Rosaire’s hands moved so fast they were impossible to follow, nothing but a blur of motion as a massive sword took form in his hand. The glowing blade stretched nearly half his own height, shimmering as if it were sculpted from pure starlight. Two opaque wings curved outward from the hilt, as delicate as glass. 

Another flash of light illuminated the forest like lightning as Roasire cleaved the blade through the darkness. In one smooth, graceful motion, he cleanly took the heads off several Corrupted. Before their bodies even hit the ground, another flash swept through the night as Rosaire’s blade continued to cut through the Corrupted like butter. His expression remained detached as he slaughtered them, fighting as if he were engaged in an intricate dance he had long since memorized. His Holiness’s movements were so beautiful that, as Theo continued to watch, it soon grew unnervingly easy to forget his blade was currently tearing through flesh. 

In a matter of seconds, the last Corrupted fell.

Its severed head hit the ground just as Rosaire landed, his robes fluttering gracefully around him. The silks shimmered in the moonlight, still as white as snow without even a speck of blood to mar them. Rosaire let his hands drop, causing his wings and sword to fade into the cold night air, dissipating like smoke as the boys rushed towards him. 

“Your Holiness, I thought you weren’t returning until tomorrow!” Alfred exclaimed, cheeks flushed with red rimming his eyes. “You have no idea how thankful we are that you found us!”

Unfortunately, his words were quickly drowned out by Theo as the other boy loudly began to babble over him. “Your Holiness! That was amazing! The way you killed those Corrupted was so freaking--ow!” He glared at Alfred who had sharply nudged him in the gut, giving him a little shove back before continuing to gush at a far more reasonable volume. 

Even Jasper threw in his own words of gratitude, stammering out an occasional, “Thank you,” whenever he could get a word in between the other two blabbering boys. 

Rosaire politely listened in silence. The teenagers were all used to the glassy expression that remained on his face, the softness in his gaze recognizable to only the keenest of eyes. 

When the boys’ chattering at last faded away, Rosaire’s deep voice filled the air, soft and as smooth as marble. “Children, might I inquire as to what you were doing so far from the sanctuary?”

“We were on patrol, Your Holiness!” Theo and Alfred both blurted, desperate to be the first to speak. They exchanged a bristling glare with each other upon realizing they’d spoken in unison. 

“You are only apprentice disciples,” Rosaire stated, his arms folding formally behind his back. “You’ve only just begun developing your spiritual tools. Sending three fifteen year olds to patrol an area this dangerous is completely unacceptable.” 

“Actually, I turned sixteen last week--oof!” Theo was interrupted by another sharp jab from Alfred. 

“Brother Theo,” Alfred hissed through gritted teeth, “clearly His Holiness has far more pressing concerns than your date of birth.” 

Theo flushed, shrinking back a little at the realization that he was right. 

“Who assigned you?” Rosaire questioned, his expression unchanging.

Theo’s gaze nervously flickered to Jasper. The boy lingered behind them, his face shadowed in the darkness as he answered, “My uncle.”

“I’ve yet to reach the sanctuary and already I must reprimand someone,” Rosaire coldly observed. “Two years of absence and still nothing’s changed.” He gently shook his head, his gaze softening as it returned to the apprentice disciples. “Come now, children. We shall return to the sanctuary together. Heaven knows what monsters are still lurking in this forest tonight.” 

 ***

The sound of footsteps echoed off the walls, the only sound in the Golden Sanctuary. Rosaire walked with his chin raised high and his back as straight as a rod, one hand neatly resting on top of the other behind his back.

The man at his side had to walk quickly to match his long, graceful strides. Beside Rosaire’s ethereal figure, one would hardly spare him a glance. Richard Bellegarde had a rather forgettable face, a tiny stature, and a gaze that was always flitting about as if there were enemies around every corner. 

Their robes swept out behind them as they walked, their faces painted in the colored light spilling from the stained glass windows. Ornate pillars made of smooth white marble rose to the vaulted ceiling high above them, rose-laden vines of gold curling up their length. The carved flowers seamlessly shifted to painted when they reached the peak of the pillars, adorning the ceiling in a labyrinthine of glistening golden blossoms. 

“It’s good to have you back, Your Holiness,” Richard murmured, his quiet voice echoing around them. “We all missed you terribly.” He offered Rosaire a small smile, but kept his gaze averted. “Especially the apprentice disciples. They wouldn’t stop asking about you. It weighed quite heavily on my heart, you know? Having to tell them time and time again that they couldn’t write to you during your isolation.” 

“On the subject of the apprentices,” Rosaire cut in, his expression cold, “would you enlighten me as to why you sent them to such a dangerous area beyond the barrier.”

Richard dismissed his concerns with a quick wave of the hand. “I’m afraid there was a mix up with the assignments. When I realized the mistake, I hastened to retrieve them only to find you’d already beaten me to it.” He bowed his head. “Thank you for protecting them.”

Rosaire bowed his head as well. “It was no trouble. I truly appreciate you leading the Sanctuary in my stead while I was...” he paused, choosing his next words carefully, “incapacitated.” 

“It was an honor,” Richard replied. “Though, I must admit...” He lifted his sleeve, using it to cover his mouth as he let out a light chuckle. “The apprentices certainly gave me quite the headache. They grew rather rambunctious without you here to keep them in line. Breaking things, playing pranks...they even snuck into this hallway the other night to have a race.” 

Rosaire’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Funny, I recall you doing the very same in our youth.” 

“That may be true. But it wasn’t my fault! They were always his crazy schemes, the rest of us just got dragged into them.…” Richard’s voice trailed off and he glanced back to where Rosaire had frozen in a place a few steps back. Instantly his eyes went wide with horror, his mistake dawning on him.

Rosaire’s gaze was frigid as he stared down at Richard. His fingers curled, nails biting into his palms so harshly they left white crescents against his skin. 

“F-forgive me, Your Holiness,” Richard stammered, panic flaring in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to mention him...especially after you've only just returned--”

Rosaire silenced him with a stiff wave of his hand, shaking his head. “There’s no need for apologies. The shadow of that monster still lingers here. It makes it far too easy to lose oneself in the past and forget…”

Forget the horrific things he’d done. 

Even if Richard hadn’t mentioned him, nearly everything here reminded Rosaire of that man. Wiley had marred every inch of this place. Rosaire could easily point out every scar in the Sanctuary: a missing chip in a pillar from where Wiley had slammed into it; holes in the walls and floors from several pranks gone wrong (hidden by carpets and painting); an array of bent golden roses leading up a pillar from the time he’d tried to climb it. The list went on and on. 

No matter where Rosaire went within these walls, there was no escaping from the ghost of Wiley. His imprint on the Golden Sanctuary was so strong that Rosaire could practically see the phantom image of him playfully weaving his way through the pillars, his grin wide enough to split his face in two. 

Rosaire frantically shook his head, banishing the image from his mind like smoke. He couldn't allow himself to drown in the memories. If he did, it would only be a matter of time until he lost control again and caused another incident.

Rosaire would prefer not to spend another two years in isolation.