The moment Orthran motioned for them to follow, the courtyard's playful noise began to fade behind them.
Children still laughed, still called Charlotte's name, still clung to the gates as they watched the three walk away—but with every step Noel took, the warmth of the orphanage slipped further into memory, replaced by the cold, polished quiet of the Holy Capital.
Charlotte walked beside him, fingers brushing his lightly as if seeking reassurance. Her smile had softened, smaller now—not sad, but aware.
Orthran led them with slow steps. His presence, so gentle with the children, shifted back to that of the High Priest: back straight, hands clasped behind him, eyes forward, weight in every movement.
They passed beneath the archway marking the orphanage grounds. Beyond it, the path rose gently uphill, toward the massive silhouette of the Grand Cathedral.
Noel exhaled softly.
One minute ago he'd been chasing kids around a courtyard.
