The training courtyard shimmered beneath the morning sun, blades clashing and grunts of exertion echoing between the stone walls. Atlas and Adam moved with raw, effortless strength—twin blurs of motion, sparring as though their lives depended on each strike. Sweat traced down their temples, shirts clinging to defined torsos, boots carving small furrows in the gravel.
Seraphina sat beneath the shaded archway, a cup of cooling tea resting between her palms. Her veil, pale and light, cast a soft blur over her features, but her gaze was sharp—quietly intense as she tracked their every move.
"They're getting better," Imara whispered, leaning slightly toward Lina.
Lina's eyes were wide, bright with interest. "Adam's taller again, isn't he? Or is Atlas just shorter?"
"No, it's the way they move," Imara murmured. "It's in their rhythm."
"And the way Atlas grins even when he's about to lose…" Lina sighed, dreamy.
Naia cleared her throat, cutting through their chatter like a knife. "Enough."
Lina straightened. "We weren't saying anything wrong."
"You weren't saying anything appropriate," Naia muttered, arms crossed. "They're here to protect the Saintess, not for you to fawn over like a stage play."
"We're just noticing things," Imara said lightly. "Like how strong they are."
Even Naia hesitated, glancing at the courtyard again. "They are strong," she said, almost grudgingly.
Seraphina didn't speak. But her silence, paired with a small shift of her shoulders, didn't go unnoticed.
That was all the handmaidens needed.
"My lady," Lina asked, eyes sparkling, "what about the prince? Was he… everything they say?"
Naia groaned. "Lina, really?"
"I'm just asking. He's royalty. Surely the stories have some truth."
Imara bit back a smile. "Was he handsome?"
Seraphina said nothing.
Lina's grin widened. "Did you like what you saw?"
Again—silence.
Imara squealed under her breath. Lina leaned forward. "That's basically a yes."
"My lady…" Naia warned.
"I'm only saying," Lina said with a mischievous shrug, "we'd all have stared too. He's very tall."
Naia looked scandalized. "That's almost forbidden talk. A Saintess cannot—"
"Fall for appearances?" Lina teased. "Even you said he looked good."
Naia pursed her lips. "I didn't say that."
But she didn't deny it either.
Seraphina's eyes returned to the training field. Adam was lifting a pail of water with one arm while Atlas wiped sweat from his brow. And then she saw it—a shimmer. Brief. Subtle. But unmistakable.
A glow.
She leaned forward slightly. "Do you see it?"
Imara blinked. "See what, my lady?"
"The light," Seraphina said. "Around them. Like something just beneath their skin. Stirring."
Naia squinted. "I don't see anything."
"Neither do I," Imara said.
Seraphina frowned. "Do you remember the Divine Aura?"
Naia's brows furrowed. "Only vaguely. Aveline mentioned it once during training. Something about ancient paladins—those who were chosen to guard saints, blessed by the Divine."
"Did she say how it was awakened?"
"No… only that it used to happen more often, before the wars. Before the temples were destroyed."
The mention of Aveline pressed hard against Seraphina's chest.
She missed her. Missed the way she never flinched at Seraphina's light, never bowed lower than necessary, never spoke to her like an object.
"Naia," she said quietly, "did she ever say anything about the guards at Sanctum Aetheris?"
Naia nodded slowly. "She said some tried. That the sanctuary had been their training ground. But the knowledge was fragmented… only Elior might remember more."
Seraphina glanced once more toward the twins—Atlas now doing pushups in the shade, Adam practicing slow sword movements, brow furrowed.
The light shimmered again.
"Fetch Sir Elior," she said.
Later that day, the upper garden veranda was quiet save for the wind and the low hum of bells in the distance. A teapot steamed gently between two cups. Seraphina sat with her veil lowered, the sun warming her cheeks. When Sir Elior arrived, she offered him a seat with a nod.
"Tea?"
He hesitated, then gave a small, surprised smile. "Yes… thank you."
They drank in peace, and the stillness between them softened with familiarity.
"I miss Sanctum Aetheris," Seraphina said. "I miss the quiet. The green. The willow tree."
"It still stands," Elior replied. "The willow still blooms."
She nodded. "It was home."
"It was Kael's home, too."
She closed her eyes briefly. "He tried, didn't he?"
Elior's voice was quieter now. "More than anyone. He trained endlessly, hoping to awaken it."
"But it didn't work."
"No. Aveline once said… the Aura needed something more. A connection only the Saint could open. But you were just a child. They didn't want to burden you."
"And now I'm not."
"No," he agreed. "Now you're more than anyone could have imagined."
"What if I can open it now?" she asked.
"Then I'll do everything I can to help."
She gave a faint, hopeful smile.
Then Elior leaned forward, expression darkening. "There's more. The Divine Aura may not be lost."
She frowned. "Explain."
"The royal family. They've fought us over it—over scrolls taken from the temples during the sackings. We begged. Pleaded. But they never returned them."
"You think they still have them?"
"I do."
Her jaw tightened. "And they hoard it like treasure while calling themselves blessed."
He didn't respond.
Seraphina's eyes shimmered with light. "Then maybe it's time we remembered who the Divine truly speaks through."