The hooves of warhorses pounded against the stony path as the elders.and temple guards rode hard for the Holy Temple. Their temple cloaks streamed behind them, catching the gray light of morning, and the sharp smell of ash still hung heavy in the air from the last attack.

Luther rode just beside Father Seraphon. The boy's head was lowered, his hood shadowing most of his face. He kept his gaze stubbornly on the ground, watching dirt fly beneath the horse's hooves rather than meeting the Father's eyes.

Seraphon noticed.

"You're quiet," the Father said in his calm, patient tone. "Are you nervous?"

Luther looked up sharply, meeting the man's gaze. He wanted to laugh—if the Father only knew what was really turning over in his mind. But he couldn't let that slip. So instead, he plastered on his familiar sarcasm.

"Nervous? Hardly. I was only thinking about the mountain of tedious tasks I'll now be expected to do as a saint. Prayers, rituals, endless speeches. Sounds exciting, doesn't it?" His lips curled into a smirk. "I'll be bored in a week."

Instead of being offended, Seraphon laughed. His chuckle was warm, like the sound of rain on an old roof.

Luther blinked, taken aback. He had expected at least a reprimand, maybe a long lecture about sacred duty. Instead, the Father only shook his head.

"You remind me of someone," Seraphon said, his eyes far away as if he was seeing someone else's face in Luther's place.

Luther frowned. "And who would that be?"

"My daughter," Seraphon replied after a pause. His voice softened as he spoke the word. "Like you, she had tremendous control over her crystal. Her talent was rare—rare enough that I thought she would be the one to take my place. But when I told her that, she refused. She grew angry. She said she wanted her own life, and she left. Ran away with a merchant she loved."

The old man's smile was tinged with sadness, though he tried to cover it.

"She was qualified to be the next Father," he continued quietly. "But the path meant no worldly attachments. No family. No love. She chose differently."

Luther listened, his heart pounding faster as each word sank in. The story—it was familiar. He had heard it before, told in fragments by someone else. His mind spun, trying to pinpoint the memory, to match the pieces together.

Wait… could it be…?

He was about to ask more, but before he could press Seraphon for details, the ground beneath them trembled.

A thunderous BOOM shook the earth. The horses reared, screaming in panic, as a violent blast echoed from the direction of the temple. Smoke curled upward into the sky, thick and black, blotting out what little light filtered through the clouds.

"Another attack!" one of the knights shouted.

"Look!" another cried, pointing toward the Holy Temple, its once-glorious gates already half-destroyed from the last assault. Now more smoke poured from its walls, and rubble scattered the entrance.

The horses slowed to a halt, stamping nervously. Luther's blood ran cold.

Then—above the chaos—an angry voice split the air, sharp and unmistakable.

"WHERE IS HE?!"

The shout tore through the smoke like lightning. It was filled with raw fury, but also desperation.

Luther's stomach dropped. He knew that voice. His eyes widened, and despite himself, his face betrayed recognition. A nervous expression flickered across his features.

No. It can't be… her.

The Holy Temple's gates had been blasted clean off their hinges. Apprentices and guards scrambled to form a defensive circle around the intruder, weapons raised.

At the center of it all stood a lone woman, her hair whipping wildly in the storm of magic around her.

Mariana.

Her scowl was thunder itself.

"I'm here for my apprentice," she snapped, her voice carrying over the clash of steel and the terrified shouts. "I'll leave the moment I find him. Move aside."

The guards didn't move. Their blades gleamed in the smoke. The apprentices looked frightened but held their ground, trembling.

Mariana's eyes narrowed.

A dangerous gust of wind swirled around her, stirring the broken gates. "I said—MOVE!" Her voice boomed, laced with power. "Get your old geezers out here this instant, or I'll come drag you out myself!"

The apprentices flinched at her rage. Dust and pebbles rattled on the ground as the pressure of her aura swelled.

And then—hooves.

The sound of galloping horses filled the courtyard. A voice shouted, "They're here!"

The elders arrived, robes billowing as they dismounted with practiced ease. Apprentices rushed to seize the horses' reins as Father Seraphon stepped down with dignity. He turned and offered a hand to Luther, helping him descend. The boy kept his hood low, hiding his face.

Mariana turned her sharp eyes to the arriving group. A mocking smile spread across her face.

"Well, well," she taunted. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd grown too old for horseback. Maybe you float on air these days?"

One of the elders chuckled. "If we could, it would be another form of divine grace."

"Hmph," Mariana scowled. "I didn't come here to trade jokes. I'm looking for my apprentice."

Her words sent ripples of shock through the apprentices and guards. Whispers broke out—Mariana had taken an apprentice?

But before anyone could speak, Father Seraphon stepped forward.

"He isn't here," he said firmly. His voice carried, calm but commanding.

The courtyard fell silent. Everyone's eyes turned between the two—Mariana and Seraphon—locked in a stare.

Mariana tilted her head, then let out a giggle. "For an old man, you've gotten taller," she teased. She moved closer, standing straight until she measured herself against him. "But look at that—I'm taller than you by an inch."

The Father only shrugged. "Isn't that because you wear those high enhancer boots?" He pointed casually at her footwear.

Mariana pulled one leg back slightly, caught—but she didn't blush or flinch. Instead, she gave him a sly, mocking grin.

Luther watched all this, utterly confused. What is going on between them?

And then—his demonic sword necklace suddenly chimed.

The faint glow pulsed, and with a tug that felt like invisible fingers, his hood slipped free from his head, revealing his face.

Mariana froze. Her eyes widened—and then, in a heartbeat, she dashed to him.

"Luther!" she cried. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Relief poured from her voice as she buried her face in his shoulder. "Thank the stars—you're safe! If anything had happened to you, I would've razed this place to the ground!"

Luther stiffened, trying to peel her off. "M-Master—stop— I'm fine!" he protested, cheeks burning at the sudden display.

But then she noticed it. The cloak draped around his shoulders.

The Temple cloak.

Her eyes darkened instantly, the joy replaced with fury. She turned her glare on the elders, her teeth clenched.

Father Seraphon only clapped his hands once, smiling faintly. "Ah. So you've seen him. The new Saint." His voice carried a teasing lilt. "Isn't that the position you once ran away from?"

The entire courtyard tensed at his words. Apprentices murmured in disbelief.

Mariana's expression hardened. She stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving Seraphon's. Her voice dropped, cutting the air sharper than any blade.

"What were you thinking…" she said coldly.

Then louder, for all to hear:

"What were you thinking, Dad?"

Luther's blood froze.

His eyes shot from Mariana to Seraphon and back again, his mind reeling.

Dad?!

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