It started with a whisper.
"Kael…"
He stirred from where he stood beside her chamber window, arms folded, eyes set on the moonlight washing over the courtyard below. He thought she was asleep. She had curled into her blanket without protest tonight, not even a single question after the evening bell had rung.
But now, her voice was soft, almost guilty.
He turned, and there she was—sitting up, eyes wide in the glow of the crystal lamps, her golden hair tousled like a sleepy halo. She looked small against the mountain of pillows, smaller than the way the priests described her, smaller than the figure the temple paraded on paper and parchment.
Just a little girl.
"I want to go out," she said.
Kael blinked. "Out?"
She nodded. "Out. Not to another lesson. Not to the big rooms. Not to the inner garden. Out. Outside the gates."
His first instinct was no.
His mouth opened to say exactly that.
But he paused.
Because her fingers were knotted in the blanket like she already knew he'd say no. Because her eyes were begging—not with power, not with force, just… quiet hope. And because she hadn't asked for anything in weeks.
And he'd seen the look in her eyes every morning—saw it deepen each time she was led into another grand hall, each time a group of acolytes bowed instead of smiled, each time her meals were brought on golden platters she no longer touched.
He rubbed his jaw.
"What kind of out are we talking?"
Her eyes lit just a little. "Just far enough to see something green. And maybe hear birds. That's all."
"Just for a few minutes?"
She nodded vigorously. "Just one day. Just one real day."
Kael sighed, already regretting the weight forming in his chest.
"You'll wear a cloak. One with a hood."
"Okay."
"And we don't talk to anyone."
"I never do."
He gave her a long look.
Then reached for his belt. "Come on, then."
They left before dawn.
No ceremony. No priests. No paladins. No prayers.
Just a plain gray cloak over her robes and Kael's hand wrapped tight around hers.
The guards at the western side gate recognized him, of course, but he gave a look sharp enough to silence any questions. He wasn't just her guardian anymore—he was Kael the Shield, the man whose blade had earned him the trust of the new High Priest. Few argued with him.
Still, as they passed through the outer wall, Kael's free hand never strayed far from his weapon.
They took the back alleys first—old servant roads from when the temple had been under construction. Then through the orchard path, and finally, out into the sloped hill that bordered the city's northern ridge.
The grass was still wet with dew.
The wind was soft.
The sky just beginning to blush with the first touch of sun.
Seraphina stood at the crest of the hill, hands out from her cloak, eyes shut, breathing deep.
Kael stayed a step behind, letting her be.
She opened her eyes after a moment and whispered, "It smells like Everthorne."
He tilted his head. "You remember that?"
"No," she said. "But it feels like I do."
He watched her cross the field slowly, careful not to step on the little yellow flowers dotting the grass.
"This hill," she said, twirling once, "is better than my whole room."
"You never got to name your room," Kael said, lips twitching. "But you could name this."
She spun again, faster this time. "I'll call it 'Almost.'"
"Almost what?"
She smiled softly. "Almost free."
Kael didn't answer. He couldn't.
She dropped down onto the grass and lay back, arms stretched wide.
"Kael?"
"Yeah?"
"If I stayed here forever, would the world break?"
He sat down beside her. "No."
"Would they cry?"
"Probably."
"Would you come too?"
He looked up at the morning sky. "Without question."
They lay in silence for a while, listening to the breeze. A few birds flitted overhead. The city was still waking—too far to hear the markets, close enough to see the temple's highest towers in the distance.
She turned her head and looked at him.
"You're sad," she said.
He chuckled. "Am I that easy to read?"
"You always blink too slow when you're sad. And you keep looking at me like I'm going to float away."
Kael said nothing.
She scooted closer and rested her head on his arm.
"I don't want to float," she whispered.
"Then I'll keep you grounded."
They stayed until the sun was fully up.
When they returned through the back gate, the guards looked away respectfully. A servant spotted them from the corner of the courtyard, eyes widening—but Kael gave her a warning stare, and the girl said nothing.
He escorted Seraphina back to her room before the bells rang for morning prayer.
She pulled back her hood, cheeks flushed with wind, hair tangled, a smear of grass on one sleeve.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He crouched to eye level. "Tomorrow, we go back to lessons. They'll expect the Chosen Flame to recite verses and listen to the High Priest's sermons."
"I know."
"And you'll do it?"
She nodded.
"But today," she said, "I got to be Seraphina. Just Seraphina."
Kael kissed her forehead. "And that's my favorite version of you."