His expression was professionally warm—the kind of smile priests gave to all visitors—as he approached.
"Welcome to the Holy Church. I trust your journey was—"
He stopped.
His eyes had landed on Rigas, and for just a moment, his composure cracked completely.
The smile froze. His eyes went wide, then narrowed. Color drained from his face.
"You," he breathed.
Rigas chuckled. "Hello, Caelus. Been a while."
The bishop stared at him for a long moment, some complicated emotion playing across his features—shock, recognition, something that might have been old anger or old friendship or both.
Then, with visible effort, he pulled his professional mask back into place.
"Indeed," Caelus said stiffly. "It has been... some time."
"Ten years? Twelve?"
"Fourteen."
"Has it been that long? Time flies when you're—" Rigas gestured vaguely at his family "—living quietly with family."
Something about the way he said "quietly" made it clear he was being ironic.
Caelus' gaze swept over Xylia—lingering for a moment with what might have been recognition—then Styx, and finally Piers.
When his eyes met Piers', the bishop went very still.
"Your son," he said slowly.
"Yes," Rigas confirmed. "And the other is my daughter. Styx, say hello to Bishop Caelus."
Styx waved enthusiastically. "Hi! Can I test my aptitude again?"
Despite everything, Caelus almost smiled. "I see she's inherited her father's persistence."
"And her mother's strength," Rigas added. "Which is why we're here, actually. We need to test the little one." He nodded toward Piers.
Caelus studied Piers for another long moment. Whatever he saw there made his expression grow troubled.
"I see. Perhaps we should speak privately first."
"Probably a good idea."
The two men stepped aside, moving to a shadowed alcove near one of the massive pillars. Xylia watched them go with narrowed eyes, clearly unhappy about being excluded but respecting the need for discretion.
Piers watched too, his sharp hearing picking up fragments of the conversation.
"...I can't believe you came here after all this time..."
"...I had no choice. You saw what's on my shoulder..."
"...It's dangerous. If anyone realizes..."
"...Exactly why we need your help..."
"...Fourteen years. And now you show up with this..."
"...I know what I'm asking..."
The voices dropped too low to hear more. But Piers had heard enough to confirm what he'd suspected: his father had a past. A complicated one. And Bishop Caelus was part of it.
After several tense minutes, the two men returned. Caelus looked weary. Rigas looked relieved.
"Very well," Caelus said formally. "I will conduct the aptitude test for your son. Follow me."
He led them through the main hall and down a side corridor, the silence of the church pressing in from all sides. Styx tried to skip but found the atmosphere too heavy for it. Instead, she walked quietly, holding her father's hand and looking around at all the carved runes with interest.
They descended a spiral staircase—down, down, into the depths beneath the church—until they reached a heavy wooden door marked with so many protective seals it looked like someone had gotten overzealous with divine security measures.
Caelus placed his hand on the door. The seals flared bright blue, then faded.
The door opened.
Beyond was a circular chamber carved entirely from white stone. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in runes—not the decorative kind from upstairs, but functional, powerful, densely-packed magical circuitry that made the air hum with suppressed energy.
In the center of the room stood a pedestal.
On the pedestal sat an orb.
The orbuculum was about the size of a human head, perfectly spherical, and appeared to be made of crystal that shifted colors in the candlelight—now clear, now faintly blue, now with hints of gold.
"This chamber," Caelus explained, his voice taking on a lecturing quality, "is designed to safely test an individual's magical and martial aptitude. The orbuculum reads the soul's resonance and provides a classification—knight, mage, healer, and so forth. It's completely safe under normal circumstances."
Xylia stepped forward, Piers still in her arms. She looked at the orb, then at Caelus, then back at the orb.
"What do I need to do?"
"Simply place the child's hand on the orbuculum. The rest will unfold naturally."
Xylia approached the pedestal slowly. Piers could feel her heartbeat accelerating, could sense the tension in her shoulders.
She was afraid.
Not for herself. For him.
"It'll be fine, love," Rigas said quietly from behind them. "We just need to know what we're dealing with."
Xylia nodded. Holding Piers securely in her arms, she carefully guided his small hand toward the orb so he could make contact.
Piers stared at the crystal sphere. Up close, he could see faint shapes moving within it—or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.
His hand touched the surface.
The world exploded into light.