"Abel, oh, Abel, look! We’re taking off!"

My God, we were truly going to fly! I could hardly believe it! We would be closer still to God, to the angels, to the heavens! As we left the ground, I felt my heart rise with the Patriarch Seriel’s airship. I had been granted the honor of admiring this aerial vessel before we boarded it, and I had found it worthy of its master—elegant, imposing. But flying! Good heavens, we were flying!

Through the long windows that spanned the entire command room, I watched us drift away from the ground. Soon, the whole Domiel domain unfolded beneath us, its white splendors gleaming with the shimmer of moonstones upon their rooftops. I saw us glide over buildings, homes, churches, shops, and the House of Penitence as we climbed higher. I hurried from one end of the airship to the other, eager to take in every angle of the domain below.

I even leaned over the balustrade that led, a few meters down, to a lower level by two staircases at either end, just to admire the forward view—the front of the airship. On that “small” lower deck stood the Patriarch Seriel and the concordists piloting the vessel. They used terms I did not understand, yet I found them utterly charismatic, commanding such a machine—so vast, so imposing, so spectacular!

I had once seen Patriarch Domiel’s airship in motion, but none besides my lineage’s Patriarch, his bearer, and the concordists had ever been allowed to accompany him. I felt deeply honored to stand here, upon this gleaming floor so polished I could see my own reflection, though blurred. Everything was gold, beige, red, and amber. It felt as though dawn or dusk lived within the vessel itself.

The exterior was just as grand.

Before the Patriarch Seriel’s airship rose into the sky, I had admired the immense celestial beast—its rounded, smooth belly clad in golden metal that shimmered beneath the sun. It was unlike anything found in the Domiel domains. Its hull, a radiant beige adorned with golden engravings, seemed carved from a single block of opulence; each arabesque ran along its plump sides like a meticulously stitched thread of gold. The prow extended into an open balcony, adorned with slender columns and sculpted buttresses, where the concordists had gathered.

Above, the great dome—encircled with delicate golden frameworks—reflected the sky like polished stone. It was crowned with elegant towers, their tall masts bearing long crimson banners that fluttered in the wind, emblazoned with the Seriel lineage’s flower: the Helianthe. The cables stretched toward the envelope, and the suspended walkways seemed to bind the machine to the sky itself, as though the airship did not merely float—but held the firmament on a leash.

I had been utterly captivated by such a machine, adorned in the colors of Patriarch Seriel!

I turned toward Abel, seated on one of the armchairs lining the long windows, waiting. I rushed to him, unable to contain my excitement. How did he do it? How could he restrain himself so perfectly? He sat there with flawless composure, elegantly poised against the red seat, his gaze calmly fixed on the view. I tried to swallow my euphoria—unsuccessfully. I dropped beside him and took his hands in mine. He turned his gaze to me.

He was perfectly calm.

"Oh, Abel, how do you do it? I’m so excited! We’re in the sky, near God and His angels!" I exclaimed. "I know I should remain calm, but it’s impossible."

"You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed."

I wrinkled my nose at his words. I thought I had sensed a hint of reproach beneath his encouragement. At first, I believed it was directed at me, but from the glance he cast behind me, I realized he was judging those who would have expected me to remain gentle and silent. I squeezed his hands a little tighter and offered him a reassuring smile. I was happy. I wasn’t afraid. Patriarch Seriel was kind to me.

"And besides, I’m not made of stone," he added. "I’ve simply already traveled by airship."

"What! Why didn’t you tell me? Abel, this is incredible!"

How fortunate he had been! And when… oh.

"When Patriarch Domiel brought you back home, after the trial," I realized.

He nodded, and I shrank slightly where I sat. I suddenly felt so ashamed. What could I say to lighten the mood again? I was so clumsy, so awkward. I—

"It’s alright, Enoch. Marvel as much as you wish. We’re in the sky."

His voice held no enthusiasm, yet his smile was soft and reassuring—a bearer’s smile. A smile that vanished abruptly when his gaze shifted behind us. I turned, drawn by the exotic scent that brushed my senses, and found myself face to face with Patriarch Seriel. He stepped closer and looked out the window as well, just as Abel had done to avoid him. I could not tell whether I felt relieved by my elder’s behavior—just as I had asked, showing no interest in the Patriarch—or saddened to see that the two of them did not get along.

I was convinced that Abel could come to like the Patriarch Seriel. They both cherished poetry and long silences and… well, that was already more than enough for a beginning. If the three of us were to live together throughout The Haulieux Season, then it would be best if they started getting along. There was a difference between getting along and feeling something deeper. I knew that would hardly be possible on my elder’s side, yet his grace alone could captivate any gaze—perhaps even the Patriarch’s, should it linger.

Perhaps I was foolish, but I was being especially cautious.

"Patriarch Seriel, please, sit with us."

I tapped the space between Abel and me. My elder shot me a sharper look, which I answered with a smile. Simon used to say that bearers chose physical contact as a form of intimate language—a silent bridge where emotions could pass with a depth words could never reach. So, if Abel and the Patriarch preferred silence, then it was up to me to create at least a hint of connection.

When he sat, I shifted closer to my elder. The Patriarch had no choice but to allow a faint touch. Simon had never explained more, and I had always struggled to understand, for it was rare for a bearer to touch a seeder, let alone a Patriarch who was not part of their household. But this was the perfect moment to try. Their knees brushed, and they looked at each other—two, perhaps three seconds—but it was enough to give me a small sense of victory.

To be looked at was to be seen.

"My main domain lies three days from here. We will spend that time aboard this airship. I have had two apartments prepared—one for Abel, and one that you and I will share."

Beside him, Abel tensed. I could almost see the strain in his neck at those words. I pleaded with him silently to say nothing. As for me, I was pleased to share a bed with the Patriarch. It would be our first night. Perhaps I would even carry his seed as early as tonight. I longed for it.

"We will arrive on Saturday evening, in time for the grand Sunday mass. On Sunday morning, we will attend it together, and afterward, we will spend the day preparing your wardrobes for The Haulieux Season."

I could hardly wait! I would be dressed according to the Patriarch’s taste—for my very first Haulieux Season, no less! Abel, on the other hand… was entirely opposed. The idea had clearly unsettled him. His arms crossed over his chest, and the Patriarch missed nothing of it. His gaze lingered there, and for a moment I feared he might reprimand him, demand he resume a proper bearer’s posture—but thankfully, he showed restraint.

"This will be my first Haulieux Season," I said. "I can’t wait."

His golden gaze fell upon me, and my heart raced at the mere gesture. His long curls framed his ears and shoulders so beautifully. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

"The season will open with an opera at the theatre known as ‘The Atrium.’ The most eminent figures of every caste will be present, and you will both stand at my side for this exceptional event."

An opera… it would be my first time as well. I longed to discover all of this with the Patriarch Seriel. Abel had feared for my safety, but I had been right to trust, to find courage in my prayers. The Patriarch was beautiful—made of gold and silence—reassuring, patient, warm. And when he spoke, as he had just done, I could fully savor his voice: never raised, never rough like Abel’s, but deep and controlled.

"I must excuse myself. Many obligations still require my attention. We will meet again at dinner."

With that, he rose. He gave us a nod and turned away, disappearing into the elevator. The moment he was gone, I threw myself back toward Abel, my hands clasping his.

His fingers were ice-cold—colder than before. I looked up at him, concerned. He seemed… paler too.

"Abel, are you alright? You’re freezing, and… you look so pale."

He pulled his hands away almost violently, then apologized. One hand pressed against his side—where he had once been pierced—while the other brushed over the marks left by the crown of thorns around his head. His scars seemed to ache all at once.

"Don’t do that again," he whispered. "I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but stop. I hate being that close to him—or to anyone. Just because you enjoy it doesn’t mean I have to."

His words were low, sharp, cutting. I recoiled, guilt tightening my throat, and nodded meekly.

"I… I was trying to do the right thing. I just… wanted you to be friends. I know I asked you not to draw his attention, but I… I thought it might reassure you, to be his friend, to see that I would be well with him and… I’m sorry…"

"I… no, forgive me. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but don’t push him toward me like that again, please."

I nodded once more. I didn’t know what else to say. I had made him deeply uncomfortable… perhaps I had even hurt him. Was it because of me that the pain in his scars had flared up again?

"Enoch… Tonight, promise me you’ll scream… scream my name if you need help."

I frowned and looked at him again. He still doubted the Patriarch Seriel. I shook my head, for despite myself, a flicker of irritation rose within me at his persistent mistrust. He was surely comparing him to that seeder who had shared his life for months—but I had heard Simon say he had been a bad seeder, despite Abel’s sin. So how could he compare such a man to Patriarch Seriel?

"Enoch, I’m begging you…"

He truly was begging me. I could see it in his iridescent eyes, filled with painful tears. More than that—he was trembling, clinging to himself. His chest rose far too quickly, and I gently placed my hands on his shoulders, trying to soothe him. I tried not to feel as terrified as he did, but inevitably, his fear awakened my own, even though I didn’t know what I was meant to fear. His reaction made me dread my first night, when I should have been welcoming it as something new.

Abel stirred negative emotions within me, where I had wished to feel only positive ones.

"Alright."

That word was only meant to reassure him.

I turned my gaze toward the main Domiel domain, hoping to find comfort—but the clouds had swallowed it whole. I was now far from my former home, from everything I had ever known. Abel was the last thing—the last anchor—still tying me to it. But could I truly call him an anchor when he himself was lost in the abyss of his own suffering, trembling, unable to tell right from wrong?

Even now, I did not understand Abel. His traumas were not mine—so why did I have to bear their weight? I knew he wanted to protect me, but in trying so hard, he was suffocating me—suffocating my life. Why was he denying me the chance to see things in a better light?