The temple walls hummed with a silence too ancient to be peaceful.
Kael leaned against the cracked pillar near the altar, breath still shallow, his body wrapped in exhaustion. His wounds had closed, but the pain remained—the ghost of every mile he'd walked, every friend he'd buried, every scream he'd swallowed. Yet now, in the flickering candlelight of the ruin, something stirred in his chest.
Not grief.
Something warmer.
The priestess knelt beside him. Her trembling hands hovered over the child, who remained swaddled in cloth now stained with dust and blood. The baby lay between them like a star fallen from the sky—still glowing faintly, still watching.
The priestess, Aveline wept, quietly and without shame.
"I've prayed for you," she whispered. "Day and night. I thought the gods had forgotten us… but they remembered. They remembered through you."
The baby reached up, her fingers curling around the edge of the priestess's sleeve.
Kael watched, hollow and full all at once. "She… saved me," he murmured. "Out in the snow. I collapsed. Couldn't move. And then she—she lit up. Like a sunrise. Pulled me back."
The priestess turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, but burning. "She is only the beginning. The spark. But sparks must be kindled or they die."
Kael swallowed. "You mean she's… not enough?"
"She's a sign, Paladin. A hope. But not a shield. The world won't heal simply because she exists."
Her voice was softer now, like old pages turning. "And if we stay here, we will die."
He blinked. "We just got here."
She nodded, grim. "The temple is no longer sacred. The wards are dead. I felt them die months ago. It's only a matter of time before the slavers or the warlords track you here. They always do."
Kael looked around. The shattered statues, the crumbled altar, the hollow dome where birds now nested. The bones of a place once holy. A ruin. Nothing more.
"Then where?" he asked, voice tight.
"The Western Sanctuary," she said. "It's the last standing temple. Hidden deep in the cliffs of Elevar. Protected by old magic. I've sent messages there—smoke, prayer, old signs. I don't know if anyone survived."
Kael closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it settle back onto his shoulders. The road wasn't done. The fight wasn't done.
He looked down at the baby, nestled in his lap.
"What should we call her?" the priestess asked softly, reverently. "It is custom. To name those marked by the Divine."
Kael stiffened. "I'm not… worthy of that."
But then—The baby moved.
She reached up.
Her tiny finger brushed against his jaw. Just once.
That simple touch undid him.
Tears welled in his eyes. He bit back a sob, but it escaped anyway—ugly, raw, human. He clenched his jaw, shook his head, but the tears kept falling. She didn't blink. She just touched him, as if to say you are.
"So serene…" he choked out.
The priestess tilted her head. "What did you say?"
He looked down at the child again, smiling through the tears. "She's… so serene."
His voice cracked.
"Seraphina," he whispered.
The name hung in the air.
The priestess closed her eyes. "It is perfect."
Kael looked up. "It just came to me."
"No," she said. "It came from her."
They had less than a day.
The priestess began packing immediately—what little was left in the temple. Ancient scrolls. A cracked chalice. A vial of blessed water so old it had crusted into salt. She moved with surprising swiftness for her age, her thin fingers tightening rope and rolling cloth.
Kael helped where he could. His strength was returning slowly, but his wounds were stiff, and he moved like a man twice his age. Seraphina remained quiet, sleeping in a cradle of soft cloth as the wind howled outside.
They changed their clothes. The priestess unearthed old travel robes from beneath the altar—brown and gray, plain, the kind worn by the wandering monks of the old faith. Kael stripped off what was left of his armor and boots, leaving the sun-sigil behind.
"We'll be ghosts now," the priestess said, wrapping her robe tightly. "They won't look twice if we walk like shadows."
Kael adjusted the wool around Seraphina's small body, tucking her close to his chest again. "She's the brightest damn shadow I've ever seen."
"She can hide," the priestess murmured, "when she wants to."
"Let's hope she wants to the next time we run into bandits."
The priestess gave him a look. "We will. Before long."
Kael sighed. "Can't wait."
Before they left, the priestess insisted on one last moment at the altar. It was crumbling now, covered in moss and soot, but still sacred.
She knelt. Kael stood behind her, Seraphina tucked close.
"We go now not as priests or soldiers," the priestess said. "But as exiles. Survivors. Shadows. But in our arms… we carry the sun."
Kael lowered his head.
And for just a moment—just one—he felt the warmth again.
The same warmth he'd felt in the snow.
A pulse of hope.
Seraphina stirred.
Kael kissed her forehead.
"Let's go, little star."