The shout came from his left, cutting through his thoughts like a blade. Vencian turned, spotting Rapheldor Herrera standing near one of the palace's side entrances, surrounded by a small cluster of nobles. Elías Zarionel stood among them, his expression lighting with recognition as their eyes met.

Vencian forced himself to move, crossing the garden toward the group. The nobles parted slightly as he approached, their conversation trailing off into polite acknowledgment. Rapheldor grinned, gesturing him closer.

"Thought you'd gotten lost," Rapheldor said.

"I arrived early. Decided to wait outside rather than hover near the door."

Elías stepped forward, his smile warm. "Good to see you, Vencian. I wasn't sure if you'd make it."

"Someone from my house had to attend, and it fell to me."

"Diplomatic as ever." Elías glanced at Rapheldor, then back to Vencian. "You remember Lord Carathen and Lady Miravelle, don't you?"

Vencian nodded to the two nobles, exchanging brief pleasantries. The conversation was light and inconsequential, the kind of talk that filled space without saying much. Rapheldor made a comment about the Ritus Lineae, the traditional competitions held after the engagement ceremony and planned for later in the event, and one of the other nobles laughed.

"Where's your brother?" Rapheldor asked, turning to Elías. "I thought he'd be here by now."

Elías opened his mouth to respond, but his expression shifted mid-breath. His gaze focused on something over Vencian's shoulder, recognition flashing across his face.

"There he is," Elías said.

Vencian turned.

Prince Rulen Zarionel was approaching them, his white robes catching the late afternoon light as he crossed the garden path. His stride was unhurried, his expression calm, but there was something in the way he moved that drew attention without demanding it. A man walked a step behind him—tall, silent, his presence somehow heavier than it should have been.

Rulen's eyes met Vencian's.

The prince smiled.

"Vencian," Rulen said, extending his hand. "It's been too long."

Vencian clasped it, the grip firm but brief. "Your Highness. I'm glad to see you well."

The formality hung between them for a heartbeat before Rulen released his hand, his smile flickering with something that might have been regret. "I heard about what happened. I'm sorry I couldn't reach out sooner."

"You had your duties."

"Still." Rulen's gaze lingered on him, searching. "I should have done more."

Elías stepped in before the moment could stretch too thin. "Rulen only just arrived from Coraeis in the capital yesterday."

"Longer than intended," Rulen admitted, turning to include the others in the conversation. "But the work required it."

Rapheldor grinned. "Work. You mean sitting in churches debating theology while the rest of us train."

"Debating theology is more exhausting than you'd think."

"I'll take your word for it."

The group shifted into easier conversation, the kind of banter that came naturally among people who'd known each other long enough to skip the careful politeness. Elías made a comment about the engagement, Rapheldor countered with something about the competitions, and Rulen laughed at a joke Vencian only half-heard.

He kept his expression relaxed, his responses measured. Playing the part.

"We should head inside," Elías said after a moment, gesturing toward the palace. "The hall's filling up, and I'd rather not be stuck near the back when Valanand makes his entrance."

The others murmured agreement, starting toward the main doors. Vencian moved to follow, but Rulen's hand landed lightly on his shoulder.

"Vencian, a moment?"

He turned, meeting Rulen's gaze. The prince's expression was calm, but something in his tone suggested this wasn't a casual request.

"Of course."

Elías glanced back, his brow furrowing slightly. "Everything alright?"

"Just need a quick word," Rulen said easily. "We'll catch up."

Elías nodded, and the group continued without them. Vencian watched them disappear into the palace before turning back to Rulen, who gestured toward a side entrance.

"This way."

They walked in silence, the noise of the gathering fading as Rulen led him through a narrow corridor lined with portraits of past kings. The man who'd been trailing Rulen earlier—tall, silent, unsettling—remained a shadow at the edge of Vencian's awareness. He didn't follow them inside, but Vencian felt his presence like a weight pressing against the back of his neck.

Rulen stopped at a small receiving room, pushing the door open and stepping aside to let Vencian enter first. The space was modest by palace standards—a single table, two chairs, a window overlooking the western gardens. The kind of room meant for private conversations that wouldn't draw attention.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Rulen crossed to the table and pulled a leather case from beneath his robes, setting it down with deliberate care. "Larion Marendil told me about Coriel."

Vencian's expression didn't shift. "Did he."

"He mentioned you were there when it happened." Rulen's tone was neutral, but his eyes tracked Vencian's reaction. "That you helped his daughter escape."

"I was there. Yes."

"Then you saw what happened to the village."

"I did."

Rulen opened the case, revealing a stack of parchment sheets. He pulled the first one free and laid it on the table, turning it so Vencian could see. "I need to ask you some questions."

Vencian stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the sketch. The drawing was crude but deliberate—a series of interconnected lines forming a pattern that looked vaguely geometric. Some kind of symbol, though he didn't recognize it.

"Do you recognize this?" Rulen asked.

Vencian studied it for a moment before shaking his head. "No."

Rulen set it aside and pulled out the next sketch. This one showed what looked like a building—low, angular, with markings along the walls that might have been text or decoration. Again, unfamiliar.

"This?"

"No."

They continued through the stack. Each sketch showed something different—symbols, structures, fragments of patterns that might have meant something to someone but carried no weight for Vencian. He gave the same answer each time, his tone steady, his expression unreadable.

Then Rulen pulled out the next sheet.

Vencian's breath caught for a fraction of a second before he forced it smooth again.

The sketch showed a symbol: a circle with three triangular teeth pointing inward, forming a shape that looked almost like a gaping maw. The lines were precise, the proportions exact. He'd seen it before—felt it before, burned into his palm by something that had laughed at him while destroying itself.

His fingers twitched.

Rulen's gaze sharpened. "This one?"

Vencian forced himself to meet the prince's eyes, keeping his expression blank. "No. I don't recognize it."

The silence stretched between them, thin and taut. Rulen's face gave nothing away, but his eyes didn't leave Vencian's. The weight of the moment pressed down like a hand on his chest, and Vencian held himself still, refusing to break.

Finally, Rulen set the sketch aside and gathered the papers back into the case. "I see."

Vencian exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing by a fraction. Whether Rulen had believed him or simply chosen not to press the issue, he couldn't tell.

Rulen closed the case and leaned back against the table, his arms crossing loosely. "The investigation into Coriel is ongoing. The Church is handling it directly."

"Have they found anything?"

"Heretics." Rulen's tone was colder now, stripped of the warmth from earlier. "That's all they were. Whatever they worshiped, whatever rituals they performed—it doesn't matter. They were heretics, and they're gone."

Vencian tilted his head slightly. "And the group that massacred them?"

"Also heretics."

"That's it?"

Rulen's expression didn't shift. "The investigation is not your concern, Vencian."

The words landed with the weight of a dismissal, and Vencian felt the frustration flare before he smothered it. He kept his voice level. "I was there. I think that makes it my concern."

"You survived. That's enough."

Vencian stared at him, searching for the friend he'd known as a child and finding only the Ecclesiarch staring back. The gap between them felt wider than two years in Coraeis could account for.

Rulen's expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "The Church of True Light exists to guide people toward understanding. We don't worship a god because there is no god to worship—not yet. We prepare for the one who will come. We build the foundation so that when the light arrives, we're ready to receive it."

"Preparation built on suppression," Vencian said quietly.

"Built on clarity." Rulen pushed off the table, his gaze steady. "Faith without focus is chaos. Belief without structure is madness. The Church provides that structure. It keeps people from falling into the kind of darkness you saw at Coriel."

"And what if the darkness is already inside the structure?"

Rulen's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.

Vencian exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Belief is not truth, Rulen. It's perception. Like a shadow."

"And shadows are cast by light."

"Shadows are always in the opposite direction of light."

The words hung between them, sharp and final. Rulen's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted—acknowledgment, perhaps, or resignation. Vencian turned toward the door, his hand reaching for the handle.

"Vencian."

He paused at the threshold, his back to the prince.

Rulen's voice was quieter now, stripped of formality. "Stay out of these things. Whatever you're looking for, whatever you think you'll find—it's not worth it."

Vencian didn't turn around.

"Giving those ritual materials to you was one thing," Rulen continued. "But I can't cover for you if the Church catches you doing something suspicious. I won't."

The words settled over him like a shroud. Vencian stood there for a moment longer, his hand still on the door handle, before pulling it open and stepping into the corridor.

He didn't look back.

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