Time had done terrible things to the world beyond the sanctuary, but here—within the stone-etched womb of Elevar—life had found a way to bloom.
Aveline sat on the carved marble bench beside the garden wall, her old bones wrapped in three layers of robes, her hands folded in her lap like folded parchment. The fabric was heavier now. She needed the weight. Her skin had grown thinner, her movements slower. But her mind—her mind was sharp as ever. Sharp enough to remember the way this place once groaned with emptiness.
And now?
Now, the vines sang. The wind hummed through the prayer chimes. There were lilies blooming again. Roses, too.
It was all because of her.
Seraphina.
"She's pretending the flowers are talking again," came Kael's voice beside her.
Aveline smiled without looking his way. "Better flowers than corpses."
Kael snorted. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, the thick leather of his tunic marked with faint sigils of protection. His hair had grown longer over the years. A sword still hung at his hip, but it was no longer drawn in desperation. Here, at least, he was not a hunted man. Here, he was something quieter.
A guardian. A father in all but name.
In the middle of the garden, a small girl in a pale blue dress spun barefoot in the grass, twirling with an armful of wildflowers she had plucked without permission. Her laughter rang off the stone like windchimes. She paused to speak to a daffodil, then bowed as if the plant had said something deeply noble.
"She's five," Kael said, watching her. "Looks younger, somehow. Still small."
"She was born of miracle," Aveline murmured. "And miracles don't always obey time."
He nodded slowly. "She hasn't glowed in years."
"No," Aveline agreed. "But it's there. I feel it. Like a candle in the snow."
Kael let out a slow breath. "Sometimes I wonder if it was all a dream. What we saw back then. The burning light. The men falling. The way she parted the stone to let us in."
Aveline looked over at him. "It was no dream."
He smiled faintly. "I know. But then I look at her, chasing bees and giggling, and I forget that once—just once—she stopped death in its tracks."
They sat in silence a moment, the quiet broken only by Seraphina humming a tune she'd invented. She'd made a song for each flower, she claimed. The daisies liked lullabies. The sunflowers liked ballads.
"Has she asked yet?" Kael asked quietly. "About outside?"
Aveline's gaze grew heavy. "No. But she will."
They both knew it.
Seraphina had never left the sanctuary. Not once.
The world believed her dead. Or lost. The slavers stopped hunting after the second year. Most thought the child of light had faded like a false star—another dying rumor from a dying age.
And yet, here she was.
Hidden. Growing.
The sanctuary had shifted around her presence. People didn't need to see her to believe in her. Word had spread like fire through the old lines of faith. A child had been born. The Divine had stirred. The Western Sanctuary still lived.
From five priests to fifty acolytes over five years. From five paladins—Kael included—to now over a dozen scattered through the cliffs. Quiet. Loyal. Never drawing too much attention. The sanctuary didn't rise with war or declaration.
It rose in whispers.
Hope did not scream. It grew.
"I've started writing down the vision I had," Aveline said suddenly. "Back when she opened the gate."
Kael turned to her. "You never told me you had a vision."
She smiled gently. "Not a vision, exactly. A moment. A knowing. When she touched the stone… I saw a world rebuilt. Not from fire or conquest—but from stillness. From people like her."
"She's still just a little girl," he said.
"Exactly," Aveline replied. "That's why it will work."
Kael shifted. "You think she'll save us?"
"I think she already has. And will again."
They fell into silence again.
Seraphina had gathered the petals into a circle now, carefully arranging them in a pattern that only she understood. She stood in the center of them, raised her arms like wings, and said something the wind swallowed before either of them could hear it.
Kael smiled.
"She asked me yesterday if monsters were real."
"What did you tell her?"
"That some monsters walk on two legs and wear pretty clothes."
Aveline raised an eyebrow. "Kael."
"I also told her that the scariest ones were those who didn't believe in anything."
She nodded at that. "That's more like you."
They watched her for another long while.
"She'll need friends eventually," Aveline said.
Kael looked at her sharply.
"No," she said before he could protest. "Not outsiders. Not yet. But acolyte children. A few have been born here. She shouldn't grow alone. I have 3 under my wings, maybe her handmaiden in the future."
He stared at Seraphina, his jaw tight. "I just want her safe."
"She is safe," Avery said gently. "But children need more than safety. They need life."
Kael swallowed hard. "I've lost too much, Aveline. I can't lose her too."
"She is not yours to lose."
He didn't answer that.
Seraphina sat down cross-legged in her circle of petals and looked up toward the sky. A bird passed overhead. She waved at it.
Kael watched her like a man watches the last flame on the last candle.
"She called me Papa once," he said quietly.
Avery turned. "She sees you."
"I told her not to."
"Why?"
He stared at the ground. "Because someday she'll leave. Or become something else. I don't want her to miss me."
Aveline reached over, placing her frail hand on his calloused one.
"She will always miss you. And that will be your greatest honor."