Chapter 578: Chapter 578: Final Morning in the Holy Capital

Late morning light filtered through the wooden-framed windows of Orthran’s home, soft and steady against pale stone walls and simple furnishings. The house carried the quiet order of someone accustomed to living without excess. A kettle still rested warm near the hearth. The scent of tea lingered faintly in the air.

Noel stood near the table, coat already in place, posture relaxed but prepared. Everything that had brought him to the Holy Capital had been resolved.

Redna’s support was secured.

The Church had aligned itself.

Erick had been visited.

The orphanage had heard his voice again.

There was nothing left to delay him.

Orthran returned from the adjoining room after setting aside the breakfast dishes. He stopped when vio el objeto en la mano de Noel.

Noel extended it without ceremonia.

“It’s the same model I’m using,” he said.

Orthran accepted the device carefully, turning it in his hands. His fingers traced the runes, feeling the stable mana structure beneath the surface. He was not examining it as a politician. He was examining it as a father.

“With this,” Noel added, “you can speak with Charlotte whenever you want.”

Orthran’s gaze lifted slowly.

“And when the children are born,” Noel continued, tone calm, “you won’t have to wait for letters.”

Silence settled between them, quiet but full.

Orthran looked down at the device again, understanding what it meant. Access. Presence. Time shared despite distance. The ability to hear his daughter’s voice without depending on schedules or messengers crossing continents.

“That is… thoughtful,” he said at last.

There was no flourish in his voice. Just sincerity.

He closed his fingers around the device and inclined his head slightly.

“Thank you, Noel.”

Noel gave a small nod in return.

“It’s better this way.”

The moment did not stretch into sentimentality. It didn’t need to. Both understood what had been given.

Orthran adjusted the device within his sleeve, securing it carefully as if it were something fragile.

“So,” he said, voice returning to its usual calm cadence, “you are leaving today.”

“Yes.”

Noel adjusted the cuff of his coat, then glanced toward the window where sunlight rested quietly against the herb beds outside.

“By the way,” he added, tone casual, “have you replenished your forces?”

Orthran’s brows lifted slightly. “You noticed.”

“I’ve seen many of the same faces these past days,” Noel said. “The guards stationed near the inner district are familiar.”

Orthran inclined his head, neither defensive nor surprised.

“We have replenished,” he replied. “Recruitment resumed months ago. Many candidates are still under evaluation. We do not place them in visible positions until we are certain.”

Noel nodded once, listening.

“I continue the monthly blessing,” Orthran went on. “It allows me to sense irregularities within the clergy and the inner guard. Any deviation in intent tends to surface during that process.”

“And?” Noel asked.

“Nothing unusual,” Orthran answered. “The last several months have been steady. No signs of corruption. No foreign influence. No internal fractures.”

His tone was measured, administrative rather than reassuring. He was reporting facts, not offering comfort.

Noel leaned lightly against the edge of the table.

“That’s good,” he said. “You don’t need instability on top of everything else.”

Orthran gave a small nod.

“The Church remains intact,” he replied. “For now, that is sufficient.”

Noel remained quiet for a moment after Orthran finished speaking.

Then his tone shifted, just slightly.

“About the monthly blessings,” he said.

Orthran’s gaze moved back to him, attentive.

“You don’t need to keep doing them,” Noel continued.

Orthran didn’t interrupt.

“The situation has changed,” Noel went on. “If something unusual were to move within the Church, I would know. The Circle isn’t positioned here anymore. The risk that justified those rituals… it isn’t the same.”

He spoke evenly, without trying to impose the conclusion.

“And each blessing costs you,” he added.

Orthran’s expression did not change immediately, but the silence between them deepened.

They both knew what that meant.

The blessings were not symbolic gestures. They burned through lifespan. Not dramatically in a single instance, but steadily. A measure of time traded for certainty.

“There is no reason to spend years you don’t need to spend,” Noel said. “You’ve already done enough.”

He hesitated just briefly before adding, softer this time, “I assume you’d like to see your grandchildren grow.”

That was the only time he framed it personally.

Orthran looked toward the window, where the morning light rested across the stone path outside. His hands remained folded behind his back, but his shoulders lowered slightly.

He had performed those blessings for years. Regularly. Without complaint. The cost had never been hidden from him. It had simply been necessary.

Now, perhaps, it wasn’t.

“You are certain,” Orthran asked quietly, “that nothing will surface here?”

“I am,” Noel replied.

Another pause.

Orthran exhaled slowly.

“I have been conducting them for a long time,” he said. “It became routine. Protection through repetition.”

His gaze returned to Noel.

“You are correct about one thing,” he added. “What has already been spent cannot be reclaimed. But what remains… can still be managed.”

There was no bitterness in his tone. Only acknowledgment.

“I will bring it before the other heads,” Orthran said. “This is not a decision I can make alone. It has been part of our structure for the last year. It deserves proper discussion.”

He inclined his head slightly.

“But I understand your reasoning.”

Noel nodded once.

“That’s enough.”

They stepped outside together a few minutes later.

The street in the residential quarter was quiet, washed in late morning light. A faint breeze moved through the narrow lane, carrying the scent of herbs from the stone beds beneath Orthran’s window. The Holy Capital felt steady behind them, distant bells marking the hour somewhere beyond the larger avenues.

Noel adjusted the strap at his shoulder and looked once toward the main road that led back toward the inner district.

“I’ll return in a few months,” he said. “Once things are clearer.”

Orthran stood beside the doorway of his home, hands resting loosely within his sleeves.

“I expect you will,” he replied. “By then, circumstances will have shifted again.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

“Be careful,” Orthran added. His tone carried neither command nor anxiety. Just a father’s instinct spoken plainly.

“I will.”

A small pause followed, then Orthran’s expression softened just slightly.

“When the child is born,” he said, “I will come.”

Noel’s mouth curved faintly.

“I wouldn’t expect less from a grandfather.”

Orthran allowed the smallest hint of amusement to surface. “See that you give me sufficient notice.”

“I’ll try.”

There was no extended farewell. No lingering gesture. They both understood that the next meeting would not be long in coming.

Noel took a few steps back, creating space between them.

“Take care, Orthran.”

“And you, Noel.”

Noel stopped a few meters from the house, turning slightly so Orthran could still see him.

The air was still.

He placed one hand at his side, grounding his focus the way he always did before long-distance movement. There was no gathering storm of mana, no dramatic distortion of space bending visibly around him.

“Spatial Shift.”

The words were spoken at a normal volume.

The space around him tightened for the briefest instant, like fabric pulled smooth and released.

And then he was gone.

Just absence where he had been standing a heartbeat before.

Cold air replaced the warmth of the Holy Capital in a single breath.

The scent of salt reached him first. Then wind.

Noel stood on packed stone before the town hall of the largest island in the Northern Isles. The building was solid and practical, built to endure storms rather than impress visitors. Beyond it, the sea stretched in restless gray-blue, waves breaking against distant cliffs with a steady rhythm.

His coat shifted with the wind, fabric pulling lightly at his shoulders. The sky here felt wider. Less refined than marble gardens. Less contained than cathedral walls.

Different ground. Different kind of conversation.

Bootsteps sounded behind him.

A familiar voice carried over the wind.

“Oh, are my eyes deceiving me, or do I see my good friend who saved my life the first time we met?”

Noel turned.

“Theo,” he said, a small smile forming despite the cold.

Theo approached at an easy pace, amusement clear in his voice.

“I thought you’d be at the lighthouse,” Noel added.

“I’ve been relieved,” Theo replied. “You could say I have an apprentice now. I’m not getting younger, and someone has to learn how to handle the beacon properly.”

There was quiet pride in that admission.

“So,” Theo continued, tilting his head slightly, “what brings you all the way to the main island?”

Noel looked toward the town hall doors, then back at him.

“To talk,” he said. “It’s time.”

Theo studied him for a second longer, reading the weight behind the simplicity.

“I see,” he replied.

He gestured toward the entrance.

“Come. Let’s go inside the town hall.”

The wind tugged at Noel’s coat again as he stepped forward.

A new phase had begun.

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