“You do not have golden eyes,” she murmured.

“…Yes,” Ludolf answered after a pause, his voice uncertain. “Mine are… just green.”

“Then show me,” Liviana said at last. “Let me see your power. I want to know if your eyes will turn gold.”

A knot of refusal formed instantly in Ludolf's throat. His first impulse was to say no, but her unflinching calmness offered a sense of security that made resisting her impossible. Trust won out. He lifted his hand deliberately, curling his fingers into a fist, and drew on the strange reserve of energy coiling deep within his chest.

The air around them stirred. Hovering over Ludolf’s hand, a sphere of golden light flickered into existence—shimmering, unstable, like a newborn star struggling to hold its shape. At the same time, his eyes changed. The soft green that had always defined them brightened unnaturally, only to fade, the color leaching away until what remained was a hard, slate gray.

Liviana’s breath hitched, but her expression did not waver.

‘Gray, not gold... Fascinating.’ Liviana thought. 

Moments later, Ludolf finally released his hold, and the sphere of light wavered and dissolved, vanishing into the still air. His chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, his small hands trembling from the strain. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her. “...Did I do it right, Saintess?”

Liviana smiled. “Yes, you did, Ludolf. You did well. Though...” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “It is interesting. Your eyes did not turn gold, but gray.”

Ludolf tilted his head in confusion. “...Is that... a bad thing?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Not in the slightest. In fact... it may be a very good thing.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Liviana leaned back, her smile deepening into one of thoughtful reverence. “The Temple looks for gold, but your eyes are gray, which means the divine power you carry is unique, outside our doctrine. It reminds me of the most ancient records, which speak of the Skyborn, a lineage lost to time.”

Ludolf became more intrigued.

“The Skyborn were said to be children touched by the Wind Spirits—the nameless entities of the upper air, neither deity nor mortal. Those children were gifted the freedom of the heavens; they moved as freely as the currents they commanded. They could ride the unseen winds, storms, and more. It was a power elemental and pure, and their eyes were often described as a pale, storm-light gray.”

Liviana continued, “For a moment, I thought you were one of the Skyborn. But the power you manifested—that sphere of light—is fundamentally different. It is benevolent and undeniably divine. Elemental blessings are potent, but they are not golden at their core. Only a goddess can grant light of that nature. Moreover, the color gray is also the ancient heraldic color of one of the oldest goddesses, Thalorien, the Everfree—Goddess of open skies and tempests, both protector and destroyer. 

Liviana thought for a moment before she went on, “The Wind Spirits may have favored the Skyborn, but Thalorien claimed them. The gray is her signature, Ludolf. You have not been merely favored by the wind, but chosen by the Everfree. You carry her direct blessing. However, this is only my speculation. I cannot say with certainty if the old stories are true.”

‘So... the goddess I met was Thalorien,’ Ludolf thought, wonder swelling in his chest. ‘I must learn more about her.’

“These eyes are your shield, Ludolf. You won't have to worry about being dragged in and chained down by their doctrine.”

Ludolf was caught between awe and disbelief at everything he had just heard from the Saintess.

“Saintess,” he said softly, hesitance lacing his words, “won’t the temple—or even the empire—grow suspicious of my sudden manifestation? Father must have told you already… I wasn’t born with any power.”

“Yes, he mentioned it. And I can see why you would worry. But it isn’t unheard of for power to awaken late. In fact, there are many such cases—children whose gifts slumber for years before awakening. Some even remain dormant until adulthood. I once knew a man in his thirties who first awakened his magic.” She leaned in slightly, her tone calm and steady. “So no, Ludolf, your awakening will not be so unusual as to draw unwanted suspicion. At most, they will think you are simply… late-blooming.”

“…So I will be fine.”

“Yes, you will,” Liviana reassured, her voice gentle. Then she smiled at him, tilting her head ever so slightly. “So—will you allow me to train you?”

Ludolf blinked at her, still struggling to believe she was serious, “Won’t Genev be suspicious… wondering why you want to train me?”

“Don’t worry,” Liviana replied, her tone almost playful. “I can always claim it is simply me returning a favor. That will be excuse enough.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy with hesitation on his part, but eventually Ludolf straightened his back. “…Then, I will be in your care, Saintess.”

Her smile deepened, “Thank you, Ludolf. For trusting me.”

With that, Liviana rose to her feet. She inclined her head gracefully, lowering it in farewell. “I must take my leave now. Happy birthday, Ludolf. May the gods and goddesses continue to guide your steps.”

Ludolf quickly stood as well, returning her bow, “Thank you, Saintess. May your blade never falter, and the empire stand strong beneath your light.”

With that, Liviana left the room, and Ludolf was left alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t expected to learn so much in a single day. Then it struck him, and a groan slipped past his lips.

“Ahh… she dumped the gifts on me before I could refuse.”

The throne room of the Sun Empire's capital was built not of stone, but of polished obsidian and gold, a place designed to crush the will of any visitor. Dominating the room was Emperor Lucien Rauchschwerttal, a man in his late forties whose intelligence was often mistaken for boredom. He was powerfully built, but moved with a languid grace that hid a mind operating three steps ahead of everyone else. His eyes, the color of molten amber, never missed a detail.

He sat now upon his obsidian throne, a large scar from his last war resting beneath his chin. Before him stood General Mavnir Nachtnebel, freshly returned from a clandestine meeting across the border.

“Hmm, you said the Aetheris Empire is suspecting our Empire, me specifically, for an assassination attempt on Iskareth?” Lucien murmured solemnly.

Mavnir hesitated. “They do, Your Majesty. Emperor Iskareth has concluded the assassination was calculated and is now moving to consolidate his power through a secret inquest. Crucially, while Saintess Liviana advocates for immediate retaliation against us, Iskareth has successfully restrained her.”

A faint, chilling smile touched the corner of Lucien’s mouth.

“As expected, Iskareth is a coward wrapped in caution,” Lucien stated. “He is too afraid to risk the peace treaty.”

Lucien leaned forward, his amber eyes glittering with shrewd cunning.

“And Liviana,” he mused, savoring the name. “The Saintess is powerful, but utterly predictable. She seeks vengeance, which is a straight line. However, Iskareth has given her something less than war—a petty internal investigation. Poor Saintess, she will waste her fire chasing whispers when she should be preparing for war.”

Lucien straightened, waving a dismissive hand and said, “Whatever, let them point at us for fun. It is a convenience. But if Iskareth wishes to start a war, let the fool try. The sooner the better. It has been a long time since we had the pleasure of reminding Aetheris of the price of true conflict. If they cross the line and threaten the integrity of our empire, their throat will be slit.”

“Bring me your best spies.” Emperor Lucien commanded. “I need to know everything happening right now in the Aetheris Empire.”

Mavnir bowed sharply, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I shall summon them immediately.” He began to straighten up, but then paused, a subtle change of light passing over his eyes as if a forgotten scroll had suddenly opened in his mind.

“Before that, however, I must report a major development I neglected to mention in my preliminary briefing. I have heard of the death of the Aetheris Empire's Archmage after the attempt.”

Lucien's sharp, calculating gaze narrowed.

“Archmage? Are you speaking of Magnus Seraphis?” Lucien asked, the name tasting like ash on his tongue.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The very same,” Mavnir confirmed.

“Huh,” Lucien murmured, finally leaning back against the plush velvet of his throne, his thoughts visibly turning over. “That is very odd. He was no mere court wizard; he was a living bastion of arcane force.”

“I've gathered that he died protecting Emperor Iskareth, using his final strength to shield his liege,” Mavnir explained. “But given the Archmage's legendary power—his personal wards alone could withstand a siege—there has been widespread and persistent talk. Not of that he died, Your Majesty, but of how he could be killed at all.”

“Right. And now that this powerful friend is conveniently gone, leaving Iskareth vulnerable, I can clearly see why the eyes of Aetheris—and Iskareth specifically—would immediately swivel in our direction.”

“But really, how dare he suspect me immediately after that?” Lucien scoffed. “I am not that petty, nor that immature, to orchestrate a dumb assassination like that. I expected better strategic thinking from him. ”

Lucien sighs and says, “Move along, General.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Mavnir responded, his voice curt and respectful.

With one last bow, Mavnir turned on his heel and strode out of the throne room, leaving Emperor Lucien alone to contemplate recent events in the Aetheris Empire.

Liviana arrived back at the Temple gates, her usual quiet sense of sanctuary immediately collapsing as she spotted the unusual sight: two ostentatious noble carriages parked conspicuously near the entrance. Oh, perfect, she thought with a surge of internal sarcasm. Just what my afternoon needed—a gathering of the Kingdom’s most self-important pests.

She was instantly confused and annoyed. When she approached the grand entrance, her fears were confirmed. There stood two noblemen—she recognized the unmistakable crests of the House of Smidht and the House of Tollemache—engaging in what looked like a highly important discussion with Archbishop Regulus. Liviana knew that attempting to avoid this meeting, no matter how desperately she wished to melt into the stone wall, would only result in a humiliating and lengthy dressing-down from the Archbishop for being ‘disrespectful to the faith's most generous patrons.’

Archbishop Regulus, standing stiffly between the two towering Dukes, caught sight of Liviana approaching the portico. His face instantly shifted into a wide, practiced, and absolutely fake smile.

“Ah, Saintess! You have arrived,” he called out, his voice booming with false warmth, clearly intending to include her in the performance. “We were just finalizing the arrangements for a wonderful occasion.”

Liviana smoothly suppressed a sigh. She offered a slight, respectful bow to the Archbishop. “Yes, hello, Archbishop Regulus.”

She then turned, her smile becoming genuine—if a touch practiced—as she greeted the powerful men, “It truly is a pleasure to have you here, Duke Smidht and Duke Tollemache. I trust you are well.”

Duke Tollemache, a man built like a barrel, stepped forward first, his eyes sweeping over Liviana with a proprietary air.

“Saintess Liviana, always a sight for weary eyes,” Tollemache boomed, waving a hand dismissively at the Archbishop. “We are here to settle the matter of the baptism. Our families have agreed that our two new granddaughters should be baptized together, here in the Great Temple, with full honors.”

Duke Smidht, leaner and more sharp-eyed, nodded in agreement. “Indeed, Saintess. And since your name and presence carry the utmost prestige, we wished to know if you might personally preside over the joint ceremony. It would be a monumental blessing for both Houses and, frankly, guarantee a historic guest list.”

Liviana’s smile tightened slightly, recognizing this for what it was: a high-stakes social demand disguised as a simple request. They were seeking the unparalleled status that only her involvement could provide. She exchanged a swift, knowing glance with the Archbishop, who offered her a subtle, strained smile that clearly said, ‘Do not mess this up.’

“A joint baptism of your granddaughters is a truly wonderful expression of unity between two great Houses,” Liviana replied smoothly, stepping closer to the Dukes. “I would be deeply honored to be considered, though the final scheduling and ceremonial duties require careful planning. Perhaps we could discuss the specific date and the Temple's traditional rites over refreshments now?”

Both Dukes nodded their heavy agreement to the refreshments. Archbishop Regulus immediately brightened and gestured emphatically. “Right this way, gentlemen! We have the most comfortable discussion room prepared.” He ushered the two noblemen toward the Temple's interior chambers, leaving Liviana standing alone near the portico.

As the heavy oak doors closed behind the trio, Liviana felt the tension drain from her shoulders. She let out a long, silent sigh, rolling her neck to relieve the strain. 

‘Those Dukes,’ she thought with a shudder. They always creeped her out. ‘Maybe it's just my paranoia,’ she tried to rationalize, but the feeling lingered.

Liviana shook her head and headed briskly toward her personal chamber. “I need to change my clothes first,” she muttered to herself. 

When she arrived at her chamber, she tossed her cloak onto a nearby chair, then froze. She immediately spotted something wrong: a single, folded piece of paper lay plainly on the surface of her desk. This was jarringly out of place. She was meticulous; she never left her documents or letters exposed, and her desk was always clear unless...

Her jaw clenched hard. 

She closed her eyes instantly and extended her senses. She channeled out her energy, sweeping the room in a silent, meticulous wave to find any lingering trace of the trespasser. Nothing. No faint heat print, no dust disturbed from footsteps, no lingering shadow of arcane residue or foreign magic—nothing. 

Cautiously, she walked toward her table and grabbed the paper. As expected, there was no wax seal, no crest from any noble house, or any other identifying mark that could link it to a noble house or political faction. She then read the contained message.

‘Come to the palace tomorrow. I have news. From EI.’

Liviana’s eyes widened. The paper in her grip crumpled instantly into a tight ball. 

'EI' was the highly confidential code name used only for Emperor Iskareth. He had known he couldn’t risk leaving any official seal or evidence of direct communication to her. He must have used a silverwing to avoid all surveillance, just so no one else could intercept the message.

Her gaze hardened.

‘Finally.’