"Kael," she whispered again.
He didn't respond right away. He couldn't.
His back was to her, gaze fixed on the open gates of the sanctuary. Just beyond them, an army of robes and steel waited in disciplined silence. Paladins in gleaming armor stood in neat rows. Priests in ivory robes whispered incantations of blessing. And at the center of it all sat the gilded carriage—sun-emblazoned, silk-draped, pulled by white steeds that had been brushed and braided as if this were a coronation.
And in a way, it was.
Seraphina's coronation.
But not with a crown.
With a cage.
Kael clenched his jaw as she called out again—her voice a soft thread laced with confusion.
"Kael?"
He turned, finally.
She stood at the archway behind him, dressed in a pale cream cloak stitched with silver stars, her small hands clutching the edge of the stone wall like it could stop time. Her golden curls had been brushed, her shoes shined. She looked every inch the sacred child they claimed she was.
But her face was not divine.
It was frightened.
She stepped closer, eyes wide. "Why do they keep staring at me like that?"
Kael crouched in front of her, reaching out. "Because you're special, little star."
She frowned. "You always say that when you don't want to answer."
His heart cracked again.
She was only five. But her eyes read lies like books.
"I asked you five times already," she whispered. "Why are we leaving the garden?"
Kael took a long breath, his hands gently cupping her shoulders. "They want to keep you safe."
"But I am safe," she insisted, pointing behind her. "The garden has all my trees. And the ivy wall. And the lily pond. That's where the frogs sing."
He smiled faintly. "I know."
"Do they not sing at the new place?"
Kael swallowed hard. "I don't know."
She tilted her head. "Then I want to stay here."
He wanted to say yes.
He wanted to scoop her up and run—not into the waiting carriage, not toward that glittering temple—but away. Into the woods. Into the old world. Where no one would call her holy, and no one would turn her into a god.
But they'd find her.
They always found what they feared most.
Seraphina looked toward the open gates. Her small hand slipped into his.
"Can I say goodbye?" she whispered.
Kael blinked back the sting in his eyes. "Of course."
He followed her through the sanctuary one last time.
First, they went to the willow tree.
She whispered to its trunk, tiny hands pressing against the bark. "You were the first to bloom," she said. "You're the one who told me spring was real."
Kael stood silently, hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
Then, the rose bush. The one that only flowered when she sang.
She didn't sing this time.
Just kissed a single petal and let it fall.
Next was the fountain where the doves nested. Two fluttered down and landed on her shoulders without fear. She giggled, but it was quieter now. Faded.
"They're all watching, you know," she said, glancing up at Kael. "Even the ants."
He smiled. "They love you."
"Will they miss me?"
"Every single one."
She reached up and touched his cheek.
"Will you miss me?"
Kael's throat closed.
"I'll never stop."
They walked slowly to the grave. Aveline. She hugged the cold stone. Kael's eyes stung and he looked away. She stayed there for a while only Aveline and the wind knows her words. She stood up her eyes misty and run to Kael.
They walk towards the waiting crowd, her eyes still on the grave and her small hands waving goodbye.
By the time they returned to the gates, the crowd had grown still.
Kael could feel it in the air—that charged reverence that came before rain or war. The priests bowed as she passed. The paladins stood at perfect attention. Even Omel, waiting near the carriage, inclined his head.
But Seraphina only looked for Kael's hand.
She found it. Held tight.
The carriage door stood open.
The steps were gilded.
Kael lifted her gently, holding her as long as he could.
"You'll be right there, right?" she whispered. "When we get there?"
He nodded, forehead pressed to hers. "Always."
She looked out at the crowd. "They don't know me. They just know… stories."
Kael smiled bitterly. "They'll learn."
She hesitated. "And if they don't?"
"Then I'll remind them."
A pause.
"I don't want to be a god," she whispered.
Kael pulled her in close, held her one last time. "Then just be you. Let them make their temples. You keep your garden in your heart."
She nodded slowly, face buried in his neck.
He helped her into the carriage.
She sat at the window, small and fragile, looking out at the only home she'd ever known.
The door shut.
The horses stirred.
Kael stepped back as the procession began.
The wind carried with it the faint sound of bells.
And the garden behind them fell silent.