The council chamber was colder than he remembered.
Not physically—it was well-lit, warmed by braziers and enchanted stone—but in tone. In silence. The air felt dry, stripped of softness, sharpened by unspoken things. Kael stood against the back wall, arms crossed, his sword strapped to his side more out of habit than necessity. He hadn't spoken since he entered. No one had greeted him.
This wasn't a room for paladins. It was a room for priests.
For decisions.
He hated it.
High Priest Omel stood at the circular table in the center, hands braced on the edge as he waited for the final murmurs to die. His robe was midnight blue now, embroidered with the sigils of the reborn Temple Order. He wore no crown, no token of power—just the mantle of choice. That, Kael had to respect.
Still didn't mean he'd like what came next.
"We begin," Omel said.
The remaining four priests took their seats around him—Ena, wise and sharp-tongued; Solen, cautious; Mara, young but zealous; and Corrin, who never spoke unless asked. Acolytes stood at the edges, quills ready, scrolls open.
Kael remained where he was, watching. Listening.
Omel's voice rang through the stone chamber.
"We stand on a threshold. For five years we have rebuilt in secret, grown in silence, and watched as faith returned to our people not through gold or war—but whispers. That whisper has grown into a breath, and that breath now feeds flame."
No one spoke.
He continued.
"The outer provinces have begun to send offerings again. Not to us, but to her. They believe the Divine walks among us in the form of the child."
Kael flinched. That word. Form. As though she were something else entirely.
Ena leaned forward. "Then we must protect her better. The sanctuary is safe for now, but we have no walls. No siege lines. No army. If word spreads beyond the faithful, others will come. And they won't kneel."
Mara chimed in, her voice bright and cold. "The slavers never stopped watching the cliffs. If they knew what slept inside—"
"She's not sleeping," Kael said, cutting her off. His voice echoed louder than he meant. "She's living. Growing. She's five. Not some weapon you can put in a chest."
All eyes turned to him.
Mara blinked. "You misunderstand me, Paladin. I only meant—"
"I know what you meant."
Omel raised a hand. "Kael speaks truth. We must never forget who she is. But we must also never forget what she is. If the old prophecies are true, Seraphina is not simply a vessel of light—she is the Divine's second coming."
Kael clenched his fists. "She doesn't even know what that means. She still believes clouds taste like cotton. She named a frog yesterday and cried when it died. You'd have her carry the weight of the world before she's tall enough to reach the library shelves."
Corrin finally spoke, his voice a rasp. "You would keep her hidden forever, then? Until when? Until she forgets why she was born?"
"She didn't ask to be born," Kael growled.
"None of us do."
Omel looked at Kael. Not unkindly.
"The time has come," he said. "To prepare her for something greater. A temple is being raised near the outer capital. Quietly. A sister sanctum. Stronger. Protected. Built not in secrecy—but under new banners. Banners of restored light. There, she can be safeguarded. Educated. Worshipped in a manner worthy of her purpose."
"Worshipped?" Kael echoed, stunned.
Mara leaned in, eager. "With structure, with visibility, her presence alone can unite the fractured faiths. The broken kingdoms. Even the capital is whispering of old gods again. If she appears—if she's seen—the world will kneel."
Kael's heart cracked.
"No," he whispered.
Omel's voice was steady. "Kael—"
"You don't understand what you're doing," Kael said, his voice shaking now. "The moment she steps outside these walls, she'll never come back the same. You'll crown her, cage her, polish her into something divine and hollow. She'll stop laughing. She'll stop being her."
Ena's voice was gentler. "You love her."
Kael's throat clenched. "Of course I do."
"Then let her save what's left of this world."
Kael looked at them all. Each face calm. Rational. Logical.
But none of them had held her when she woke up from a nightmare. None of them had carried her through blizzards. None of them had sat in that garden, naming butterflies and watching her build songs out of petals and joy.
"She's not ready," he said.
"She will be," Omel replied. "You will help her. Guide her. Be at her side. She trusts you, Kael. So do we."
Kael turned his gaze to the flame-lit wall, hiding the storm in his chest.
They were already planning the move.
He could feel it.
The logistics. The guards. The timing.
All settled before this meeting ever began.
They had brought him here not to debate—but to prepare him.
They didn't need his permission.
Just his presence.
Omel gave a final nod.
"We move by winter's end."
The meeting adjourned.
Kael remained in place long after they were gone, watching the candlelight dance across the stone.
He didn't cry.
But something in him broke anyway.
Because he knew, the next time Seraphina stepped outside these walls...
She would never be just his little girl again.