When the girls stepped into the borders of the city's middle zone, it felt as if the world around them had changed.
The change wasn't loud, nor sudden, but quiet, like a breath shifting from a sick man's chest into a warmer room.
The roads were cleaner, the stones neatly arranged, and the thick stench of mold had receded slightly, as if the city had chosen to adorn itself just for their passing.
But the stillness wasn't a peaceful one.
It was an uneasy stillness, with something watching from behind.
Something like fear, but more polite.
The night here was more orderly than the chaos they had left behind.
Windows were elegantly shut, their lights dim, and curtains concealed what the residents didn't want seen.
Some small trees lined the road, carefully watered, as if their owners believed only in things that could be arranged.
Now and then, a small car with a sleek frame and soft gleam would pass by, powered by a soundless energy.
It passed without turning, and its light faded just as it came… without a trace.
The people were asleep.
Everything hinted that life here began when its owners wished… and ended before anyone ever heard of it.
The temple stood there, at the center of the square, like a faint light trapped in a cage of white stone.
Around it were polished homes following a futuristic design built from stones extracted from the deep grounds of the Second World. Everything cold, elegant, beautifully dead.
And directly across from the temple stood a massive building surrounded by watchtowers.
It was the city governor's residence, the silent symbol of a power unseen, yet felt in every corner of this district.
At the gate of the central square, two knights stood guard.
Their white armor reflected the pale lights, each holding a ceremonial spear engraved with the symbol of the Pure Sun, the emblem of the Temple of Light.
Beside them stood two city guards, serving directly under the governor.
They wore dark vests without insignias, with traces of fatigue and boredom on their faces, as if they'd held this position for years.
No visible weapons, no armor or helmets, just papers in their hands, which they checked, stamped, and passed on… then fell silent.
Leora approached with steady steps, her head slightly lowered, while Reis remained wrapped in her arms, swathed in white scarves, the lines of blood still leaking from him refusing to stop crawling.
One of the guards raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak, the words that were always spoken to verify a visitor's identity before granting them access to the inner square.
But when his eyes landed on the child in Leora's arms, he paused for a moment, then placed his fist over his chest and gave a slight bow.
He said calmly:
"Blessed is the one who carries a body that asks for nothing… and the one who saved a shadow before it fully faded. Walk the path of light… and do not stray from it."
The knights gave a brief nod, their eyes lingering on Reis for a moment before turning away, granting them passage.
No more was said.
There was no need for words that changed nothing.
They continued walking across the stone square, their footsteps soft and rhythmic, echoing in the corners like an old whisper.
This square, with its width and well-maintained edges, wasn't built to comfort those entering, but to impress them… to convince them the city was fine.
But Leora did not look at the ground. Her eyes rose in silence, either out of instinct or intent, toward the upper balconies of the temple.
And there, at the highest arc of stone, stood a woman.
Her hair was hidden beneath a radiant veil, her arms folded across her chest. She did not move, did not gesture, did not even look.
She stood like a statue carved from silence, her body motionless, her face half-drowned in shadow.
But Leora… felt her.
Felt her the way a body feels a pulse in the dark, as if a faint light, an unseen heart, had pulsed for a moment… then vanished.
Then pulsed again. And vanished once more.
She didn't speak.
She didn't linger.
She only looked, briefly, then gave a subtle nod and continued walking.
They entered through the main gate, where a shadow waited for them on the threshold, at first indistinct, then stepping forward into the light.
An elderly man, short in stature, cloaked in a long robe dotted with gray and ivory patches, and with wispy white hair that had turned into a soft fog around his cheerful face.
His laughter came before his words, as was his custom.
He spoke in a tone that mixed humor with warmth:
"Welcome, daughters of light… and the one you carry. ah, i won't ask who he is, his body says more than names ever could."
He stepped closer, his eyes focusing on the blood-stained bundle wrapped in white fabric.
"Small… yet heavier than all this night. You see? when the light chooses to wake you at this hour, know it's not done with its work."
He stepped aside, waving his old cane, laughing like someone reading a joke in the middle of a storm:
"Come, the temple never sleeps. But the walls whisper, so walk gently… and don't step on anyone's prayer!"
They entered, and their footsteps melted into the marble hallway, while behind them the shadows closed the heavy doors… and closed off the rest of the city.
---
The old man's steps were light, as if the ground loved him and made way.
His cane tapped the marble gently, not for balance, but as a declaration of presence for those who could not see.
He turned toward them with half a smile and half a truth:
"Not all light is loud… some walks through darkness like water, waking no one, yet nourishing so much."
He continued through the temple corridors, which kept their silence even in the presence of night.
The temple was not asleep… it never truly rested.
Its attendants moved in the shadows with a discipline that needed no command:
Men carried bundles of herbs, women prepared small fragrant basins, and young trainees filled baskets with purified water or quietly recited hand-written incantations.
Here, there was no room for idleness.
Even the breaths of air seemed filtered before entering.
Leora passed one of the sisters, about her age, who raised her head and nodded, a gesture that needed no words, born from shared training, shared fatigue, and a fragile kind of hope.
The old man stopped before a large wooden door, pushed it open with his shoulder and said:
"This is the healing chamber… not just to mend the body, but to remind the soul it wasn't made from weakness."
They entered.
The room was lit only by a soft blue stone hanging from the ceiling, suspended by a thin chain, as if it were speaking to the air. It did not illuminate the place so much as it blessed it.
In the center, a simple white wooden bed, covered by a thin mattress that smelled faintly of camphor.
Around it, small surgical tools, and a bowl filled with water glowing with calm threads of mana.
Leora trembled.
She stepped forward slowly, until she reached the bed.
She bent down gently, heavily, as if Reis weight wasn't in his body, but in the pain he carried unseen.
She laid him down with the gentleness of a mother, then slowly lifted her hands from his chest, her palms freezing for a moment as they felt the cold he had left behind.
The old man approached silently, standing beside the bed.
He reached out and gently pulled away the white scarf.
As Reis features were revealed, his expression darkened briefly.
He spoke in a quiet voice, laced with something deeper, something uncharacteristic of him:
"This is not just a body, it's a mirror of what should never be spoken."
He leaned closer, his palm hovering just above the still body, not touching it, as if a direct touch might shatter something that could never be repaired.
"Old bleeding… and wounds without names.
His blood is lacking… yet he hasn't lost everything."
"This boy… wasn't just dying, he was being taken apart. Piece by piece… slowly, and deliberately."
His words were cryptic, but not poetic.
They were diagnostic, so honest they bordered on prophecy.
He closed his eyes and began to chant words in an ancient tongue, unlike anything he had spoken in front of people.
Words like wind inside a cave, like the sound of fire beneath water.
And then, from between his fingers, a pale light began to seep.
A light that didn't look like light, more like a reminder that light never truly dies.
Thin lines of mana lit up around his arm, and faint rays emerged from his palms, as if something within him still carried energy, despite his age.
He spoke with his eyes closed:
"I'll do what I can… but I am no longer young.
And the darkness inside this body… is deeper than its wounds."
Then he opened his eyes and looked at the girls:
"You must train well… because what you've seen tonight is not as rare as you think."
And with a faint smile, one tinged with sorrow, he said:
"Thank you for your hearts… they still know the way."
He turned back to focus on Reis body, while the girls began to move with hesitation.
Neria placed a hand on Leora's shoulder and said:
"Tomorrow we'll meet… in the eastern courtyard. we'll train… and we'll pray for him."
Leora nodded, but did not answer.
One by one, they left the room.
Leora remained alone.
She sat on a small chair in the corner of the room, her eyes never leaving the bundle of scarves.
She saw him… and felt something that could not be put into words.
A soft breeze of mana came from the old man, then the chant faded into silence.
He looked at her and said in a tired voice:
"Go… and bring the Lady. I'll need her hands tonight."
She didn't ask.
She didn't argue.
She stood, slowly, like a silent cry, and cast a final glance at Reis's body.
A long look.
A look as if trying to memorize his face… before bringing it back to life.
Then she left.
She walked down the hallway, passed by stone columns adorned with faded golden ribbons, and climbed the spiral staircase slowly, step by step, until she reached the top.
There, at the end of the corridor, was a door.
A brown wooden door, painted with thin golden lines, adorned with symbolic patterns resembling a star surrounded by night.
She approached it and took a slow breath.
Then she raised her hand… and knocked.
It wasn't a loud knock, but it eased something that had weighed on her chest.
Seconds passed… no reply.
No sound.
Then, as if the walls had been listening, the lock shifted on its own.
The door opened slowly, without a creak or groan, as if it was used to this kind of visit, or perhaps it had been waiting for her.
From behind it, an unfamiliar scent crept out.
It wasn't incense or smoke…
But a faint blend of something very old.
As if the space beyond it did not belong to this hour, or this night, but to the shadow of another time, still waiting to be awakened.
She stood there, a threshold between two worlds.
Then she stepped forward… and the light behind her vanished, as if the corridor itself had closed its eyes.
And that was enough…
To end the night.