Sixth day of September, in the year 2556, in one of the homes of the Domiel lineage.

The Codex of Virtues said that man was born three times: from the one no longer spoken of, from bearers, and from duty. The Bible spoke of one God in three faces: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. God had instilled within us three theological virtues: faith, hope, and divine love. The Trinity of the Magi brought three gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. In the desert, there were three temptations. We were born, we lived, and we died. There was the past, the present, and the future; the body, the soul, and the spirit. The moon flourished through three phases: waxing, full, and waning. The living world existed through animal, plant, and mineral. A story unfolded in three acts, and in the theater, the curtain rose after three knocks.

It was a balance—certain and unshakable. A balance upon which the Society had been built in the strongest of ways. We had grown up with the belief that everything depended on equilibrium, and today, it all made sense. I had understood it before, of course—but today, I was living it.

I had been a bearer since I was thirteen, yet today was the first time I truly felt like one; the first time I felt complete. Patriarch Seriel had chosen me so that together we might lay our stone upon that stability.

In a few minutes, he would be here, ready to take me to my new household: a bearer, a Patriarch, and their fruits. In a few months, I would carry a Patriarch’s children. In a few years, I would be congratulated for the little ones we had brought into the world and raised. In decades to come, I would be old and proud to have accomplished all of it.

This harmony now resonating within me—I did not want to lose it. Ever.

So, to ensure its survival, I knocked on Abel’s door.

We needed to speak.

My elder brother lifted his head toward me. In his arms, Caiaphas was wiping away his tears, and I easily guessed that Abel had told him about his departure. The two of them had fallen asleep together. Caiaphas was more distressed by our elder brother’s leaving than by mine.

Like everyone in this house.

But what did it matter? Today was a beautiful day, and Abel would be… We would be a sort of trio: Patriarch Seriel, Abel, and I.

Caiaphas slipped past me and left the room, sniffling sadly. I briefly rested my hand on his small head before he disappeared down the corridor.

I stepped closer to Abel—and once again, his beauty struck me.

I could not lie: I did not feel his equal. Everything I did, he could do better. He was Simon’s equal—and more—when he allowed himself to be a bearer. And he was undoubtedly the most beautiful creation of the Domiel lineage.

His milky, cool skin was draped in a gown of blinding purity. He wore no jewels, no ostentatious embroidery, no garish silk. The gown was simple—yet upon him, it became undeniably magnificent. It seemed woven for him alone.

Saul had allowed him to wear something other than the garments tailored so that none of his purple scars would go unseen. Today, he was a bearer. In appearance, at least.

Like the white of first snow, the fabric enhanced the pink of his cheekbones and the mauve tint of his lips. It clung to his body as though the cloth itself recognized that its wearer was different: his slender curves, the subtle hollow of his waist, the length of his legs left modestly concealed. His solid frame had been sculpted for it, and the bluish veins tracing here and there across his skin seemed almost like deliberate adornments.

Upon his strong shoulders rested a mantle of pearled radiance. Fastened to the high collar gently encircling his throat, it fell in two long trailing panels along his bare arms. The mantle shimmered like distant stars.

His irised eyes studied me, silently questioning my presence in his room—but I struggled to collect myself, because only one thought filled my mind:

It was him. This was how he should always have been—not disguised for humiliation, but simply like this, like an angel God had sent.

Even with the stigmata scars the crown of thorns had left upon his brow.

"You are magnificent," I breathed.

He inclined his head, and his long white hair—straight as harp strings—slid over his pale skin. I could still read that melancholy, that palpable sorrow surrounding him, yet something was… different. The skin beneath his eyes was pink, like Simon’s, but I suspected Abel had wept to achieve that hue. He was not smiling—no more than usual—yet there was unmistakable tenderness in his gaze.

Something was different. Undeniably.

"I am old," Abel countered. "But look at you. You are so lovely it seems as though God Himself came to greet you."

It had been a long time since I had heard so many words leave his lips. My eyebrows rose in surprise. I felt my cheeks warm beneath the sudden compliment.

"I… I came to… well, you know… I…"

I stopped and drew in a deep breath. I would achieve nothing in this state. Abel waited patiently, wrapped in his habitual silence, his piercing eyes seeming to read in my soul what I dared not say.

"It’s the big day."

It was hardly the most inspired way to begin. Abel lowered his eyes briefly and nodded slowly.

As I had expected, he did not share my eagerness.

"I know that… you must not be particularly pleased, but I wanted to tell you that I’m happy you’re coming with me. I want you to witness my happiness. I hope that, by seeing it, you might find hope again."

"That’s kind of you. Forgive me for being too vehement at times. I only want your safety."

I shook my head and stepped closer to him. I took his hands in mine and squeezed them. They were so cold that I tried, in vain, to warm them.

"You want to protect me. Then forgive me for pushing you away last time. You’re afraid—that’s only natural."

He did not answer, but a faint smile lifted the corner of his lips.

"I wanted to tell you… I… Only a madman—or a Domiel—could resist your beauty. I don’t think Patriarch Seriel will be an exception, but I just… you know, I care for him very much and—"

"He is entirely yours. I have neither reason nor desire to linger at your heels. I will spend The Haulieux Season with you, and then I will return," he reassured me.

I felt foolish for saying it, but my heart had needed it. I had needed it. I had spent my life watching seeders praise my elder brother, wishing to claim him as their bearer. As I had said, only a madman would not fall beneath his charm—and Patriarch Seriel, God forgive me, was a man. It was difficult to resist an angel. A whisper, a single glance, would be enough to shatter the balance.

I did not want that.

I trusted Abel. He desired my happiness and watched over me—in his own singular way. We came from the same womb. I had grown up beside him, and we loved each other enough to guard one another. That was why, despite my apprehension, I was ultimately glad he was coming—and why his reassurance regarding any possible interest from Patriarch Seriel soothed me.

"And what if we went downstairs for the farewells?"

I knew he was speaking of me, because for him, this was only a goodbye. Suddenly, my heart tightened. I had said farewell to my room, farewell to the view over the flowered garden Simon had tended for decades. Abel picked up his suitcase and lifted it, leaving the room after casting one of the most melancholy glances at it—as though it were the last time he would ever see it.

Before he closed the door, while we stood in the corridor, I looked back with nostalgia. How many times had I seen Abel perched on that windowsill, gazing out at the plains? Or seated in that armchair, reading for hours in silence? And that floor—where he and Caiaphas had lain hundreds of times, whispering conversations I would never know.

It was the last time I would see it.

With the passing years, perhaps even the memories would fade.

We descended the stairs, our suitcases in hand, and stopped at the threshold. Saul, Simon, and Caiaphas were waiting for us. Simon pulled me into his arms, and I let my suitcase fall as I embraced him tightly. I closed my eyes, holding back my tears as I felt his against my neck. He held me so tightly that I understood, within that embrace, that this truly was farewell.

Then it was Saul’s turn.

He smiled at me, and I returned it. On another day, under different circumstances, I would never have done so—but today, I allowed myself to step into his arms.

Saul had been the most exemplary of seeders. He had protected us and loved us, in his way—in the way of a seeder—but I had always known it. We were his fruits. He loved us in his own manner. So I was not surprised to feel his arms close around me in return.

On the contrary.

And I no longer resisted. A few tears slipped free as I murmured how grateful I was for everything he had taught me. He merely nodded, and I released him seconds later. We exchanged a look, and through it, I told him how much I loved him too.

Then I knelt before Caiaphas, just after Abel had let him go. He was more timid and settled for a quiet embrace. I wished him a beautiful life, beautiful Ages of Initiation and a radiant future before rising and stroking his small head.

I looked again toward Saul and Simon. Simon cupped Abel’s cheeks in his hands. He stared at him, and after Abel gave a slight nod, Simon nodded as well. They must have said something to each other, but I had not heard it. Simon’s face was flooded with tears, and he pressed his hand against his lips to stifle his sobs as Abel stepped toward Saul.

The two regarded one another silently, as though engaged in yet another duel.

Then, suddenly, Abel knelt.

I startled. Simon gasped in surprise. Caiaphas tried to step forward but was stopped by Saul. And Saul, looking down at Abel at his feet, smiled.

A softened smile—rare enough that I could not remember the last time I had seen it.

Abel missed that mark of tenderness entirely, his head bowed low.

Bearers knelt before a seeder to ask forgiveness, baring the nape of their neck. If the seeder or the Patriarch laid a hand upon it, the bearer was forgiven. If the nape remained untouched, no forgiveness was granted.

Just as it had happened with Patriarch Seriel.

Abel was asking Saul for forgiveness.

He slipped his hand into his hair and brushed it away from the nape of his neck.

Saul laid his fingers upon the offered skin and, instead of stroking it, his palm came to rest fully against it. He pressed there, just as he had pressed against my back during our embrace. Abel trembled, and his hands—flat against the floor—curled slowly into fists.

Then I saw it.

A single tear fell onto the back of his left hand, like a drop of rain.

After a moment, Saul withdrew his hand. Abel rose to his feet.

Three knocks echoed against the door. After casting one last look at Abel and me, Saul turned and opened it.

Patriarch Seriel stood there.

It was time.