The royal letter came with a gilded seal and the weight of ten thousand whispers.
Omel read it first.
His jaw tightened with every line. By the time he reached the end, his hands were trembling, knuckles pale beneath his robes. He found her alone in the sanctum, staring at a patch of sunlight on the stone floor like it had answers.
"You think this is wise?" Omel asked, voice sharp with disbelief.
Seraphina didn't flinch. She turned slowly, veil catching the light. "It's the Divine's will."
"No," he snapped. "It's your will."
But she was already rising, already reaching for her robe—the one Naia had folded in silence that morning, as if she had known.
"You said yourself. If I find a way to be safe, I can act."
"This is not safety," he hissed. "This is parading into the lion's den. This is handing them the flame and hoping they don't smother it."
She said nothing.
He stepped closer. "You haven't left these walls since the day Kael died. Do you remember what happened the last time you passed through the gate?"
That stopped her.
The color drained from her fingers. The breath caught in her throat.
Because she did remember.
The blood. The screams. The sword in Kael's gut. The way her light had burst free, wild and terrified—not divine but desperate. She remembered the way his body had collapsed beside her, how her hands were slick with warmth that wouldn't come off.
She remembered the silence after.
And then, she steadied herself.
Naia entered quietly, holding her veil. Imara and Lina followed, their faces pale with worry.
"My lady," Naia said gently. "It is only a visit. The Divine watches over you."
Seraphina turned to her, eyes unreadable behind the soft shimmer of her veil. "I am more afraid of not going than I am of going."
Omel stared at her. "You do this, and there's no turning back. The royal court will twist it. They will see it as the Saintess choosing sides."
"Then let them," she whispered.
Preparations began within the hour.
She was dressed not in gold, but white. No jewelry. No silk brocade. Just a simple woven sash and the veil that covered her from brow to chin. Her fingers trembled when Naia laced the ties. Imara lit a steadying incense—the kind used during funerals. Lina brushed the wild curls of Seraphina's hair down flat, whispering steady prayers the whole time.
Outside, the gates of the temple were opened wider than they had been in a decade.
The twins waited in polished armor, swords strapped across their backs. Atlas adjusted his gloves, grinning. Adam stood silent, already scanning the horizon. Behind them, one hundred paladins in silver cloaks lined up like a wall of stormlight.
Omel stood beside her as she approached the gates.
"This is not a procession," he warned. "This is war by ceremony."
She nodded once. "Then let me go in peace."
When her foot crossed the threshold, her breath caught.
The last time she had passed through these gates, Kael had still been alive.
Her hands curled into fists beneath her sleeves.
"My lady," Naia whispered at her side. "Breathe."
Imara took her hand. Lina adjusted the hem of her robes.
The city waited.
The palace shimmered in the distance.
And Seraphina, Saintess of the Flame, took her first step forward.
Afraid.
She was shaking long before the carriage even began to move.
The streets stretched endlessly ahead, and each bump of the wheels felt like a jolt straight through her bones. She hadn't traveled this far in years—not since Kael died, not since the blood soaked into her robes, not since she swore she'd never again leave the walls that could not protect him.
Lina was pale. Her voice trembled as she looked at Seraphina trembling and out of breath. "We should turn back—my lady, please, we should—"
"No," Seraphina whispered, though her own breath hitched. She grabbed Lina's hand tightly. "We need to go."
Naia's voice was quiet beside her, patting her back to help her calm. "The royal family has ruled for centuries. They say the Divine blessed their bloodline to protect and defend His land."
Naia kept talking—soft, steady, words flowing like a prayer meant for both of them. "Did you know the queen once said she dreamed of peace with the temple since she was a girl? That maybe things didn't have to be like this? Maybe… maybe the Divine is listening now. Maybe that's why we're here."
Seraphina didn't answer.
Naia went on anyway, voice a little too quick, a little too bright. "And you remember that garden in Sanctum Aetheris? The one Kael used to call 'Almost'? I swear I saw a butterfly there once with wings that shimmered like firelight. If you keep breathing, if we just get there, maybe there'll be something like that again. Something beautiful."
Imara was almost weeping, looking at Seraphina's sweat-covered face, and Lina looked utterly lost.
She closed her eyes, focused on breathing in and out, in and out, until the rising panic eased into a sharp hum at the edge of her thoughts. She opened her eyes again when the streets changed.
Naia continued, her words spilling faster as if trying to fill the space with something softer. "I read somewhere that the nobles here plant roses that bloom all year. That the palace walls are laced with ancient blessings. Did you know that? And—oh! There's a legend that the main hall of the Queen's wing has a ceiling so tall it echoes like the sky..."
Her voice, light and rambling, was like a thread pulling Seraphina away from the sharp edge of her panic. The more Naia spoke, the more Seraphina could breathe. Her chest loosened, the tremble in her hands softened. Imara looked up with quiet relief. Lina sagged slightly, clutching her sleeve as Seraphina's color returned—a little more pink to her cheeks.
Naia beamed at the sight. "See? You're breathing better. And once we reach the palace, you'll be alright. I promise. We're all with you. And besides, you look like sunlight in that robe, my lady. No royal silk compares."
Seraphina laughed softly. It was faint, but it was real—and the three girls breathed a collective sigh of relief.
She turned to the carriage window. Outside, the city had transformed.
The houses grew larger. The paths cleaner. The gold-lined arches of the noble quarter gleamed with sunlight. And beyond it all, like a silent mountain of stone and power—the palace.
A hundred paladins surrounded their convoy. The twins rode ahead, shining like the guardians they were meant to become. Omel sat at her side, inside the carriage, silent and grim.
The palace loomed like a dream carved from marble. As they crossed into its grounds, the contrast to the city was immediate—gardens blooming with rare, perfumed flowers from all corners of the realm; cobblestone paths laid with crystal inlays that caught the light like stars underfoot. Fountains gurgled softly, each carved into the shape of saints, griffins, or lions with sapphire eyes. The walls were impossibly high, guarded by statues with real swords. Every turn shimmered with gold leaf, every alcove pulsed with power long etched into stone. It was a place built to intimidate, to awe—and it did.
The gates of the palace opened.
They entered the Queen's Hall, a garden of marble and flowering trees, where nobility stood in formation like statues. At the top of the steps, beneath a high arch of sculpted lilies, stood Queen Isolde, her regal presence a sea of silk and diamonds. Beside her, King Aldren wore the weight of his crown like a blade.
And there—
There was Prince Kaeven.
Tall. Sharp-jawed. Clad in dark blues that made his golden skin and black hair look like shadows carved from light. He stood with one hand on his hip, the other curled lazily around the hilt of a blade he'd never needed to use.
He smiled when he saw her.
Seraphina's steps faltered. But she walked on even with her shaky legs.
Not because she wasn't afraid.
But because she had to be brave.