CHAPTER 52 – THE MORNING OF THE TEMPLE
By the time the last tremor of the night blended into the first notes of the morning prayer, the Temple district was already awake.
The Empire's famous white stones in the capital did not shine as they usually did in the first light. Normally, the morning sun would reflect off domes and columns, casting golden lines all across the plain. But this morning, the air felt strangely dull; the light seemed to filter through a thin veil. Although the sky was clear, the priests walking through the Temple courtyard carried a weight inside them.
Because the report that had arrived at midnight was not an ordinary note.
An SSS-level figure had personally set foot in the Academy.
And that figure was the Duke of House Daskal.
Archbishop Caeloran stood on a stone balcony overlooking the inner courtyard, turning a slender rosary between his fingers. Each bead held small inscriptions sealed with mana—prayers, prophecies, warnings… yet even the rhythm of the beads was off this morning.
A voice came from behind him.
"Inquisitor Atheon requests your audience, Holy Father."
Without turning his head, the Archbishop said,
"Let him in."
Atheon stepped onto the balcony in his green-and-black embroidered robes. The calm smile on his face was still there, but his eyes clearly held exhaustion—not the simple weariness of a short night's sleep, but the strain of a shattered surveillance network.
"I read the night report," Caeloran said, turning the rosary in his fingers. "But a few lines… caught my attention in particular."
Atheon lowered his head slightly. "All of it is verified information, Holy Father. Our observation network around the Academy was completely suppressed for a while. That cannot be explained by a simple aura burst."
"You are not the one who needs to teach me that," Caeloran said, though his tone was more thoughtful than scolding. "If the enemy holds power, our first loss would be pride."
Atheon smiled faintly. "Then we have suffered no loss."
The Archbishop ignored that. His gaze drifted toward the distant horizon where the Academy lay. The silhouettes of its tall towers couldn't be seen from here, but the mana balance could still be felt from this distance—a thinned, delicate line.
"What does the news that Duke Aurellius entered the Academy tell us?" Caeloran asked.
Atheon drew in a breath before answering. "Three things," he said. "First: House Daskal clearly intends to officially reclaim their grandson. They did not hide this. Otherwise, he would not have gone there in the middle of the night with SS-ranked guards."
"And the second?"
Atheon's eyes narrowed. "Second: the Temple's surveillance over the gray flow is no longer as comfortable as it used to be. The observational spell line we used last night was interrupted twice around Seryn's room. Both the Academy barriers and the Duke's presence suppressed the flow of energy."
The rosary in the Archbishop's fingers hissed softly, the inscriptions on it flaring with a brief white light. "And the third?" he asked.
Atheon answered this one without a smile.
"Third…" he said. "We can no longer test him as a 'normal student.' Whatever we do, the name Daskal will now be part of it. Seryn has stopped being a 'special file' for the Academy. He has become a file for the balance of the Empire itself."
Caeloran fell silent. The lines across his forehead carried the weight of the reports he had received through the night.
"The gray flow," he murmured. "An echo of an ancient fracture… a current that could destabilize the world if it falls into the wrong hands."
Atheon dipped his head. "That is why we believe it is the Temple's duty to watch him, Holy Father."
The Archbishop took a deep breath. "There is a difference between believing and knowing."
Then he turned to look at Atheon. His gaze carried an unsettling sharpness.
"Last night," he said, "how do you interpret that little disruption recorded in our surveillance network?"
Atheon's smile turned into a faint shadow.
"The energy profile… was interesting," he said. "The suppressive aura of the Duke and Seryn's gray flow overlapped for a brief moment. Then the gray flow fell completely silent."
"Silent?" Caeloran's voice echoed across the stone balcony.
"Yes," Atheon said. "We've never seen that before. The gray flow usually responds to pressure—coils, condenses, surges… but this time, for several heartbeats, it was completely quiet. As if a hand had drawn a line across the entire stream… and then erased it."
He stopped before finishing his sentence. The Archbishop's gaze had grown even sharper.
"Duke Aurellius," Caeloran said. "That stubborn SSS-level man… the only noble who has refused to listen to the Temple's secrets for forty years."
"And the one who holds the deep northern front alone," Atheon added. "Because of him, the eastern demon armies still haven't managed to link with the northern borders."
"One of the seven demon generals remains stuck at that front," Caeloran said thoughtfully. "One of those delaying Noctarian's ultimate march… and he refuses to sit at the same table with us."
He closed his hand around the rosary. Mana thickened between his fingers.
"In this Empire, among the three SSS-level figures," he said, "one is the Emperor, one is myself, and one is Daskal. As long as that shadow stands in the north protecting that boy, the Temple cannot touch Seryn directly."
Atheon tilted his head slightly. "We cannot touch him directly," he repeated. "But fate can be written with indirect lines, too."
The Archbishop's eyes gleamed. "I'm listening to your proposal."
Atheon bowed his head slightly. "The Academy's exam process is still ongoing," he said. "The fourth knot… is the most critical stage for reading mental integrity, mana–aura harmony, and inner inclinations. In this knot, the fracture in Seryn's soul layers will show itself more clearly.
But the Duke's visit… may affect the exam schedule."
Caeloran shook his head firmly. "We cannot put direct pressure on them. If Aurellius thinks we are attacking the Academy's independence, he will whisper into the Emperor's ear. If the Emperor starts reconsidering the Temple's authority… we risk the only barrier that's still holding Noctarian at bay."
Atheon lowered his gaze. "In that case," he said, "we need to establish a different kind of surveillance. Not direct intervention—information gathering. Bringing Seryn here in the short term is impossible. But we can multiply our eyes inside the Academy."
The Archbishop spread the rosary in his hand and picked out one bead between his fingers. The seal on that bead was darker than the others.
"I read Valeria's reports," he said. "She behaves with admirable composure as an internal observer. But even she has limits. She cannot remain completely detached from the Academy's internal politics."
"Just like Seraphine," Atheon added. "Both of them look at Seryn with a different kind of curiosity."
Caeloran's lips thinned into a taut line. "Anyone whose heart softens will misread the gray flow," he said. "Those who pity him make the greatest mistake. Because that boy… is not just a boy. He is the echo of an old decision."
For a moment, silence fell.
Then the Archbishop drew in a long breath.
"Today," he said, "we will convene the Temple Council. The agenda: the gray flow growing within the Academy under House Daskal's protection. We will also discuss the possible reactions of the other races. The Elf courts, the Fae Courts, the Orc tribal empire, the Shadow Dragon people… all are tense over the Worldly Fragments. If they misinterpret Seryn's existence, a single spark could turn into a multi-front war."
Atheon lifted his head. "Will we tell them 'do not misinterpret'," he asked, "or 'believe whatever you like, so long as you don't step outside the Temple's line'?"
A brief laugh echoed on the balcony. Caeloran's eyes were cold as ice, but the corner of his lips had twitched ever so slightly.
"Our duty," he said, "is to manage fear. What they believe is not important. What they fear is."
Atheon bowed his head. "Then Seryn may become not just a symbol for the Temple, but for the other races as well."
"Yes," Caeloran said. "To them… he will either be a crack that distorts fate, or a deviation that accelerates Noctarian's plans."
Atheon fell silent for a moment, then added in a low voice, "Or a new balance within the Empire."
The Archbishop heard that, but did not comment. Clearly, he had decided it was too early to entertain that possibility.
"The fourth knot in the Academy," he said at last, "will most likely be delayed by a day. Aurellius's visit will force them to 'reevaluate security.' We will not request this—but they will have no choice. Let us turn this delay into an advantage."
Atheon nodded. "I'll establish additional observation lines. Students, instructors, Valeria, Lucien… we'll monitor everyone who has the most contact with Seryn. Especially Lucien's reactions. He too is a figure bound to his own destiny."
"The Temple's would-be knight of God," Caeloran murmured. "A youth being raised as a guardian of fate, in the same class as the one who carries the gray flow. Divine humor…"
This time, the bead in his fingers cracked, then repaired itself.
"Go," the Archbishop said. "We will not touch the Academy directly. But we will make the shadows thicker."
Atheon bowed. "As you command."
As he left the balcony, the priests lined in the inner courtyard began the morning prayer. Their voices rose between the white columns, turning into a melodic hum. The Temple would live out the rest of the day as usual.
But this morning, they were talking less about the God they prayed to, and more about the next move that would be made in His name.
The Academy's morning was far noisier than the Temple's.
It was supposed to be the last day before the fourth knot.
But everyone who knew what had happened in the night understood that today would not be "normal."
Before the sun had fully risen, whispers spread through the Academy's main courtyard like fire. Students clustered in stairwells, in the corridors outside the dining hall, at the corners leading to the library, talking in hushed tones.
"I saw everything," said a young aura student, gesturing dramatically. "There were at least ten guards. Black and red armor, the Daskal crest on their chests…"
"You're exaggerating," said the one beside him. "If there were ten guards, the whole Academy would have gone into full alarm."
"Didn't it already?" another cut in. "The barrier shook last night. Even the windows rattled. If that wasn't the pressure of an SS-level being, then what was it?"
A group of magic students were arguing heatedly on the tower steps.
"Didn't you hear? Duke Daskal came himself. To Seryn's room. In person."
"That's a lie."
"A lie? One of the upper-year students from the ritual department saw it. He walked past the door, and mana waves were coming from inside. If you say it's a lie, go ask him yourself."
By now, one name was echoing again and again across the courtyard:
Daskal.
Daskal.
Daskal.
Some spoke it with reverence, some muttered curses under their breath. For those who knew the northern wars, the internal conflicts of noble houses, the fall and rise of the ducal line, this name was not just a family name—it was a history.
At the center of that history, in the middle of exam week, stood a lower-year student who had barely survived the third knot, whose gray flow was fractured.
Seryn.
Some of the ritual department students had taken over a corner of the dining hall, speaking in hushed voices.
"Did you hear? Seryn's family record has been updated in the Academy system."
"What?"
"I checked the administrative stones first thing in the morning. The line 'Seryn Daskal – Provisionally Registered Student' is gone. Now it says, 'Official Member of House Daskal – status pending.'"
"A member?"
"This is bad," said another. "With the Temple already pressing this hard, now House Daskal stepping back into the spotlight… I swear, we're not graduating this year. The Academy is going to crumble on our heads."
A student in blue robes rolled his eyes. "Forget graduating, passing the exams would be enough. The fourth knot might even be postponed."
"I hope it is," another chimed in. "We're not ready."
Elsewhere, in the center of the aura department, a lone figure stood silently in the open gallery overlooking the training grounds.
Lucien.
With his broad shoulders, straight hair falling down his back, and the sword at his waist, he was one of the Academy's most respected students. The whispers had reached him, too. But his expression held neither admiration nor jealousy.
It was something more complicated.
He had seen Seryn walk past the ritual grounds many times. He was strong, dangerous, unstable… but the few moments when they had stood side by side on the training field had taught Lucien something—what fear mixed with respect felt like.
Now, things were different.
Seryn was no longer just a powerful ritual student.
He was Daskal again.
Lucien watched the students crossing the courtyard. Some spoke Seryn's name with admiration, some with hatred, some with quiet, wary fear.
None of them carried what Lucien carried.
The Temple had whispered to him at a very young age that he might become one of the "figures who would safeguard fate." He had been raised as one of the youths who might one day stand closest to God. A childhood surrounded by prayer, training, and secret rites…
And now, in the same Academy, walked a student who carried the gray flow, someone the Temple considered a threat. Someone who now stood under House Daskal's renewed protection.
Lucien placed his hands on the railing. The stone beneath his fingers trembled; his aura had rippled without him meaning to.
"This feeling…" he thought. "Is it jealousy? Or just unease?"
Footsteps approached. A voice sounded beside him.
"Did you see him?"
Seraphine.
In her violet-toned robes, she came to stand next to him with her usual calm. Her eyes seemed to study Lucien rather than the courtyard.
"When the Duke was here last night," she asked, "didn't you look out the window?"
Lucien shook his head slightly. "I heard. I didn't need to see it. The aura pressure of someone at that level can be felt through the walls."
Seraphine tilted her head. "True. But there are other things you need to hear."
Lucien looked at her.
"The Temple doesn't like House Daskal," Seraphine said. "But as long as it needs them, it won't touch them. Now, the grandson of Daskal is here. And a student who may become the Temple's favored candidate is here as well. You and Seryn… are different pieces on the same board."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "I am not a piece."
Seraphine smiled faintly. "I know that. But they don't."
There was a moment of silence. Then Lucien asked:
"What do you think? About Seryn, about Daskal… about the gray flow?"
Seraphine's gaze drifted for a moment as though to a far-off memory. "The gray flow…" she murmured. "An old line of the world. In the wrong hands, destruction; in the right ones… perhaps a new balance."
"Balance?" Lucien frowned. "Balance should lie in God's will. Not in someone else's."
Seraphine tilted her head. "If God's will never passed through human hands," she said, "the Temple would not exist. If humans had no need to interpret fate, we wouldn't be here."
Lucien did not reply. He had had this argument with himself many times. The Temple's doctrines, his own conscience, and what he had seen on battlefields… all sat inside him as separate, clashing pieces.
Below, at the far end of the courtyard, a stir ran through the crowd.
Seryn.
He had stepped into the open area with Lyra, Kai, and Rien beside him. His face was as composed as ever, but he looked a little paler. The line of the gray flow still ached inside his chest; Aurellius's touch had briefly suppressed everything, but the crack had reappeared once his hand withdrew. When Seryn had woken in the morning, there had been a brief moment when he'd felt nothing at all. That emptiness was as disturbing as the pain.
Now, with every step, he could feel the change in people's eyes.
Yesterday, he had been "a risky ritual student."
Today, he was "the Duke's grandson."
Kai was, as always, the first to notice the stares.
"The eyes… sharper," he muttered. "They were looking at you yesterday too, but today it's different. It's like you've turned into something else."
Rien's eyes were more calculating. He scanned not only the students, but the instructors as well. Some teachers tried to pretend they didn't see Seryn, though their eyes drifted despite themselves. Others looked directly at him, then carried on without a word.
Lyra bit her lip. "This is dangerous," she said quietly. "Reclaiming the Daskal name gives you a shield… but it also paints a target on you."
Seryn listened inwardly to the gray flow for a moment. The crack was calmer than the night before, but still present. Aurellius's words would not leave his mind:
No one can protect you. Not even me.
He raised his head and looked across the courtyard.
Some students avoided him, veering away. Others deliberately passed close, eager to catch his eye. Some spoke openly:
"Look, that's him."
"The Duke's grandson."
"Was he the one with the gray light?"
Kai couldn't hold back. "Well, at least no one's ignoring you," he said. "That's something."
Rien shrugged. "Some things are safer when they're invisible."
Lyra looked straight at Seryn. "What do you feel?" she asked. "Does having the Daskal name back… comfort you, or does it press on you more?"
Seryn didn't answer for a while. Then, slowly:
"Neither," he said. "The name is a legacy that comes with me. But the gray flow inside me… it wasn't born with that name.
"It's dangerous," Seryn finished. "But it's also my space of freedom."
At that moment, a bell rang on the far end of the courtyard. It wasn't the usual class bell; it was deeper, heavier. A mana wave descended from the tops of the towers, scanning the entire Academy.
Kai raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"
Rien's expression turned serious. "That's the 'announcement' tone. Usually rings at the start of term, or when important decisions are made."
Students gradually fell silent. Conversations died out. Everyone's eyes turned up toward the tower tops.
Then Valen's voice rang out across the entire Academy, carried through the mana-inscribed channels in the stone.
"Academy students," he said, his voice as calm as ever but more tired than usual. "Due to last night's extraordinary energy surge and subsequent security evaluation, some adjustments will be made to today's planned schedule."
Seryn's heart sped up. Lucien straightened in the gallery. Seraphine listened in silence. Valeria watched from a tower window.
Valen continued:
"Further details will be provided in class-level announcements before noon. For now, all students are to continue attending their scheduled lessons. The exam process is not over."
The bell fell silent. The mana wave retreated.
Kai frowned. "What… does that even mean?"
Rien spoke in a low voice. "I think it's about the fourth knot. Either it'll be postponed, or it'll be conducted under new conditions. The Duke didn't come here for nothing."
Lyra turned to Seryn. "What do you feel?"
Seryn felt the crack in his chest answer with a faint burn. "For me," he said, "it doesn't matter how the schedule changes. The Daskal name might be back, the Temple might be watching closer… but in the fourth knot, I'll be alone. And the crack will be with me."
Kai gave his shoulder a light tap. "You won't be alone," he said. "At least… not before the exam."
Rien confirmed that with a brief look. Lyra only smiled, but there was a hard determination in her eyes.
Lucien stopped watching them from above and stepped back from the railing. As he walked away, one thought crossed his min