The wheels had stopped.
The horses no longer clopped along the road. The sound of the crowd—cheers, murmurs, songs, even bells—had died down. She could only hear the wind outside now. And even that seemed nervous.
Seraphina didn't move.
She sat curled in the farthest corner of the carriage, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her cloak. The silk bunched beneath her fingers like a net. She kept staring at the velvet-lined door across from her, heart thudding too loud in her ears.
Kael had knocked three times already.
"Seraphina," he called softly. "We're here."
She didn't answer.
Her stomach hurt.
Her eyes burned.
She missed her frogs.
The carriage was too still, too clean, too quiet in the wrong way. Like a trick. Like the calm in a storybook before the monster came.
She closed her eyes tight and whispered into her knees. "I don't want to be here."
The door creaked open.
She didn't look.
Soft footsteps. Familiar weight on the cushioned bench.
Then, a callused hand gently touched her arm.
"Hey," Kael said.
Still, she didn't open her eyes.
"Seraphina."
"I'm not moving," she whispered.
"I figured."
"I'm not getting out."
A pause. "Okay."
She peeked, just a little.
He smiled.
But it was sad.
He didn't try to pull her up. Didn't lecture her. Just sat with her in silence for a few moments more.
Then he offered his hand.
And waited.
She stared at it. At the scar on his knuckle. At the way he never wore gloves, because he said he needed to feel when he protected someone.
Her fingers moved slowly, uncertain.
She slid her small hand into his.
It was warm.
Safe.
She let him pull her gently into his arms. He carried her out—not like a symbol or a saint, but like what she really was.
A scared little girl.
The temple loomed.
It wasn't like the sanctuary.
This place was huge. Glittering. Marble and gold everywhere. Arched doors three times the size of Kael. Columns carved with faces she didn't know, smiling faces that looked too perfect to be real. The glass above shimmered in reds and golds and deep blue, shaped into stories of angels and fire.
And the smell—like spice and smoke and rosewater, all at once.
Too much.
All too much.
They passed through the gates without speaking. Priests flanked either side, heads bowed. Paladins stood at attention. She heard someone say her name, but they said it like it didn't belong to her.
"Seraphina, born of Divine Light…"
Kael's arms tightened around her.
She buried her face in his shoulder.
They didn't stop walking. The hall stretched forever. Lights hung in the air without chains. Candles burned without melting. Banners swayed without wind.
Everything was clean. Too clean. No moss. No insects. No dirt between stones.
She missed the ivy wall.
Kael stopped at a large door in the center of the temple. Omel was there, his hands clasped together. He smiled gently at her. His beard had been trimmed since last time, and his eyes looked tired.
"Welcome, little one," he said softly. "This is your home now."
She peeked from Kael's shoulder.
"It doesn't look like a home," she said.
Omel's brows lifted, amused.
"No," Kael murmured, "it doesn't."
Omel motioned to the doors. "Would you like to see your room?"
She didn't answer.
"I'll show her," Kael said quietly.
Omel stepped aside.
The doors opened.
It wasn't a room.
It was a palace.
A domed chamber, walls lined with shelves of untouched books and scrolls. Cushions in every color. A bed big enough for five. A fountain in the corner with water that danced as if singing. Statues of old gods circled the room, each bowing toward the center—toward her.
She didn't like it.
Kael set her down gently.
She looked around, silent.
"Where are the frogs?" she asked.
Kael knelt beside her. "No frogs here."
"Birds?"
"Maybe some doves. No nests, though."
She walked slowly across the room, dragging her hand along a velvet chair. Her fingers sunk into it like it was too soft, too fake.
"Do they expect me to stay here forever?"
Kael stood, arms crossed. "I don't know."
She touched the edge of the fountain. The water responded to her finger, rising to meet her like it recognized her. She pulled back quickly.
"I don't want to stay here forever."
Kael sat on the bed. "You don't have to think about forever right now."
She turned. "Will I still get to play?"
He smiled. "Of course."
"With you?"
His smile faltered just a bit.
"I'll be nearby. Not in this room, maybe. But close."
Her face twisted. "Why not in the room?"
"Because they think… well. Because people might want you to start being… different."
She hugged herself.
"I don't want to be different."
He nodded. "Then don't."
She looked at the ceiling. So high up. So gold. So cold.
"Can I sleep in your room tonight?"
Kael hesitated.
Then nodded. "Just tonight."
Her shoulders relaxed.
Later that evening, when the hallways emptied and the sun dipped behind the golden arches, Kael returned with a pillow under one arm and a folded blanket under the other.
Seraphina was already curled up on the cushioned bench beneath the window, cloak tucked under her chin.
She looked up when he entered.
"You came."
"Of course I did."
He sat beside her, laying the blanket over her carefully.
She yawned, then blinked slowly. "Kael?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think the willow tree misses me?"
Kael stared at the moonlight streaming through the glass.
"I think the willow tree cries at night."
She reached for his hand.
He held it.
And in the silence that followed, no light glowed from her skin.
But something deeper warmed the room.
Something real.
Something human.