The candle at her bedside had burned low, the wax spilling like tears across the worn wood of the table. It was the only light in the room aside from the faint glow that seeped through the curtains—moonlight, filtered and cold. The silence was soft, like snow settling on a grave.
Kael sat beside her, his large frame hunched awkwardly in the too-small chair. His armor lay forgotten in the corner, traded for a wool tunic stained from years of wear. His hands—scarred, strong, restless—remained steady only because hers rested within them.
She was lighter than ever.
More ghost than woman now.
Her breathing was shallow, papery, like a hymn breathed through cracked lips.
Aveline was dying.
She knew it. Kael knew it. The temple knew it. They just hadn't said the words yet.
"She's not ready," Kael whispered.
Aveline smiled, barely. "She's more ready than I ever was."
"You guided her. You kept her hidden. You protected her."
"I gave her shelter," Aveline murmured. "You gave her life."
Kael blinked hard. "Don't say that."
Her fingers curled weakly around his. "You won't admit it. But you're more father than guardian. That love will protect her far longer than any sword."
He looked away, jaw tight, throat thick.
"I'll miss you," he said finally.
Aveline's voice was fragile but warm. "Then we were lucky, weren't we?"
A long pause.
Kael cleared his throat, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
"I told her you were resting," he said.
"She knows."
"She always knows."
Aveline let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "She reads my face better than scripture."
"She reads your scripture better than most priests."
Aveline's smile widened slightly. "She only knows the Divine because of those words. Not visions. Not miracles. Just… ink on parchment."
Kael lowered his head. "Do you think that's enough?"
"It was enough for me," she whispered. "The Divine doesn't speak in thunder. He speaks in choice. In children. In those willing to believe."
Kael swallowed. "They're already preparing a vote. For the next high priest."
"I know."
"A man named Omel."
Aveline's brows lifted faintly. "He was one of the first to return, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Good," she whispered. "He's stern. But steady. He won't fall for flattery."
Kael hesitated. "He doesn't know her. Not like you did."
"No one ever will."
Her hand twitched in his.
"Stay with her," Aveline said, voice breaking now. "Even when she shines again. Even when they try to claim her. Remind her… that she was once just a girl in the garden."
"I will," Kael said, voice barely a rasp. "I swear it."
A tear slipped from her eye.
"Don't cry, Aveline," he begged.
But she smiled. "I'm not afraid, Kael. I'll be with the Divine. With light. It's what I've always hoped for."
"You deserve peace," he said.
"I already had it," she murmured. "Her laughter gave it to me."
Her breathing slowed. Her hand grew still.
Kael leaned forward, pressed his forehead to hers, and closed his eyes.
"I'll tell her," he whispered. "I'll tell her you loved her."
She didn't answer.
Because she was gone.
The next morning, the sanctuary bells rang for the first time in three years.
A quiet death knell.
The children didn't understand. The acolytes whispered. The paladins bowed their heads.
Kael stood outside Seraphina's room, bracing himself.
He didn't have to knock.
She opened the door before he raised his hand.
Her eyes were red, but dry. She had known. Somehow.
"She's with Him, isn't she?" Seraphina asked.
Kael knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her small shoulders. "Yes. She is."
"I'll miss her voice."
He smiled softly. "Me too."
Seraphina leaned against him, her small arms wrapping around his neck. "Will you still be here? Even without her?"
"I'm never leaving," Kael whispered.
And he meant it.
Three days later, Omel was named High Priest.
There was no ceremony. No grand proclamation. Just a silent vote in the lower halls and a candlelit gathering afterward. Omel accepted with a bowed head and a heavy silence.
He was tall, balding, with skin weathered by travel and war. His voice was deep but steady, and he did not smile often.
But when he passed Seraphina in the garden the next morning, he paused.
She looked up at him from a patch of rosemary.
He nodded once.
She nodded back.
They said nothing.
It was enough—for now.
Kael watched from the shadow of the archway.
He felt the winds shift.
The years of hiding were thinning.
Something was changing.
But as long as she had a garden, and laughter, and light…
He would carry his sword.
And she would be safe.