The Prophet. The Seer was not there.
Aim scanned the room again. The altar at the far end. The clusters of people, the small sanctuary that felt like being squeezed just by being in it. The candles burned in their bowls. The smell of oil and old wood pressed in from every direction.
No pale figure. No still half-lidded gaze.
They start emerging slowly from the crowd in the slowness that no one wouldn't notice once they were gone.
The Sanctuary members nearby had turned to look at Aim and Isolde with the warm curious attention of people meeting friends-of-a-friend.
The air felt thick.
Isolde stood very close to him. Her hand was loose at her side, the way her hand was loose when she was choosing not to put it on her rapier. She did not look at him directly. She did not need to.
"A newcomer who saved Heiter," someone said. "Welcome."
Aim turned. The woman who had spoken was perhaps fifty, with the kind of face that had been kind for so long that kindness had settled into the shape of it. She had a bowl of bread in her hands.
"Would you like some, young lady and man?"
"No, Thank you.." They replied with an awkward smile. The old lady just nod
"This place felt cozy," Aim said even tho his brow is twitching in discomfort "you too giving warm energy, could you please give me your name.. miss?"
"Katherine." The old lady replied
"Oh miss Katherine!"
"And we are very glad to meet you, our two new comer."
"Could this old lady know your name?" She pulled them over to a secluded area outside the church—there it have a old wooden bench enough for three
"My name is Aim—"
Isolde nudged him hardly, it make him flinch but he know to shut his mouth.
"This is my brother Thomas and I am Eliza!"
She nudged him again, her teeth chatter as a signal
"U-Uhmm yeah! We owned a bakery shop but unfortunately it kind off uhmmm—destroyed in conflict of RMO and something so we basically unemployed..!" Aim made up another story again
They sat.
Isolde sat beside him.
Neither of them looked at each other for a moment. Then Isolde just glare at him, Not exactly glare but he can felt it even it was just her eye twitched slightly toward him. It speak like 'You forgot the role!'
The Prophet was not there. They could leave. They could not leave — leaving now, after Heiter had introduced them, would be the kind of thing the Sanctuary would remember.
So they sat.
"What a unfortunate thing you two have faced.."
"Eliza and Thomas. I will remember those name."
"Thank you, miss Katherine.." Aim replied
They both still forcing an awkward smile on their face.
The old lady just chuckle a bit.
"Young peoples these day always like this.. scared too much of elderly."
She passed the bread to them
"I used to have a son too, but he passed."
The bread was passed. Aim took a piece. Isolde took a piece. Neither of them ate.
Aim raised his hand a bit, Isolde set his hand down.
She whisper "Don't ask it, curious guy"
"Oh, you don't have to be that much thoughtful Eliza.. I see, your brother want to know.."
"My son, he." Her gaze dropped slightly
"He used to be RMO officer but he know too much.. I told him to stop but he didn't.."
"It's not his fault—" Isolde replied
"It's their fault!" The old lady replied, her fist clenched
For a moment ; those three just sit together
Until Isolde decided to reach out to pat the old lady's back back.
"Sorry, I shouldn't.." The old lady walked away
For a moment, they just hold eye contact.
"They are just.. normal people.." Aim said
---
A man walked over to the bench they are sitting.
"Newcomer," he said, glancing at Aim and Isolde, "the telling of how Agares first looked upon The Seer."
"Want to know about that?"
"Yes..?" Aim turned his gaze up slightly at the man
"Come inside and have a seat"
The man gestured them in
-----
The room settled.
"In the country to the north there was a city called Sancturia. The city of priests. For three hundred years the people of Sancturia served the gods of every name — Flaure, Vorath of the creator, the older names whose worship had grown quiet. Sancturia was the place where the divine was spoken to by men and women who had given their lives to listening."
A pause.
"Don't know if it was fortunate or unfornate—the Omens came to Sancturia eventually but very late compared ot others."
"The priests prayed. They prayed to Flaure. They prayed to Vorath. They prayed to every name in the old books. Nothing answered." The speaker's voice stayed even. "The city was lost. Among those who left was a small group of priests led by a young preist—gentle in voice, careful in study, not yet what he would become. As they crossed the dead lands toward Orenthel, a great storm came down upon them. Three days and three nights. They prayed to every name they had ever known. Flaure did not answer. Vorath did not answer."
The candles guttered slightly.
"On the fourth day, when they had no voice left to pray with, one of them looked up. And there, between the clouds, was a light."
Those two were watching the room. Not the speaker. The room.
The members listened with the warm attention of people who had heard this many times and still wanted to hear it again. The candles caught the rough wood of the walls.
"Agares looked upon him," the speaker continued. "Not Flaure, who watches her palace. Not Vorath, who sleeps in the deep of the center of the world. Agares—the one who turns the wheel—saw the small group in the storm and was moved. He gave to the young priest a gift. The Eye Beyond Time. A sight that could see what was coming before it came. With this gift the young scholar led his people through the storm to Orenthel. Not one of them was lost."
The room was quiet.
"That young priest," the speaker said, "is the one we now call The Seer."
A soft murmur of agreement.
Isolde's hand tap his.
Aim know what to do. He rolled his gaze around in a slow and casual patient like someone was just looking around in pure boredom and saw what she had seen—at the back of the room, near the side passage, A man in luxirious, dark trim on a coat that had once been a unform in Exchequer Council, modified now, the insignia stripped but not entirely hidden if you knew what to look for.
Isolde's father had pointed out men like that to her once, when she was teen.
He was looking at her.
She already lowered her gaze. Her shoulders haven't not move a tiny bit since. Aim could feel the careful effort of her staying still beside him. He kept his own face turned toward the speaker.
The man at the back of the room did not move toward them. Did not gesture to anyone. Did not do anything at all.
That was its own kind of answer.
Aim broke his piece of bread into smaller pieces with the careful attention of a man thinking about three things at once and choosing this one to do with his hands.
He glanced at Isolde.
The smallest nod. *Stay.*
She returned it.
The speaker continued. The story moved to Agares's first miracle in the Sancturia. Aim listened to roughly half of it. Isolde listened to slightly less. The candles burned. The bread sat in pieces on Aim's palm. The man at the back did not look at them again.
When the telling ended, the room stood. People began to mingle. Aim and Isolde stood with them.
They moved toward the door.
---
They were three steps from the entrance when Aim felt someone almost walk into him.
Heiter pulled up short. He had been moving fast—coat already on, a small bag over his shoulder, the quick distracted motion of someone with somewhere to be.
He saw who he had nearly bumped into.
Something passed across his face. Not fear discomfort. Fear of being caught.
"Oh," he said. "It's you two."
"It's us," Aim said pleasantly.
Heiter looked at the floor. Then at the door. Then at a point slightly to the left of Aim's face.
"I'm going," he said.
"Where to?"
"Another church."
It was said too fast. The way someone says a thing hoping the person they are saying it to will not ask a follow-up.
"Another?" Aim asked.
"Yes."
Heiter did not elaborate. He gave a small awkward apologetic nod that might have meant a dozen things and moved past them. The bag swung against his hip. He did not look back.
He went out into the street. He turned right at the corner.
He was gone.
Aim stayed very still. He felt his teeth meet at the inside of his lip — not hard, just enough to remind him he had teeth.
Beside him, Isolde had not moved.
"Another church," she said quietly.
"Another church?" Aim repeated.
The Sanctuary had this many branches?
They walked out into the street.
"Well.." She muttered.
They exchanged a nod.
"Stalk him." He said
"Whatever." She replied