The Soliri’s entrance stood as grand as the gardens that led to it.

Towering stone pillars circled the pavilion, each bearing worn marks of generations before. Stairs curved up along the back walls, leading to the temple’s second floor.

Erith tilted his head back—faint carvings, once intricate, faded across the weathered stone dome.

The group continued through the wide pavilion toward the back, where a broad stairwell spread across the rear wall.

A strong scent of herbs greeted them as they passed under low arches above the stairs, until their steps faltered.

Below, the heart of Soliri opened before them.

A sprawling open floor—nearly as wide as the temple itself, teemed with life. Rows of beds filled one section. A kitchen with tables full of people in another. In a more open corner, a row of open theaters for surgeries.

The floor was illuminated in a muted blue glow, emanating from the stained-glass lanterns that dotted the hall.

At the center, a massive glass dome of blue and orange tones stretched outward.

Erith’s eyes lingered on it, wondering how the light poured through the dome when this looked to be the temple’s lowest level.

They descended a short flight of steps before stopping, where the stairwell split into two sweeping staircases curling down along either end of the Soliri’s walls.

“Might take us a bit to find her—What’s she look like, Tal?” Rin asked, leaning his arms onto the banister.

“She’s a healer,” Amun offered.

Erith glanced out across the sea of robes and beds. “Moons, this is the largest healing hall in the world. Might need a little more to go off of.”

“She’s a healer who’s got a thing for Tal—that shouldn’t be too hard to—” Amun ducked as Tal swiped at him.

“Saryn’s got dark hair… but she changes it up a lot… so she might not have dark hair,” Tal murmured, scanning the floor below.

Erith let out a small laugh. “Alright, we’re looking for a healer that’s into Tal and probably has hair. Should be easy to spot.”

“No, but she’s more of a teacher than a healer these days, so maybe over there is a good place to start. C’mon,” she said, pointing toward the surgery theaters.

They walked along the outer edge, Tal leading, eyeing each row as they passed.

“It’s like an entire sifting camp,” Erith muttered, watching the quiet coordination of people weaving between beds and cluttered worktables.

A group was gathered near the first surgery theater ahead, the wooden rows of the elevated seating slowly filling with spectators.

Amun nudged Erith as they approached and pointed into the crowd. “Tal,” Amun called quietly.

Erith looked ahead, where a woman stood at the center of a small gathering, her muted blue robes open to reveal a vest and tools tucked neatly at her belt.

Her hair was cut short, practical and clear of her shoulders, and there was a precision to how she spoke—met with apt attention from those listening.

With a subtle nod and a smile that softened her focus, she dismissed the group, watching them disperse toward the surgery floor.

Her gaze returned ahead of her—where Tal and the others stood.

For a moment, she stood expressionless, eyes sweeping over the group. She stepped forward, her face breaking into a warm smile as she reached Tal.

“You always said you’d love it if I met your family—I just didn’t expect you’d bring them all to me unannounced.”

Tal stepped forward and embraced her. “I didn’t have much of a chance to warn you.”

Saryn chuckled. “I’d be more surprised if you had.”

Taking in the group once more, her eyes lingered on Maeric, before falling on Erith. “Who might this be?”

“Trouble, Saryn, nothing but trouble unfortunately.” Tal answered, clapping a hand on Erith’s back.

A prickle crawled up his neck against the weight of Saryn’s stare. He gave a sheepish grin and pressed a hand to the side of his neck.

Saryn’s expression warmed. “Well, this city is no stranger to trouble as of late, a little more won’t break us.”

She let the flicker of visceral doubt from the group pass without comment, quickly shifting the conversation with an easy smile.

“You’ve traveled a long way. Come—let’s settle in my quarters for a bit.”

Saryn motioned for the group to follow, but abruptly stopped as her eyes flicked toward the temple stairs—where a dozen soldiers descended in two neat columns.

At the front, a man led them with a purposeful stride.

His presence cut through the dim blue of the Soliri. He wore no helm and bore lighter armor than the soldiers flanking him, though the sigil emblazoned across his chest was unmistakable—Aldarath’s crest.

Saryn stepped forward to meet him. “For the pursuit of knowledge, blades bound to mend life may pass within the Soliri—or any hall of healing.”

The man smiled, but said nothing.

“But the blades of kingdoms shall remain at the door, Cerus.”

“A true king’s words,” Cerus replied. “Commendable words. Words that were meant to broker peace between Aldarath and Loradun in a time where peace felt out of reach.”

“And Faerin Estorath’s words have helped maintain that peace for nearly two hundred years,” Saryn added firmly.

At the name, Erith glanced toward Maeric and Rin—both had drifted to the edge of the group, blending into the quiet bustle surrounding the surgery theater, though neither had stopped listening.

“Yet the peace falters.” Cerus said, his tone polished, but sharpening. “In delicate times, words may need revision—only by another true king, of course.”

He held a parchment out, gesturing toward Saryn.

She took it, pausing as her eyes landed on the Veneroth royal seal. She said nothing as she read.

Cerus folded his hands behind his back. Behind him, his soldiers stood in silent rows, still as the temple stone.

“We are simply here to ensure that the sacred virtue of healing may continue—unimpeded—by any activities… unworthy of the Soliri.”

“For the virtue of healing,” Saryn replied, frustration weaving into her voice. “Then let your guard stay—and let them guard. Nothing more. We wouldn’t want anything unworthy done in the Soliri.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned back toward the surgery hall. After exchanging a few hushed words with a healer, she subtly motioned to the group to follow.

As they turned to walk, he tilted his head back toward the base of the stairwell, where Cerus’s gaze lingered on the group.

Their eyes met. His chest tightened uncomfortably as Cerus turned to address his men.

Erith quickened his pace to catch up to Saryn and Tal, leading the group through the temple floor.

“Who was that?” he asked quietly.

Saryn didn’t stop walking. “Trouble,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m still trying to weigh who will be more—it should obviously be him.”

She glanced sideways at him, faintly amused.

“Which worries me that it’s you.”

✦☽✧❖⨁☼✺☼⨁❖✧☽✦