Kael hadn't spoken in two days.
Not because there was no one to speak to—he had the child. But because his lips were cracked, bleeding, and dry as bone. His throat felt like it had been clawed out. Every breath was a curse, every step a death sentence.
And still, he walked.
The mountains loomed ahead, jagged and eternal, slicing into the sky like the spines of forgotten gods. Snow clung to every rock, and the wind howled as if trying to tear flesh from bone. The trails were long since buried. The ghost paths were behind him now. All that remained was this desolate stretch of frost, stone, and silence.
He had wrapped the child tighter in what little fabric remained, tucking her against his chest, heart to heart. She remained warm, her glow now faint—but constant. It kept him going. The idea that something good was still touching the world. That maybe, if he could reach the temple, the gods would finally answer her presence. Or someone would.
The temple of Solis was no longer a sanctuary. Not really. The once-golden towers had crumbled. The high walls were split. The sanctified stones now lay in ruin, half-swallowed by frost and age. But the priestess would be there.
She had to be.
She was the only one left.
Kael stumbled, catching himself against a rock. Blood smeared the stone. He didn't know from where anymore. His shoulder? His thigh? His side? All of it, maybe. He was a torn-up husk of what had once been a paladin.
"I've… survived worse," he muttered.
A lie. He hadn't.
Not like this.
Snow lashed his face. His eyes stung.
He collapsed again. This time, he didn't get up right away. The cold had settled into his bones. Sleep whispered from beneath the surface, seductive and soft.
Just close your eyes. Just for a moment. Just…
"No," he grunted, forcing himself upright. "Not with her. Not now."
He looked down. The baby's glow flickered. Her breath was steady, her tiny hands curled close to her chin. Still calm. Still silent.
"Guess… I'm the one losing it now," he chuckled dryly. "You're the sane one."
The temple gates were in sight. Just a ridge away. A long stair of broken stone carved into the cliffside.
He took one step.
Then another.
Then fell again.
This time he didn't rise.
The world turned dark. Silent.
No wind. No cold.
Just… quiet.
Kael's breathing slowed. His fingers stopped twitching.
He was dying.
But then…
Light.
Soft at first. Like candlelight behind his eyelids.
Then blinding.
It seared his nerves, not painfully—but purely. As if something reached into him and decided, no—not yet. Not him. Not now.
He gasped as warmth flooded his veins.
His cuts closed. His lungs filled with air. The numbness melted like wax under fire.
He opened his eyes, blinking back tears.
The baby floated above him.
Not far. Just a few inches off the ground. Her eyes open. Glowing like twin suns. Her body haloed in radiance that turned the snow gold and made the broken stones shimmer with the memory of holiness.
"Okay," Kael croaked, wheezing. "You've been holding that in this whole time?"
She slowly settled into his arms again, light fading back to her usual hum.
He coughed, voice rough. "Would've been great if you did that two days ago, you know… when I got shot. Or when I almost lost a toe. Or when those psychos tried to gut us in the tower."
She yawned. Tiny. Serene.
He laughed.
A real one.
"Sure. Now that we're safe, now you glow like the gods pissed sunlight."
She gurgled softly.
He looked up.
The steps were still steep. But he didn't feel like death anymore. He felt… lighter. Restored. Like something divine had brushed his soul and decided it wasn't time.
"Right," he muttered. "Let's go."
The stairway to the Sanctum Solis had once been grand—carved from blessed stone, lined with golden lions and banners of sun-fire silk. Now, it was rubble. Weeds grew through the cracks. The lion heads were broken, the banners gone. Only the wind howled tribute.
Kael climbed. Carefully. Slowly.
At the top, the gates lay open—half-collapsed. The entrance to the temple still bore the massive double doors of sunsteel, though rust had devoured most of their gleam.
He passed through them without ceremony.
The temple was dead.
Empty pews. Collapsed columns. Dust falling like memory from the shattered ceiling.
And at the far end—
A light.
Faint. A candle.
And her.
The high priestess.
She stood beside the altar, hunched and thin, her robes clinging like funeral cloth. But her eyes—her eyes were alive.
When she saw him, she staggered.
Kael crossed the floor slowly, every step echoing through the silence.
He stopped three paces from her and knelt, the child held in his arms like a sacred gift.
"I brought her," he rasped.
The priestess dropped to her knees.
Tears slid down her face.
She reached out. Not to take the baby—but to bless her.
"You did," she whispered. "You truly did."
Kael slumped forward.
He didn't faint.
But he rested.
At last.