, each cloak pinned by a silver brooch shaped like a blooming lily — the Astley symbol of mercy.
Their posture was impeccable, backs straight as spears, reins held with practiced ease. Even sitting still, they radiated quiet power.
Marching behind the knights came rows of infantry — the household soldiers of the Astley estate. Their gear was less ornate but no less intimidating.
They wore reinforced chainmail layered beneath polished breastplates, each plate engraved with the Astley crest at the center. Their helmets were simpler, but cleanly crafted, with nose guards and cheek plates that gave them a stern, professional appearance.
Dark blue surcoats covered their armor, strapped tightly to minimize noise and movement. At their sides hung short swords, and on their backs — heavy shields marked with silver stag motifs.
Their synchronized march echoed sharply even on the wet stone, like steady drums announcing the arrival of nobility.
But at the very front, ahead of even the Astley knights, rode two figures whose presence shifted the entire atmosphere.
Two Templar Knights.
Their armor was unmistakable — a full white plate so polished it reflected the courtyard like a mirror. A bold crimson cross stretched across their chestplates, stark and vivid even under the rain. Their helms were angular, with narrow slits glowing faintly from the reflection of the misty light.
Unlike the Astley knights' ocean-blue cloaks, the Templars wore pure white cloaks that somehow stayed spotless despite the weather. A faint golden embroidery traced the edges — subtle, but impossible to miss.
At their waists hung straight, double-edged swords in immaculate white scabbards. Their mere presence radiated authority.
They weren't here as decoration.
They were here because the girl they protected had become a figure of divine interest.
The citizens of Eddleguard stiffened as the procession approached.
Whispers burst through the crowd like sparks:
"Templars…? Here?"
"That's the Astley crest—!"
"I've never seen horses like these…"
"Are they really escorting a child?"
"No… a healer. A miracle healer."
Some people pressed hands to their chests.
Some backed away instinctively from the overwhelming pressure.
Some simply stared in awe, unable to speak.
Even the knights guarding the Healing Hall felt their throats tighten.
The arrival of such forces — Templars, elite Astley cavalry, and armored soldiers — was something the city had never witnessed, not even during royal visits.
This wasn't an escort.
It was a declaration.
The child arriving in that carriage…
was someone the kingdom intended to protect at all costs.
The luxurious carriage slowed, wheels gliding over the wet stone with a soft hum, and came to a gentle stop before the Healing Hall.
The rain quieted further.
The air grew still.
Every eye fixed on the carriage door.
First to step out of the carriage was a female knight. Her armor, though light and meant for mobility, was crafted with exquisite detail. Delicate floral engravings curled along the breastplate and the edges of her gauntlets, giving her a strangely gentle yet dignified presence. The metal shimmered faintly under the daylight, catching hints of silver and rose-gold. Her hair, a vibrant cascade of bright red, was tied into a high ponytail that swayed with every step, like a living flame dancing behind her. Her expression was sharp, disciplined, and alert — unmistakably a knight of the Astley household, trained to move with elegance even in the thick of danger.
After her descended a maid with soft brown hair that fell in smooth waves to her shoulders. Her appearance was refined to the point of deception; one could easily mistake her for a young noble lady rather than a servant. Her posture was impeccable, her steps light, and her warm amber eyes held a quiet intelligence. She wore the Astley-style maid uniform — crisp white apron over a deep navy dress — yet she carried herself with such grace that the uniform felt more like elegant attire than work clothes.
Following shortly behind was a nun. Her attire resembled the traditional robe of a holy sister, yet subtle deviations made it far more ornate. The hems were embroidered with pale gold threads depicting gentle vines and blooming lilies, symbols of healing and purity. Her veil was layered and meticulously arranged, giving her a serene silhouette. Her age showed in the faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the gentle sag of her cheeks, but these only enhanced the warmth she radiated. Her kind, motherly smile alone was enough to calm anyone's heart, as if she were silently offering a blessing simply by being present.
And finally, the last to descend from the carriage was the young girl everyone had been waiting for —
Sapphire Rosabelle Astley.
She was small, even for a child of five, but her presence was unmistakably extraordinary, her presence drew every eye. There was an otherworldly beauty in her — delicate, ethereal, and impossible to ignore. She wore a pastel green dress that at first seemed simple, but closer inspection revealed intricate flowered embroidery that looked almost alive. The petals and vines curled along the fabric as if real flowers had taken root there, swaying faintly with her movement. The design gave her an air as though she were loved and tended by flower fairies themselves, a tiny being cherished by nature itself.
Her sapphire-blue eyes were clear and radiant, like a spring sky mirrored in a crystal pool. They held a gentle curiosity, a spark of innocence paired with a quiet intelligence. Her white hair, soft as freshly fallen snow, framed her face in silky waves, glowing faintly even under the overcast sky.
Every step she took was measured, graceful, and unconsciously elegant. Despite her youth, she carried herself with an ethereal innocence and poise that made the crowd feel simultaneously protective, awed, and comforted. She was not merely a noble child; she seemed like a living promise of hope, purity, and the miraculous.
The crowd didn't fall silent all at once — it softened gradually, like a conversation losing momentum. People leaned forward, craning their necks to see the small girl who had stepped out of the carriage.
"…That her?" someone muttered.
"Yeah… that's the Astley girl."
A woman narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better look.
"She's tiny. I thought she'd be taller."
"Well, she is five," her husband whispered.
A young man scratched the back of his head.
"Her eyes… wow. They're really blue."
"Must be from her father's side," someone guessed.
A woman squinted a little.
"Her eyes… look at that blue. That's definitely from the Count."
"Mm. He's got eyes like deep lakewater," her husband added.
A pair of teenagers whispered,
"And the hair— pure white. Just like the Countess."
"Yeah, she really took from both sides, huh?"
A mother carrying her toddler smiled softly.
"She's cute. Really cute. Her mother's hair and her father's eyes… that's a good combination."
Her friend nodded.
"No wonder she stands out."
A man closer to the front crossed his arms.
"That's rare, though. You don't see white hair on a child often."
"Well, not unless it runs in the family," another answered. "The Countess has the same color."
A little girl tugged on her father's sleeve.
"Papa, her hair looks like the lady from the winter plays!"
"Haha, well, her mother looks like that too," he replied.
Some older women exchanged approving murmurs.
"She's got a calm look in those blue eyes."
"Just like her father when he walks through the market."
"And the hair makes her look soft… gentle. Her mother always had that same impression."
A few teenagers near the front blinked in surprise.
"Hey, look at her hair. It's actually white."
"No way— oh… it really is."
"That's kinda cool."
A mother carrying her toddler smiled softly.
"She's cute. Like… really cute."
Her friend nodded.
"Yeah. She looks polite too. Not fussy."
Closer to the carriage, a villager frowned thoughtfully.
"That embroidery on her dress… is that hand-stitched?"
"Well, she is a noble," his wife replied. "They can afford that kind of thing."
"No, but— it looks really fine. Whoever made it must be skilled."
A group of older men nodded in mild approval.
"At least she doesn't look spoiled."
"Mm. She carries herself well for a child."
"Count Astley must raise them strict."
A young girl tugged her father's sleeve.
"Papa, she looks like the dolls in the fancy shops…"
Her father chuckled.
"Yeah. Bet those shops used her as inspiration."
Further back, someone whispered,
"She seems gentle."
"Yeah. I thought noble kids would look all proud or stiff, but she's just… normal. Pretty, but normal."
There was no reverence.
No fear.
Just a very human mix of curiosity, admiration, and simple comments one would expect from everyday people seeing a noble child up close for the first time.
And as Sapphire walked forward with small, careful steps, the mood remained the same — warm, curious, grounded.
"She's a good kid," someone said quietly.
"I can feel that just by looking."
A simple, honest sentiment shared by many.
Saphy paused at the base of the steps, looking out at the people gathered. Then, with both her small hands, she gave a gentle wave — shy, but sincere. She followed it with a neat, careful bow just like her etiquette teacher taught her.
The reaction was immediate.
"A-ah… she's polite."
"Look at that, she even bowed to common folks."
"That's rare for a noble child."
"Good manners… the Count raised her well."
Someone chuckled warmly.
"She's well-behaved. That's good to see."
Another murmured,
"Cute kid. Respectful, too. That's a good sign."
The atmosphere softened noticeably — not out of awe, but appreciation.
With that small exchange done, Saphy turned and made her way up the stairs. Her steps were steady, light, and a little excited.
Two church workers in modest uniforms were already waiting at the top. As she approached, they each grasped one of the great doors and pulled. Despite their size, the doors swung open without the slightest creak or protest — a testament to meticulous craftsmanship and upkeep.
Saphy's eyes naturally followed the carvings etched into the heavy wood.
Scenes from the scriptures… the founding saints… old symbols… yes, definitely church-related artwork, she thought, quietly impressed.
Once the doors opened fully, she stepped inside.
A cool, polished vastness greeted her.
The floor beneath her shoes was smooth marble — not plain white, but a special kind with deep swirling patterns that looked like waves in motion. Shades of blue, gray, and soft white twisted through the stone, giving the faint illusion of walking over a restless sea frozen in time.
Pretty… and a bit dramatic, she thought, taking it in.
Massive pillars lined the hall, each carved with careful designs: vines, emblems of the Seven Virtues, and old reliefs depicting healers of the past. Even the grooves and shadows in the carvings had been polished, showing how much effort went into maintaining the place.
Saphy took a few steps further, her small form briefly reflected in the sheen of the marble, and the hall seemed to breathe around her — vast, structured, and grand in a way that felt different from nobility. Not luxurious… purposeful.
The moment Saphy walked deeper into the hall, she noticed it — a faint fragrance drifting through the air. It wasn't artificial or overwhelming. Instead, it smelled clean, gentle, and calming… something like a blend of morning dew and fresh herbs. A scent that quietly eased tension without anyone realizing it.
Near the entrance, several benches were placed neatly in rows. Their arrangement was deliberate — a space for patients to sit and rest while waiting, sheltered from the rain outside. Some benches were padded lightly, clearly designed with comfort in mind.
They really thought this through, Saphy observed.
Her small steps brought her to the far end of the hall where a single table awaited her, placed with respectful prominence. But when she saw it, she stopped.
It wasn't just a table.
It was the most extravagant work of craftsmanship she had ever seen.
The entire structure was pure white — not painted white, but naturally white, like the wood itself was born from a mythical tree. Unlike polished furniture, it had a soft matte texture, almost velvety under her fingertips. As she leaned closer, she caught a faint scent rising from it… a gentle smell of lush greenery, like standing in the heart of a quiet forest after rain.
Her eyes widened.
What kind of wood is this…? It's beautiful.
Beside it, the matching chair looked just as luxurious. It was tall — far too tall for a five-year-old — but right next to it stood a small step stool crafted from the same snow-white wood.
Saphy couldn't help smiling faintly.
"They really considered my height," she murmured under her breath.
She climbed up carefully and settled onto the chair. The vibrant red cushioning on the seat and back contrasted the white wood beautifully. When she pressed her hand onto the cushion, her fingers sank in with almost no resistance.
Soft wasn't enough to describe it.
"It's sooo soft…" she whispered, nearly melting into the seat.
About ten meters away stood a curtained area supported by a sturdy wooden stand. It was clearly meant for patient privacy — a simple, functional space. The curtains were thick enough to block view yet light enough to move smoothly.
Remembering the church workers' explanation, Saphy went to check the designated female section. It wasn't large, but it didn't need to be. Two beds sat neatly inside, each surrounded by curtains for privacy. This area was meant only for female patients with injuries in more sensitive places — a thoughtful arrangement, especially in a world where modesty mattered deeply.
Everything is organized well, she thought with approval.
Inspection complete, Saphy returned to her seat. She climbed up the step stool again, settled onto her impossibly soft chair, and let her small legs dangle gently above the floor.
She took a calming breath.
The doors of the Healing Hall were open.
The fragrance in the air was soothing.
Her table was ready.
Her tools were arranged.
And Eddleguard was waiting.
Saphy folded her hands neatly on the white tabletop.
She was ready to start receiving patients.