Tyrdahn, Lumithar 20, 528 EK

  Two days after Thalion’s parents’ burial, Kaelus’s party and Lady Eveline arrived in Brightwater. A thin mist hung low—flowing like a curtain reluctant to rise. The damp Lumithar air carried the sharp scent of wet earth and leaves.

  Brightwater was not as bustling as the capital, yet the holy village lived with a dignified calm. Moss-covered stone houses stood close together, windows framed with ancient carvings. Narrow water channels at the roadside reflected the morning light. A young cleric hung prayer scrolls in a doorway; an old merchant swept in front of his shop.

  As the carriage passed, the townsfolk bowed in respect—genuine, unforced, a warmth reserved for those they loved. Eveline returned their smiles gently; her eyes still radiated authority. She adjusted her seat slightly, making sure every greeting received acknowledgment. “Brightwater always welcomes warmly…” she murmured.

  Inside the carriage, Thalion stared out. His small body leaned limply against the window corner, eyes following drops of light slipping from the leaves. Two days had passed, but the grief still sat on his back—a shadow unwilling to leave.

  The carriage slowed, and Eveline turned. “Thalion,” she called softly, her tone like a mother trying to brush the cold from her child’s shoulders. “We’ve arrived at Brightwater. Have you ever been here?”

  Thalion shook his head without sound; his brown hair fell to cover part of his face.

  Eveline tried again, this time leaning forward a little. “Then… would you like to come with me to the Temple of Ithrion? Or with the soldiers to Aedryon? All the Iltheryn temples are here. You may choose—there’s no wrong answer.”

  The boy needed a few seconds to answer. His eyes blinked slowly, then he looked at Eveline. “I… will go with Lady,” he said.

  Eveline smiled faintly; her graceful voice was warm. “Very well, then.”

  Outside, the Aurelion soldiers escorting the party split off, urging their reins and heading toward the Aedryon shrine. Their shields and armor caught the young sun, casting a soft gleam along the cobbled way.

  Kaelus stayed beside Eveline. He sat sideways, one hand hanging casually on his knee, the other resting on his sword hilt. “You’re not going with them?” Eveline asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Kaelus sighed; his usual casual tone tasted bitter. “No. It’s been a long time since I meddled in Iltheryn matters.”

  Eveline gave a light, cynical laugh without malice. “Kaelus and the gods never agreed.”

  Kaelus offered a small grin. “Even so, I will guard you, Duchess Eveline. That matters more than arguing with the heavens.”

  The carriage turned along a narrow lane lined with white wildflowers. Wheels rocked softly, and the famous Brightwater canals rippled nearby. In the distance, temple bells tolled—a heavy sound that laid a calm over the scene.

  In that quiet, Thalion’s small voice finally spoke. “Kaelus,” he said hesitantly. “If you don’t pray to the Iltheryn… when you protect Lady Eveline, or others… who do you pray to?”

  Kaelus turned, a little surprised by the child’s frankness. Then he barked a short, coarse laugh. “No one, boy. Prayers do not stop arrows. Thousands of soldiers pray—thousands still die. The world doesn’t care for prayers.”

  Eveline shot him a sharp look. “Kaelus, stop saying that.” Her voice was gentle, but there was a rebuke beneath it. “Do not mislead the child.” She took Thalion’s small hand, warming it. “Thalion, prayer matters. Honoring our gods matters. Even if we do not see the answer yet… goodness always comes from unseen places.”

  Thalion was silent a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t pray to them either, Lady Eveline.”

  Kaelus and Eveline turned together. Eveline’s gaze grew serious. “Then… who do you worship, Thalion?”

  The boy swallowed a thin breath, as if repeating an old lesson buried in his heart. “Mother said… Iltheryn are only messengers. Elves learn their tales, but do not pray to them. Mother taught me to believe in the higher entity. Sylmara once taught that.”

  “Sylmara?” Eveline frowned. “Her temple is here too. Do you want me to take you there?”

  Thalion shook his head at once, faster than before. “No need, Lady. Mother said elves can pray anywhere. And… not to Sylmara, but to Sylmara’s creator. There is no special place.”

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  Silence fell over the carriage again. Not the sad silence of grief—more like a silence that gripped thought.

  At last the carriage stopped in front of the temple’s marble steps. Thalion remained seated, his hands clasped tight in his lap. Kaelus dismounted first, tapping the carriage driver on the shoulder with a firm but not harsh motion. “Keep the child. Don’t let him wander.” The driver bowed deeply. “Certainly, Master Kaelus.”

  Kaelus glanced briefly into the carriage, confirming Thalion was safe and showed no sign of following. Then he grasped his sword hilt and walked after Eveline, steps measured, shoulders square.

  A breeze from the sacred building brought the scent of white candles and withered leaves into the temple courtyard. Brightwater’s marble steps were slightly damp, reflecting Lumithar’s soft sunlight. Eveline moved slowly; her gown brushed the clean stone. Kaelus trailed half a step behind—his usual position whenever he chose to play protector.

  Before they passed under the temple’s arch, Eveline turned and asked softly, “Kaelus… about the teaching Thalion mentioned. Have you heard of it before?”

  Kaelus paused; his right hand still rested on his sword. He nodded slightly, but his expression shifted—more serious, as if a memory had risen. “Yes,” he said at last, voice low. “Some elves do not worship Iltheryn as humans and other races do. There is an old reason for that.”

  He climbed another step before continuing. “They say they found the Visilanth—a very old stone, too ancient for elf archives. The Meruda who read it—those who usually reveal the future—saw the past instead.”

  Eveline halted. Her hand touched the cold stone railing, as if to anchor herself in reality. “The past?” she asked. “That… cannot be. Sacred artifacts usually come from Ithrion. They are always about destiny, always about what is yet to come.”

  Kaelus gave a crooked smile—not his usual cynical grin, but the smile of someone recalling something that made people uneasy. “That’s why Visilanth caused trouble. Meruda from various realms were summoned; they were separated, forbidden to meet. Yet each of them… read the same thing.” He looked straight ahead, his tone flat and heavy. “When they held that stone, it was not Ithrion they encountered—but Sylmara.”

  Eveline pressed a hand to her chest, as if feeling a weight settle there. “If that’s true,” she whispered, “it would shake the very foundation of our beliefs.”

  “And because of that,” Kaelus added plainly, “the religious leaders chose the simplest answer: destroy the Visilanth. Call it heresy, deem it a deception. But the teaching… had already spread from mouth to mouth.” He glanced toward the carriage where Thalion still sat in silence. “Apparently… that family was one of those who believed.”

  Eveline followed his gaze. Thalion’s face could not be seen from here, but the small figure lingered between their steps like a shadow. “This is strange,” Eveline murmured. “Why have I never heard such rumors before?”

  Kaelus stepped down another stair to stand beside her. His laughter was brief—half cynical, half resigned. “Because most of those stories come from Dunsmere, My Lady,” he said. “That town is full of rumors—half lies, the other half sillier than the first.”

  Eveline stifled a small smile, though her mind lingered on the implications. She entered the temple gate, passing two guardian statues clutching Ithrion scrolls. Pale blue crystal light fell across her face, reflecting a gentle majesty.

  “Even so…” she said softly, “…I want to know. If any of it is true… perhaps there is something larger than we have understood.”

  Kaelus said nothing. He merely followed, his steps steady but eyes always watchful—watching doors, shadows, and any sound that did not belong. The scent of incense filled the air, and the low chanting from within made the place hush, almost sacred.

  Eveline knelt slowly before the Ithrion altar. Kaelus remained standing—no prayer, no bow. Only guard. As always.

  When Eveline stepped into the inner sanctuary, the atmosphere seemed to change: quieter, heavier. The air inside was cool and calming—like an ancient library holding thousands of hopes. Pale blue crystal light reflected along corridors, while marble pillars were carved with branching paths, symbolizing fate’s intersecting roads.

  In the main hall stood a crystal altar—large, clear, as if carved from eternal ice. Within it, bands of light moved slowly like pages of fate being turned. Eveline bowed her head, lips whispering. “Iltheryn Ithrion, keeper of records and destiny—I come with two petitions. Watch over Aurelion and its people. And guide a small child who has just lost everything: if his path grows dark, soften it; if his path grows great, guard him so he does not lose his way.”

  Kaelus glanced at her—his tone softened a fraction by the sincerity of her plea. A moment of silence settled in the hall, then Kaelus, who seldom spoke in such moments, voiced his concern in a low tone.

  “You ask for a child you’ve only known two days?” he asked, not mocking—merely puzzled.

  Eveline turned, still kneeling. “Kaelus… some destinies need little time for us to understand.”

  Kaelus raised an eyebrow, half teasing. “Careful, My Lady. That’s a line usually found in romance books.”

  Eveline smiled faintly. “Perhaps. But there is something about him. Something bitter—a story that should not belong to a seven-year-old.”

  As Eveline closed her eyes again, the crystal altar pulsed; its light flared for a moment—brighter than usual. Kaelus frowned; the air felt taut. “Is that normal?” he asked.

  “Crystals always react,” Eveline answered softly. “But this… is a bit stronger than normal. It often appears when a prayer touches a fate that is moving quickly.”

  Kaelus swallowed and exhaled. “A quickly moving fate usually means trouble.”

  Eveline looked at him and smiled faintly. “Trouble often finds you.”

  Kaelus returned the thin smile, then resumed his watchful silence. When Eveline’s prayer ended, she rose, smoothed her gown, and cast a final glance at the altar. “For now,” she said.

  They stepped back out, and Brightwater’s light greeted them—warm, real, washing away the residual chill that had clung to their skin within the temple. Eveline paused and looked back. A small tremor moved through her chest; not fear, not a terrible premonition, but a delicate sense that a new thread of fate had just been recorded. That thread, she knew without fully understanding why, would one day intersect with the life of the boy crouched in the carriage.

  The scent of incense still clung to their hair and folds of fabric, its faint perfume lingering like a shadow reluctant to leave.

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  But simply reading and enjoying this tale is more than enough—I am already deeply grateful.