They traveled by foot. No horses. No carts. Just two cloaked figures and a bundle of miracle wrapped in worn cloth. The Western Sanctuary was leagues away, a winding path through ravaged forests, broken villages, and roads that no longer bore names—only blood.
Kael walked ahead, hand on the hilt of a dagger now dulled from overuse. The sword he once carried with pride had been abandoned, too heavy, too clean for the kind of dirt they trudged through now.
The priestess, though aged, followed closely behind, staff in hand, robes dragging in the muck. The wind had grown stronger, carrying the scent of burning pine and rot.
Seraphina slept in silence.
"Do you think we were seen leaving the temple?" Kael asked, eyes scanning the treeline.
The priestess shook her head. "Not by men. Perhaps by gods."
He offered a humorless chuckle. "If the gods are watching, they've got a hell of a taste for drama."
They moved deeper into the woods, heading northwest, avoiding roads and visible trails. Kael's senses stayed sharp—listening for unnatural breaks in birdsong, snapping twigs, the faintest echo of metal.
That night, they camped beneath the exposed roots of an upturned tree. It had been pulled from the ground long ago, perhaps by storm or battle, and the hollow beneath was large enough to shield them from sight.
Kael kept watch.
But his eyes grew heavy.
And the fire was small.
And the wind, colder.
A sound.
Kael's eyes flew open.
The fire was dead.
But Seraphina—still glowing.
He cursed under his breath and reached over, pressing the cloth more tightly around her. The faint light of her skin shone through it, like dawn behind clouds.
Then—another sound. Closer.
Footsteps. Slow. Careful.
Kael froze, heart hammering.
The priestess stirred beside him. "What is it?"
He held up a hand. Listen.
Voices.
Rough. Male. A few paces away, on the upper ridge.
"…swear I saw it. A flicker. Right there, past that dead oak."
"Just the wind. You always see ghosts after a kill."
"Don't call it a kill. It was a child. A girl."
A pause.
Then the first voice muttered, "Didn't bleed like one."
Kael felt bile rise in his throat.
The priestess placed a hand on Seraphina's head. Her own whisper came like a breath.
"Please. Dim your flame."
The baby stirred—but did not cry.
The light pulsing beneath the cloth slowed… then flickered…
…then faded.
Gone.
Kael blinked. They were plunged into near-blackness, the only light coming from a sliver of moon through the root lattice above them.
Outside, the men moved closer.
One of them stepped directly over the hollow.
Kael held his breath, one hand on the dagger, the other curled protectively over Seraphina's small body.
"I'll check down this way," a third voice said.
"No," said the first. "Too much trouble. If she's hiding, she's not far. She'll burn again. Then we'll see her."
Their footsteps shifted—then faded—then disappeared into the trees.
Kael didn't breathe for a full minute after they'd gone.
When he finally did, it came out like a shudder.
He pulled back the cloth slowly.
Seraphina lay with her tiny hands tucked under her chin, eyes wide open, gaze steady.
"You… did that," Kael whispered.
The priestess smiled softly. "She knew."
Kael shook his head, overcome. "That wasn't just instinct. That was choice. She heard you."
The baby blinked slowly, then yawned.
He laughed—quietly, breathlessly.
"She'll be terrifying when she learns to talk."
The priestess didn't laugh. Her expression was haunted. "She shouldn't have to learn these things. Not yet."
"She shouldn't have to be hiding in the first place," Kael muttered.
"She's alive. And the world will always chase what it fears."
Kael looked down at Seraphina. "Then we better teach her to run faster than the world."
They moved again before dawn.
The encounter had shaken them both—more than either admitted aloud. The slavers were closing in, and worse, they were now tracking without hesitation. They believed what she was. Or at least, believed what they could make of her.
As they crossed a ruined pass later that day, Kael paused at the edge of a ridge. The land below was scarred—once a village, now just scorched earth. Smoke still rose from a barn long collapsed. He counted a few bodies in the distance.
He turned away before the priestess could see.
Seraphina made a soft noise against his chest.
"Don't look," he whispered.
She didn't glow.
That night, they found shelter in the ruins of a chapel. The steeple had fallen, but the main walls still stood, blanketed in ivy. A single bench remained in place, cracked down the center but upright.
Kael sat there with Seraphina in his lap, his cloak drawn around them both.
"Did you know you could do that?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of her hair aside.
She didn't respond—just looked at him with those golden eyes.
"I'm not gonna pretend I understand what you are. Or what the gods want. I don't even know if they do want anything anymore. But I know this…"
He leaned his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.
"I'll never let them take you. Not while I'm breathing."
The priestess stood behind them, silent.
She raised her hands and began to whisper old words—prayers not meant for power, but for protection.
And the light in the chapel dimmed further, as if Seraphina answered again.
They slept in peace that night.
No footsteps.
No torches.
Just wind through broken stone, and a light that now knew when to hide.