At noon the following day, the main tower bell of the Sky Throne Temple tolled.

  Its tone differed from the crisp metallic chimes that announced the hours across Valian City.

  This was deep and resonant, like a slow-rising tide surging up from the earth’s core.Each peal parted the air in heavy layers, bearing an undeniable gravity—not to hasten footsteps along the streets, but to command: Lift your gaze. The sky is watching.

  The Starcrown family carriage had already come to rest in the forecourt.

  Pale stone steps climbed straight and unadorned, flanked only by tall flagpoles from which hung Vali’s eight-pointed star banners. The flags were modest in size; on their deep blue field, silver-threaded eight-pointed stars unfurled in the wind, as though torn straight from the heavens and stitched onto cloth. With each gust, the fabric pulsed gently—like a living heart beating in quiet synchrony with the distant bell.

  Lorne stepped down from the carriage and immediately lifted his eyes.

  The headquarters of the Sky Church was eternally clad in white and blue. Towering columns bore vivid reliefs of winged creatures—eagles, wind falcons, thunderbirds, and even long-forgotten ancient flyers whose names time had erased. Their feathers seemed poised to detach from the stone and take flight into the real sky. Sunlight traced the edges of the carvings, gilding the wing patterns in silver-white, like countless fine blades aimed at the firmament.

  Ian’s fingers gripped Lorne’s sleeve tightly, knuckles blanching from the pressure.

  Today the twins wore formal attire: deep blue outer robes with delicate star-crown embroidery at the collar and cuffs. Not ostentatious, but carrying a restrained dignity—like the sky itself: vast, yet never showy. The robe hems swayed softly with their steps, whispering as fabric met fabric.

  Iris walked ahead.

  Her stride was measured and calm; her boots struck the stone steps with crisp, unhurried clicks. As a priestess, she had traded her customary silver-gray cloak for a matching deep blue ceremonial robe, cinched at the waist by a slender silver chain. A small eight-pointed star pendant dangled from its end. When the wind stirred, it swayed and chimed—faintly, privately, like a secret meant only for her.

  An attendant waited at the side door and silently guided them through the front hall, bypassing the grand but empty prayer chambers, straight into a modest side room of the inner sanctum.

  No soaring dome arched overhead. No rows of candles flickered. No low chants rose from worshippers.

  Only a narrow window admitted the afternoon sun, casting a long golden stripe across the floor.

  A round table stood in the center.

  It was small—just room for four. The light oak surface showed warm, unadorned grain. A simple meal waited: freshly baked coarse bread, tender-stewed white fish, steamed vegetables dusted with sea salt, and a jug of pale golden ale. No silver cutlery. No crystal. Only plain clay plates and wooden cups.

  No ceremony.

  No invocation.

  As though it truly were… just lunch.

  The Pontiff already sat at the head.

  He was far older than Erwin; his hair had faded to the thinnest silver-gray, polished smooth by decades of wind and weather. His robe was starkly plain—no ornate embroidery, no gold edging. Only a small silver eight-pointed star pinned to his chest, its edges worn bright from years of touch—like a star smoothed round by time itself.

  Seeing them enter, the old man rose slowly.

  The motion was unhurried, yet carried a quiet reassurance.

  “Welcome, Priestess Iris—and Ian, Lorne.”

  His voice was soft and low, warm as a winter hearth. As he smiled, the lines around his eyes and brow eased open like an old map, folded and unfolded countless times.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a gentle nod, his gaze lingering briefly on the twins. “I am Kaelen Starcrown.”

  Lorne felt Ian’s grip tighten sharply.

  Not from fear.

  But from something harder to name—like meeting a legend at last, only to discover him so… ordinary. Ordinary enough to leave a strange, hollow ache.

  Kaelen did not return to his seat immediately. He walked around the table and stood before them.

  He inclined his head first to Iris, then to the twins.

  “No need for nerves,” he said, amusement threading his tone. “Today holds no judgment, no trial. Only a meal—and a few necessary words.”

  He extended his hand, palm up.

  Not to shake, but like an elder beckoning children to the table.

  “Come. Sit. The fish will grow cold.”

  Iris gave Ian a gentle push at the back.

  Lorne felt his brother’s breath quiver; then Ian let go of his sleeve and took a small step forward.

  Lorne followed.

  The four settled around the round table.

  Sunlight crept inward through the narrow window, gilding the bread’s rough crust.

  “Do not stand on ceremony,” the old man said. “From a family standpoint, I suppose I am your grandfather.”

  “Your Holiness,” Iris replied stiffly, “you did not summon us here for family pleasantries.”

  Lorne bit into the soft bread.

  Since the introduction, he had felt it clearly—

  The bond between Mother and Grandfather was strained.

  So strained that he and Ian still knew almost nothing of their wider kin.

  By now, the fish had cooled halfway.

  Sunlight slanted across the table, catching the wooden cup beside Kaelen. An old crack ran along its rim, smoothed by long use—like a wound that time had gentled but never erased.

  Kaelen did not speak at once.

  He first tore a small piece of bread for Ian, then deftly lifted the bones from Lorne’s fish. The gestures were effortless, habitual—as though the years had never interrupted them.

  Only then did he speak.

  “The arrangements are set.”

  Iris set her cup down soundlessly.

  Kaelen’s voice stayed gentle.

  “Ian will leave for Greenvalley Sanctuary before the autumn equinox. The Earth Church will oversee his initial guidance personally. Mokai’s path demands soil, not spires.”

  Ian’s fingers froze.

  He kept his eyes down.

  Lorne slowly ceased chewing.

  Kaelen turned to Lorne.

  “As for you, Lorne—”

  Those gray eyes met his—calm, bottomless lakes.

  “Since Vali has granted you a personal Fanaki revelation, you need not leave Valian City. Iris may engage another mentor for you. If she prefers otherwise, I will teach you myself.”

  The final words came lightly, almost offhand.

  Yet Iris’s shoulders visibly stiffened.

  “No.”

  Her voice was quiet.

  But steel-hard.

  Kaelen showed no surprise.

  “Your reason?”

  “They cannot be separated.”

  At last she looked straight at him.

  “They are brothers…” She paused. “They have never been apart.”

  Kaelen gave the faintest nod.

  “Every bond has its first parting. They cannot stay joined forever.”

  He laid his hand flat on the table—knuckles pale, yet rock-steady.

  “Ian’s channels overlap. The Earth Church can root him properly. Compared to the pull of death, that place is safer.”

  “Safer?” A fracture finally appeared in Iris’s tone. “Exiling an eight-year-old from his mother—that is your definition of safe?”

  The air grew taut.

  Ian lifted his head, glancing first at his mother, then at Kaelen.

  Under the table, his hand stole across and found Lorne’s fingers.

  Kaelen noticed.

  He did not intervene.

  He was silent for several breaths.

  Then his voice dropped.

  “Iris.”

  No title this time.

  Just her name.

  “You owe me.”

  The sunlight seemed to dim a degree.

  Color fled Iris’s fingertips.

  She said nothing.

  Kaelen’s eyes held no accusation, no anger.

  Only fact.

  “We made an agreement.”

  “Without me, you would not be sitting here—in that seat—speaking to me now.”

  Ian did not grasp every word.

  But he understood the core: he would be taken from his mother and brother.

  Lorne felt Iris’s breathing turn shallow.

  Kaelen continued evenly.

  “I never pursued your choice from back then. I kept his name quiet. I prevented the Church from digging to the bottom.”

  He paused.

  “I trust you understand what is truly best for the children.”

  Silence settled over the table like an unseen stone.

  At length Iris spoke.

  “Are you threatening me with him?”

  “No.”

  Kaelen shook his head.

  “I am reminding you this is no mere clash of wills.”

  He looked at the twins—gaze soft, yet profoundly deep.

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  “They are no ordinary children. Vali granted a personal Fanaki; Mokai and Heg answered in unison—especially for Ian, a grace without precedent.”

  He returned his eyes to Iris.

  “Ten years old. That is the utmost concession I can offer.”

  Iris’s nails bit into her palms.

  She wanted to refuse.

  But her throat closed.

  Because she knew he spoke the truth.

  Had Kaelen not silenced the scandal years ago—

  She might never have been allowed to raise them even to eight.

  “When the time arrives, he must go,” he said.

  “Until then, they may stay together.”

  This was no request.

  It was settled.

  Suddenly Ian spoke—voice tiny.

  “Can I… not go?”

  The table stilled again.

  Kaelen regarded him with clear understanding.

  “You may refuse,” he said.

  “But I hope you will not. Suppressing a death channel first requires the earth’s foundation. Otherwise… your life itself is at stake.”

  Ian shut his mouth at once.

  Lorne’s grip tightened.

  Kaelen exhaled softly.

  “Eat.”

  “The fish is truly cold now.”

  Sunlight crept on.

  The bread remained warm.

  Yet no one reached for it again.

  Only the ale in the wooden cups caught the light, sending faint, restless ripples across its surface—like answers still waiting, forever unanswered.

  After finishing lunch, the plates on the round table had been tidied up completely, leaving only a few crumbs of bread and remnants of ale foam at the bottoms of the cups. The sunlight had moved away from the narrow window, and the side hall had fallen into a soft half-light and half-darkness.

  The air still retained a faint salty scent of white fish and the warm breath of the oak table.

  Kaelen slowly stood up, the hem of his robe gently brushing the ground without making any sound. He looked at the twins, his gentle gaze unchanged, yet it carried a hint of invitation.

  “Lunch is over,” he said, his voice still like a winter heater, “but it’s still early. If you don’t mind, I’d like to show you the Throne of the Sky Temple—not as a priest or a believer, but as… family.”

  The last two words were spoken very softly, yet they rippled outward like a pebble dropped into still water.

  Iris’s shoulders stiffened slightly. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but ultimately it turned into a very soft sigh.

  She looked at the two children, her gaze lingering on their faces for a moment, as if confirming something.

  “Go ahead,” she said softly, “I’ll stay here and wait for you.”

  Ian instinctively looked at Lorne.

  Lorne nodded, and the two stood up simultaneously. Ian’s fingers still retained the warmth from gripping tightly under the table; he didn’t pull at his brother’s sleeve again, just silently followed behind Kaelen.

  The old man led them out of the side hall, through a narrow corridor. The walls on both sides of the corridor were no longer bare stone surfaces but were embedded with elongated stained glass windows. Sunlight penetrated the glass, casting colorful spots of light—blue, silver, white, and occasionally a hint of pale gold, like a shattered starry sky falling to the ground. Each piece of glass depicted different scenes: thunder splitting the night sky, a falcon soaring amidst the clouds, ancient flying beasts carrying the first prophet toward the heavens.

  “These windows,” Kaelen said as he walked, his tone unhurried, “are records. Each one captures a revelation from the sky god or a storm capable of changing history.”

  He stopped in front of one particularly large piece of glass. In the image, a silver-blue octagram star fell straight down from the zenith, landing on the figure kneeling below. That figure wore a deep blue robe similar to Lorne's today, with the same octagram emblem on its chest.

  Lorne's breath caught slightly.

  “What is this…?”

  “Three hundred years ago,” Kaelen said, “a prophet. He was the last member of our family to witness Vali’s complete descent.”

  Ian quietly asked, “Then… what about you, Grandpa?”

  Kaelen chuckled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening.

  “I wasn’t that lucky. I’ve only seen Vali’s shadow—just like an ordinary Tavara might feel, a light touch is enough to change a lifetime.”

  They continued forward. At the end of the corridor was an archway, and beyond it was a spacious domed hall, the center hollowed out, with no dome above, only the directly exposed sky. Sunlight cascaded down from above like an invisible column, falling straight onto the tall empty throne at the center of the hall.

  The throne was carved from pale stone, its lines simple yet filled with strength: the towering back like outspread wings, armrests adorned with intricate star trail patterns, and the seat completely empty, as if no one had ever sat there. Sunlight fell upon it, making the stone glow faintly, like a star still waiting. There were no decorations around, only the wind blowing in from the open dome, carrying the freshness of the high air and the distant scent of clouds.

  Kaelen stopped at the doorway, allowing the children to enter first.

  “This is the Throne of the Sky,” he said, “Vali’s seat. He never sits, because he has no need to. But whenever someone prays here, he will descend.”

  Lorne stared at the empty throne, and the octagram on his chest suddenly felt a slight warmth, not painful, but as if it had been gently touched.

  Ian took two steps forward, looking up at the sky outside the dome. The clouds slowly moved, like an unfinished painting.

  “If… someone were to sit on it?” Ian asked, his voice very small.

  Kaelen shook his head, a hint of gentle warning in his smile.

  “No one can sit. Because it’s not meant for people. It’s a space left for the sky—to remind us that no matter how far we go, something above is always watching, always waiting.”

  The wind swept through the hall, stirring up a few fallen leaves, which floated down from the dome, gently spiraling to land in front of the throne, like a small offering.

  Lorne felt his brother’s hand lightly brush against his fingertips.

  The two turned their heads simultaneously to look at Kaelen.

  The old man simply stood there quietly, his robe gently billowing in the wind, like a long docked ship.

  “You’re still young,” he said, “but one day, you will understand that separation is for the sake of reunion.”