The morning at the temple always began in the same order.
The bell of the branch temple of the Church of the Sun God in Areuku rang just before the sun had fully risen,
and the priests set their places in order to its sound.
He was one of them.
He donned his red vestments,
hung the holy emblem around his neck,
and headed to the appointed place at the appointed time.
He offered his prayers without fail.
The passages were not mistaken,
and his intonation did not waver.
The believers bowed their heads,
and he bestowed blessings as he always did.
His touch was familiar,
and his manner of speech was no different from usual.
No one who faced him
knew that, until not long ago, he had been pursuing the traces of a sacred relic.
Nor did they know
that the trail had been severed,
and that because of it, he was no longer someone they needed.
After the rite ended,
he tidied the altar as usual.
He slowly scraped away the places where candle wax had hardened,
and carefully emptied the censer.
Every movement continued without hesitation, like a habit already ingrained in his body.
Throughout the process, he did not think of the sacred relic even once.
Because he was trying not to think of it anymore.
The prayers ended again,
and the morning passed.
The city of Areuku, where the temple stood, was peaceful, as if nothing had happened.
He walked slowly along the corridor.
The hallway was always orderly,
and the light illuminating it was excessively uniform.
That uniformity felt less like order than like traces that had been erased.
Even though there were windows, the smells from outside did not enter,
and even when people passed by, the air did not easily stir.
Footsteps did not strike the walls and return, either;
they were merely swallowed somewhere.
He unconsciously counted his steps.
One step, then another.
The rhythm that fell into place like habit
instead made his heart uneasy.
He stopped for a moment.
It was because he had seen the ornament hanging on the wall sway without any wind.
No one had touched it,
and such a thing should not have happened.
He pretended not to see the swaying.
Because the moment he saw and acknowledged it,
it would cease to be a “phenomenon” and become an “omen.”
Strange sounds were almost never heard here.
That was why
the footsteps coming from far away sounded needlessly distinct.
Heavy,
without hesitation.
The sound of a holy knight’s equipment scraped through the air of the corridor as it approached.
It was the holy knight, Adel Hartmann.
He had not even removed his armor,
and the line of his shoulders was stiffer than usual.
Each time the greatsword on his back trembled slightly,
his discomfort seeped out, unconcealed.
As he approached, he looked at the priest.
To be precise,
he looked, but did not keep his gaze on him for long.
For a moment,
their eyes met, very briefly.
There were no questions or reproach in them.
Only—
a discomfort close to displeasure.
Adel neither nodded
nor offered a greeting as he passed straight by the priest’s side.
In the instant they brushed past each other,
the priest could tell.
Today, too,
the conversation with the council had not gone smoothly.
And—
that its result was reaching even him.
Soon, Adel’s footsteps faded into the distance.
The priest stood still in place for a while.
The thing he had been pursuing had vanished,
and the place that had needed him had vanished along with it.
What remained now was only the priest’s duty.
The name of a priest who served God.
And
the task of keeping a silence no one questioned.
The priest left the branch and returned to the priest’s residence assigned to him.
The priest’s residence in Areuku was quieter than necessary.
The walls were thick, and the windows narrow.
He did not straighten his vestments.
He did not remove his holy emblem, either.
He simply
sat in his familiar place as usual.
There were no decorations on the table.
Only a single prayer book
and worn tools were placed neatly in their appointed positions.
He reached out and swept a hand once across the table.
There was almost no dust.
The cleanliness of the priest’s residence came not from faith, but from discipline.
When he closed the door,
the sounds outside were cut off even more cleanly.
All that remained was his own breathing
and the sound of his heart slowly keeping time.
The priest hated that sound.
Because each time he heard proof that he was alive,
it reminded him of whether he was of any use.
So he more quickly
sought a place to clasp his hands.
As soon as the priest sat in the chair, he took hold of the now-familiar fragment of bone and clasped his hands.
It was a prayer.
But
this prayer was not directed toward God.
He closed his eyes, steadied his breath,
then opened his eyes, dyed faintly red, with great care.
Surely, in the past,
his senses would have connected around now.
Even if faintly, he would have felt the flow.
But—
he felt nothing.
The priest steadied his breath once more and repeated the same process.
The angle of his hands, the speed of his breathing, the focus of his mind.
All of it was already exactly as his body had learned.
Even so,
in the end, there was no response.
The priest remained that way for a while, his eyes still closed.
He did not think of the word failure.
He simply
confirmed the void that was now becoming familiar.
He closed his awareness, then opened it again.
It was not only today.
He already knew that fact.
Even so,
he did not easily unclasp his hands.
Because the sensation that his usefulness had disappeared
and the obsession that it was not yet over remained in the same place.
Without a word, the priest prepared the rite once more.
It was then.
Very faintly—
the edge of his senses trembled once.
The priest did not react immediately.
The possibility that it was an illusion came to him first.
Because for too long, he had felt nothing at all.
He slowed his breathing and fixed his awareness.
And—
this time, the tremor did not disappear.
It was very weak,
but it was certainly lingering there.
The priest’s heart beat a moment late.
This was not an illusion he had created himself.
He carefully broadened his awareness.
For now—
he must not try to grasp it.
The flow was connected,
and that fact alone was enough.
However,
human instinct did not stop there.
The priest tried to look a little further,
just a little further ahead.
A direction—
even a distance—
At that moment,
the sensation he had been holding onto wavered.
It had not vanished.
It had merely
slipped toward a place his hand could not reach.
The priest gritted his teeth and maintained his awareness.
He could not grasp it,
but he had not lost it either.
He accepted that state as it was.
For now—
this much was enough.
The priest drew in a deep breath.
Then
he swallowed a slight smile.
“O Sun…”
His voice was low,
but close to certainty.
This was not coincidence.
Nor was it a fantasy born from an old obsession.
God had not yet turned His back on him.
The priest did not need even a little time to accept that fact.
This was an opportunity.
The one and only chance
given to him again.
He slowly closed his awareness.
The sensation still remained faintly,
and had not disappeared completely.
As if
telling him not to let this moment slip away.
At that moment—
his temples throbbed.
The priest pressed a hand to his forehead.
Only then did his body tell him
how greatly he had overstrained himself just now.
But
he could not stop now.
The priest closed his eyes and retraced, one by one, the sensations he had just felt.
The direction.
The very approximate distance.
And
the flow that was clearly different from before.
It was so he would not forget.
As if carving it into his own body before it could be erased.
He could endure the pain.
Because this
was a sign given by God.
The priest rose from his seat.
He did not straighten his vestments,
nor did he wait for the headache to subside.
He immediately opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
The air of Areuku brushed against his face.
What he had to do now was clear.
The priest hastened his steps toward the place where the holy knight was staying.
The sun had not yet set.
—
The temporary lodging where the holy knight was staying was in the midst of being packed up.
When the priest appeared,
one of the knights on duty hesitated briefly before opening the way.
Adel had just been organizing his equipment.
He stopped in the middle of unfastening a clasp on his armor and looked at the priest.
His expression was discomfort he did not even think to hide.
“What is it?”
His voice was low,
and there was no hint of welcome in it.
The priest did not choose his words.
Now was not the time for tedious explanations.
“I felt it again.”
Adel’s hand stopped.
For a very brief moment.
Truly, only for a moment.
“The trace of the sacred relic that I thought had been severed.”
Adel looked directly at the priest.
Suspicion came first,
then vigilance.
“Are you… certain?”
The priest nodded.
“Not as strongly as before.”
“But it has certainly not disappeared.”
Adel let out a breath that was close to a sigh.
“Now, of all times?”
There was both reproach and expectation mixed in those words.
The priest did not avoid his gaze.
“Because it is now.”
A brief silence flowed through the room.
Adel looked away from the priest
and set his greatsword upright.
“Where is it?”
The priest had known that question would come.
However,
he could not answer right away.
His temple throbbed once more.
The priest closed his eyes, then opened them.
He drew again in his mind the sensation he had felt.
Direction, distance.
And
the vague but unmistakable sense of location.
“…I cannot say for certain.”
He spoke honestly.
“However, judging by the distance.”
The priest continued slowly, but clearly.
“There is a high possibility it is Seuchia.”
Adel’s brow narrowed almost imperceptibly.
He seemed to repeat the name of that city once in his mind.
“I see. If it’s there.”
There was no other explanation.
Those words alone were enough.
Adel fell into thought for a moment, then raised his head.
“Let us prepare.”
Adel spoke briefly to the priest.
The priest quietly bowed his head.
Whether those words were an order no longer mattered.
All that mattered was
that the path had opened once more.