The Holy Palace of Lumora was a world of serene grandeur, its marble halls and golden spires a testament to Aeloria's light.
For Elshua, the days following his awakening settled into a rhythm of quiet purpose, a gentle contrast to the chaos of the quarry.
The lavish bedroom, with its frescoed ceiling and silken tapestries, became a familiar haven, though its opulence still startled him at times, a far cry from Jun's cluttered dorm.
Each morning, sunlight streamed through the arched windows, painting the marble floor with patterns of gold, and the scent of lavender and incense lingered, grounding him in this new life.
His divine energy, now at 80% thanks to the Grand Basilica's healers, pulsed like a radiant tide, but his body remained frail, his muscles weak, his steps unsteady.
The disconnect was frustrating, but Elshua—both saint and college kid—embraced the challenge, knowing he had three years to change his fate in Requiem of the Fallen, the novel that shaped this world.
His days began with small rituals. High Priestess Lirien would arrive at dawn, her silver braid gleaming, her pale blue robe rustling as she brought a tray of herbal tea and pastries, her hazel eyes warm with maternal care.
High Priest Caldor often followed, his bald head shining, his booming voice softened as he fussed over Elshua's blankets or teased Lirien about her "fancy braids."
Their presence was a comfort, their high ranks—overseeing cathedrals and cities—still jarring to Elshua, who saw them as allies rather than subordinates.
After breakfast, healers from the Grand Basilica arrived, their robes of white and gold shimmering, their hands glowing with divine light as they channeled energy into him, a slow process to restore his divine reserves fully.
The treatments left him tingling, his energy surging, but also drained, his body struggling to contain the power that once flowed like an ocean three years ago.
Elshua's afternoons were spent in the palace gardens, a sprawling oasis of emerald lawns and blooming roses, their petals kissed by dew.
Marble paths wound through groves of ancient oaks, their branches heavy with star-shaped leaves, and fountains bubbled, their water sparkling with faint divine energy.
He walked there daily, leaning on a carved staff Lirien had given him, its wood etched with Aeloria's sun, his steps careful but determined.
The exercise was part of his recovery, strengthening his body to match his radiant soul, and the garden's tranquility soothed his mind, letting him ponder his role as the Spark of Aeloria.
Caelan Herdos, with a week left before his departure to the World Academy, was a constant presence, his visits a highlight of Elshua's days.
The paladin would find him in the garden, his blue tunic embroidered with the Lion Hearts' crest, his dark curls bouncing as he strode down the paths, his sword sheathed but his eyes sharp, scanning for threats even in Lumora's safety.
Today, Elshua sat on a stone bench by a fountain, its spray misting his golden hair, his cream-colored robe loose to accommodate his thin frame.
He held a leather-bound book on Aelorian history, its pages yellowed but crisp, and his staff rested against the bench, its carvings glinting in the sunlight.
"Your Holiness!"
Caelan called, his voice warm, his smile breaking through the worry that often shadowed his blue eyes. He approached, a small basket in hand, and sat beside Elshua, his presence a familiar comfort.
"Reading again? You'll be wiser than the Pope soon."
He grinned, setting the basket between them, its contents—apples and honeyed bread—peeking out.
Elshua laughed, closing the book, his golden eyes sparkling.
"Maybe I'll challenge him to a debate," he teased, his voice stronger than it had been days ago.
"But this stuff's fascinating—did you know Aeloria's first temple was built on a meteor crater?"
He tapped the book, his enthusiasm genuine, Jun's curiosity blending with Elshua's need to understand his world.
Caelan raised an eyebrow, his curls catching the light.
"A crater? Sounds like a story I'd hear in the Academy," he said, his tone playful but tinged with that familiar sadness, the looming departure weighing on him.
He handed Elshua an apple, its skin red and glossy. "Eat. Lirien says you're still too skinny."
Elshua took the apple, rolling it in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips.
"You sound like Caldor," he said, biting into the fruit, its sweetness bursting on his tongue.
"But you're one to talk, Caelan. When you get to the Academy, you'll be famous before you know it."
He leaned back, his tone teasing, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Handsome, capable, the youngest Templar Commander in the Lion Hearts? The students will be tripping over themselves to impress you."
Caelan's cheeks flushed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his grin sheepish.
"Handsome, huh?" he said, his voice light, trying to deflect. "You're just saying that to make me feel better about leaving. I'd rather stay here, keeping you out of trouble."
His eyes softened, the covenant between them—a sacred bond tying their emotions—warming with his affection, and Caelan felt it, a quiet glow in his chest.
"You'll do fine," Elshua said, his voice gentle, nudging Caelan's arm.
"And you won't be gone forever. I'll join you at the Academy when I'm fifteen, remember? We'll be the ones causing trouble."
He winked, the promise a spark of hope, and Caelan's smile widened, his sadness easing.
"Deal,"
Caelan said, his voice firm, his hand resting on Elshua's shoulder, the touch grounding them both.
"But you'd better get stronger, Your Holiness. I won't go easy on you in sparring."
He chuckled, and Elshua grinned, the image of them training together a warm anchor for the future.
They sat in companionable silence, the fountain's murmur blending with the rustle of leaves, the garden a cocoon of peace.
Caelan's basket was soon half-empty, the bread shared between them, and Elshua felt a flicker of normalcy, a moment where he was just a boy with a friend, not a saint with a destiny. But the weight of his role lingered, his body's weakness a reminder of the work ahead.
Elshua's days were busy, a careful balance of study and recovery. After his garden walks, he returned to his room or the palace library, a vast chamber of towering shelves and stained-glass windows, its air heavy with the scent of parchment and wax.
He studied Aelorian theology, history, and magic, his mind soaking up knowledge like a sponge.
Jun's analytical skills helped, breaking down complex texts on divine energy or the Goddess's miracles, while Elshua's instincts guided him toward texts on the Spark's role, hoping to uncover clues about his past or the force that drained his energy three years ago.
The library's quiet was soothing, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or Caldor's teasing when he delivered tea, claiming Elshua would "turn into a book" if he wasn't careful.
His health was a slower battle. The healers visited daily, their divine light flowing into him, a warm tide that bolstered his energy but left him exhausted, his body struggling to adapt.
Lirien explained that Elshua's divine energy was uniquely pure, blessed by Aeloria herself, a radiant force unmatched by any mortal.
This purity made it hard to restore fully, like filling a chalice with starlight—one drop at a time, lest it overflow and shatter the vessel.
The healers worked slowly, their chants echoing in his room, their hands glowing as they channeled light, but the process was draining, leaving Elshua pale and shaky, his muscles aching after each session.
"Your energy's a gift, Your Holiness,"
Lirien said one afternoon, her voice soft as she adjusted his pillows, the healers departing with bowed heads.
"But it's also a burden. Your body wasn't ready for such power after the quarry. We'll rebuild it, bit by bit."
Her hazel eyes were kind, and Elshua nodded, grateful but frustrated, his fingers clenching the blanket.
"I want to be stronger," he said, his voice quiet but firm, his golden eyes meeting hers.
"Not just for me, but for everyone who's counting on me."
He thought of Caelan, the Lion Hearts, the Holy Empire, and the looming shadow of Requiem of the Fallen's tragic arc, three years away.
Lirien's smile was warm, her hand resting lightly on his.
"You will, Your Holiness," she said, her tone certain.
"Aeloria chose you, and she doesn't choose lightly. Rest, study, grow. We're with you."
Her words were a balm, and Elshua relaxed, his resolve hardening.
Caldor, hovering by the door, snorted, his bald head gleaming.
"Listen to her, lad," he said, his voice gruff but fond.
"You're stubborn as a mule, but even mules need rest. Keep pushing, and you'll be tossing demons around like firewood."
He winked, and Elshua laughed, the sound easing the room's tension, a spark of joy in his recovery.
The week passed in a blur of garden walks, study, and treatments, Caelan's visits a steady thread of warmth.
One evening, as the sun dipped below Lumora's spires, casting the garden in hues of amber and rose, Caelan found Elshua by a rosebush, its blooms red as blood. The paladin's tunic was slightly wrinkled, his satchel bulging with scrolls, a sign he'd been preparing for the Academy.
"Your Holiness," he said, his voice teasing, "are you planning to charm the roses into bowing to you?"
Elshua grinned, leaning on his staff, his robe catching the breeze.
"Maybe," he said, his tone playful. "But I'm saving my charm for the Academy, to outshine you."
He nudged Caelan's arm, and the paladin laughed, his blue eyes bright, the sadness of his departure softened by their banter.
"You'll have to try harder than that,"
Caelan said, plucking a rose and tucking it behind Elshua's ear, the gesture so casual it caught them both off guard. Elshua's cheeks warmed, his inner Jun flustered, but he left the rose, its petals soft against his hair.
"But seriously,"
Caelan added, his voice softer, "you're doing well, Your Holiness. Stronger every day. I'm proud of you."
Elshua's heart warmed, the covenant pulsing with Caelan's sincerity.
"Thanks, Caelan," he said, his voice quiet, his golden eyes meeting the paladin's.
"And I'm proud of you. The Academy won't know what hit them."
He smiled, and Caelan's grin was boyish, a moment of lightness before the weight of parting.
As the week drew to a close, Elshua's divine energy crept toward 85%, the healers' efforts steady but slow, his body still a fragile vessel. He studied tirelessly, his mind sharp, his resolve unyielding.
The wooden lion Caelan gave him sat on his bedside table, its carved stars a reminder of their promise.
Three years loomed ahead, time to grow, to uncover the truth behind his drained energy, and to defy Requiem of the Fallen's tragic end.
The Holy Palace was his forge, Caelan his anchor, and Elshua, the Spark of Aeloria, would rise, his light burning brighter with each determined step.