Mom and Eciel saw us off at the door until the very last moment.

It had been a long time since I’d last seen her habit of gently rubbing her forehead when worried, but neither she nor Dad mentioned, even jokingly, the idea of coming with us.

The Great Hall was the safest place for Astariol.

Even if the Great Hall could pressure Mom and Eciel, it would be impossible for them to harm Astariol.

Dad, who had once vowed never to leave Mom’s side, left her here with surprising ease, which was proof enough.

Thus, our farewell, while soft, was brief.

We knew we had to leave, and we knew we would return soon, so there was no need for an overly emotional and intense goodbye.

However… Mom and Eciel stood at the threshold, watching us until the carriage was far away.

And inside the carriage, the silence slowly filled the space.

I hesitated, then called out.

“Dad.”

“Yes, Claire?”

Most of the things I’d newly discovered upon entering this world, things I hadn’t known but wanted to know, had been deferred until this very moment.

What had happened to the monastery where I was born? Were there any survivors?

Why had I been born as a twin with Eciel?

Could Artair truly become my Tara?

Every question resurfaced in my memory, fully revived with just a single dive into the deep and vast ocean of thoughts.

However, there was only one thing I felt comfortable enough to ask Dad.

“When we arrive at the Great Hall, will I be able to see the person I stayed with at the monastery where I was born?”

Dad tilted his head slightly.

“Let’s say you meet someone who survived. What would you want to say first?”

I hadn’t thought that far.

Some possibilities were so overwhelming that they robbed you of focus and judgment.

I stammered.

“Um… first, I’d ask if they remember me. And, um, how they’ve been since the monastery… what happened after we escaped…”

Normally, I didn’t stutter like this. Silence was a virtue to be upheld over long, inadequate ramblings.

But despite knowing that, my thoughts flowed uncontrollably to my tongue.

“Where exactly was the monastery? Are the graves of those who died still there…?”

Dad didn’t speak until I had spilled everything and paused, burdened by my own flood of words.

“Then you’ll just have to ask him directly.”

Hopes, thoughts, and feelings swirled, and in the uncertainty of my words, they dredged up half-buried memories like a hook scraping along the past.

The carriage came to a stop.

Dad gently wrapped his arms around me, stiff as if about to drown, and carried me down slowly.

“…I seek your blessing.”

That voice.

A voice I could recognize even if a thousand or ten thousand years had passed.

The person who first greeted me with that voice.

Dad, only half-listening, softly patted and soothed me as he whispered.

“Father Ebencio. He served as the deputy head of St. Ladria Monastery for about three years before it was shut down due to an epidemic.’

“…”

“After that, he became a wandering priest. I found him settled in a small village in the south and brought him here.”

I slowly lifted my face from my father’s shoulder.

Endless hardships, countless years… the person I knew had aged, but his eyes were still sharp.

A breath escaped my lips, caught somewhere between a sigh and an exclamation.

“Deputy head…”

Dad gently set me down and gave me a slight push forward.

It was enough.

The love that surrounded me held me up and supported my steps as I stumbled forward.

 

* * *

 

“You really remember everything.”

Even at nine years old, an unforgotten memory could ease a conversation with someone you hadn’t seen in a long time.

The deputy head couldn’t stay long at the roadside due to his age, and neither could Dad and I since we had places to be. Our conversation wasn’t long…

But sometimes, just knowing that you remembered each other fondly allowed many words to be left unsaid.

I held his hand gently and spoke.

“Since you came to the capital because I wanted to see you, please stay at the ducal residence until I return from the Great Hall. Mom and Eciel will be glad to see you.’

His austere demeanor hadn’t changed, and he seemed uncomfortable with the idea of Astariol showing him such respect.

Stubbornness showed on his aged face.

“Please call me Father Ebencio. I no longer have a monastery, so I am not even a deputy head anymore.”

“… I’ll do that next time.”

“It’s not good to put off something that can be corrected immediately. Even when you were much younger…”

Even the way he scolded me was the same as I remembered, and I couldn’t help but smile.

The deputy head, who had been looking at me closely, whispered softly after a slight pause.

“I’m glad you met your father. As I’ve grown older, I’ve worried too much, my heart has been weighed down with concern.”

His voice was so calm and kind that I impulsively asked.

“… but you knew, didn’t you? You didn’t blame me?”

The old priest’s voice was serene.

“Salvation is not a reward for faith.”

“…”

“You were still just a child, learning how to plant seeds and water flowers. Learning that too much water rots the roots, and too little dries them out.”

People were no different from that.

Despite his aged body, which seemed older than his years, his words and spirit were firm.

“Salvation is something one can hope for only after doing everything that one can as a person. God did not grant salvation as a reward for faith. He granted it as a reward for effort.”

The first Astariol descended to this land through the endless pleas of twin sisters. But God did not answer those with only faith.

The priest, who had spent his life praying and reading scriptures, continued with unyielding conviction.

“It is not right for one person to ask for salvation from another who was merely a child, and then resent them when it becomes difficult.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

I knew that if I opened my mouth, my voice would tremble. I didn’t want to mar his resolute tone and steadfast belief with my shaky words.

But it was the deputy head who eventually quieted his voice, letting it ebb away.

“But… I ask for your forgiveness. For remaining silent.”

I shook my head firmly.

I understood why he hadn’t told the Great Hall or Dad about Astariol’s birth.

The state of the world was so chaotic that even a low-ranking priest would have known how turbulent and unpredictable things were.

The deputy head could have guessed that Mom was the daughter of the deposed ruler who married Duke Chelsiers.

If found out, Mom would have been executed immediately.

Astariol might have been saved, but there would have been no way for the other child to survive except to be imprisoned for life.

The deputy head had stayed with us until the end in a worn, secluded monastery. He knew that we were just children with only our mother to protect us.

As a mere priest, how could he have known what Duke Chelsiers was willing to do for his wife?

In the end, the deputy head chose silence. He couldn’t send us to our deaths, nor could he personally save us.

And now, he was seeing Duke Chelsiers holding me tenderly, keeping me safe like a precious pearl.

“I know you made the best choice for us.”

Just as he had given us the best seeds and the strongest watering cans and had let us leave as soon as he realized it could no longer be done.

I spoke with careful conviction.

“You did everything you could for us. I’ve always known that.”

Ah, if only words could be vessels that held every feeling in one’s heart.

If only I could scoop out all my gratitude, sorrow, and lingering ache and hand them over to him, and he could see them all.

But human language was too limited and vague a tool.

In the end, I could only offer the words I thought suited him best.

“May God bless you.”

And granted you the courage to face the unknown, the patience to endure hardships, and the faith to remain steadfast.

Just as He saved us from evil.

The deputy head closed his eyes tightly and quietly echoed.

“… may God bless you.”

The hand that traced a cross from his forehead to his left shoulder, to his heart, trembled slightly.

 

* * *

 

“Why did you not ask for a Sacrament of the Sick?”

The lively scenery of the city celebrating the first day of the Harvest Festival was so apparent, even from within the carriage, that it was impossible to miss.

Barkers skillfully navigating through the crowds, loudly calling out.

Merchants who had gathered all sorts of goods and set up stalls early.

Ordinary people wandering around, dressed slightly better than usual, enjoying the sights…

The immense crowd in the square had almost completely blocked traffic.

Ebencio, who had been watching the bustling scene outside, was stunned by what he heard and looked straight ahead.

Baron Louis Rezena’s eyes had been observing him through his glasses with a deep, intent gaze for some time.

“… are you mocking an old, humble man? How dare I ask Astariol for a Sacrament of the Sick?”

A faint smile appeared on the baron’s face.

“Well, you know, don’t you?”

“…”

“Whatever you asked for, those I serve would not have refused.”

A Sacrament of the Sick conducted by Astariol.

For someone devout, or someone nearing the end of life, could there be a greater gift?

Priest Ebencio knew the baron’s question well and finally replied.

“… she remembered, didn’t she?”

“…”

“I have already informed her of many deaths.”

Over time, he met and parted with many children. There were some he grew fond of, and quite a few whose departure saddened him.

However, there would only be one child who could remember everything from the first meeting to the final farewell.

Priest Ebencio whispered in a voice full of sincerity.

“Isn’t it unnecessary to add my death to that?”