The moment Orthran motioned for them to follow, the courtyard's playful noise began to fade behind them.

Children still laughed, still called Charlotte's name, still clung to the gates as they watched the three walk away—but with every step Noel took, the warmth of the orphanage slipped further into memory, replaced by the cold, polished quiet of the Holy Capital.

Charlotte walked beside him, fingers brushing his lightly as if seeking reassurance. Her smile had softened, smaller now—not sad, but aware.

Orthran led them with slow steps. His presence, so gentle with the children, shifted back to that of the High Priest: back straight, hands clasped behind him, eyes forward, weight in every movement.

They passed beneath the archway marking the orphanage grounds. Beyond it, the path rose gently uphill, toward the massive silhouette of the Grand Cathedral.

Noel exhaled softly.

One minute ago he'd been chasing kids around a courtyard.

Now he felt as if he were marching into a battlefield made of words and truth.

Charlotte glanced sideways at him. Her golden eyes carried both worry and determination.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

'Probably not,' Noel thought. But he nodded. "Yeah. Just… switching atmosphere."

Charlotte giggled under her breath. "It is a very dramatic shift."

Even Noir, curled in a shadow at Noel's heel, murmured in his mind:

'At least they didn't try to climb you again, Dad.'

Noel pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Please don't remind me.'

Orthran didn't turn, but he clearly heard them approach. His voice carried lightly back to them:

"You two have grown closer."

Charlotte blushed instantly. "G-Grandpa…"

Noel coughed, looking anywhere but at Orthran.

But the old man's tone was neither teasing nor stern—just quietly pleased.

When they reached the cathedral gates, everything changed.

Two lines of cleric-guards stood at attention, forming a narrow path toward the entrance. Their armor gleamed with faint mana runes, and the staves they carried were lit with active blessings—layers of protection and detection magic.

Noel felt it immediately.

Sharp threads of holy mana, woven between pillars. Barrier sigils half-hidden behind the outer arch. A subtle pressure in the air, like standing at the edge of a storm.

"This is new," Noel muttered under his breath.

Charlotte nodded, expression tightening slightly. "The defenses weren't like this before."

Orthran slowed—not stopping, but giving them a moment to take it in.

"We cannot afford to lower our guard as we did last time," he said quietly. "What happened during the attack on the Capital… changed everything."

Noel's brows lifted. Orthran continued:

"I am grateful for what you did that night, Noel. I may not know every detail, but I know enough to understand that without you, things would have ended far worse."

Noel looked down, uncomfortable. "I just did what I could."

Charlotte squeezed his hand slightly, a gentle reminder that humility wasn't the same as truth.

Orthran turned toward the guards. They bowed, opening the cathedral doors.

Inside lay a world of polished marble and sacred silence.

The golden light through stained glass painted their faces in shifting colors—blue, purple, crimson—like fleeting blessings drifting across their skin as they walked.

The heavy doors closed behind them with a deep echo.

Charlotte's steps slowed, her fingers curling tighter around Noel's.

Noel could feel the weight of being here again.

The memory of sneaking into the underground hall beneath this very altar flickered in his mind.

'I really shouldn't be walking in here so casually after breaking into the place,' he thought.

Noir chuckled in his mind. 'At least this time you're walking in without wearing Charlotte's face.'

Noel winced. 'Can we not bring that up?'

Charlotte's cheeks warmed. "Noel… you almost got arrested."

Noir purred smugly. 'And then rescued by your girlfriend. A very dramatic performance.'

Noel rubbed his temples. "I wasn't arrested… I was seconds from being caught."

Charlotte corrected gently, "You were half a sentence away from confessing to a guard while disguised as me."

"…Okay, fair."

Orthran looked over his shoulder, unaware of the telepathic chaos. "Follow me."

He led them behind the altar, to a narrow hallway flanked by statues of old saints and ancient clerics. Noel noticed something different—small glowing seals etched into the floor.

"They weren't here last time…" he murmured.

Orthran didn't slow. "The enemy exploited our weakest points. I made sure they cannot do so again."

Noel felt a shiver run down his spine.

He also felt something else—a cold, metallic whisper in the back of his mind.

[ Mission Updated ]

Do not let the Holy Church fall into despair.

Time remaining: 21 days.

He exhaled quietly. 'Great. No pressure.'

At the end of the hallway stood a small, discreet stone door—plain, unmarked.

Charlotte recognized it immediately.

"That's your private office… right, Grandpa? It has changed a bit since my last visit."

Orthran nodded, placing his hand on a sigil that pulsed with recognition and unlocked the stone.

"Yes. We will speak inside."

And as the door began to open with a low, heavy rumble—

Noel felt the shift.

The warmth of the orphanage vanished completely.

What awaited in that room was truth. Heavy, fragile, dangerous truth.

The stone door slid open fully, and a familiar chill drifted out — the same hollow breath of mana that had greeted them months ago.

Noel felt the shift instantly.

This wasn't new terrain.

This was where they had fought side-by-side…

Where Charlotte first unleashed the full force of her blessing…

Where Orthran bled, refusing to fall…

The room carried the weight of that memory like a scar.

Orthran stepped inside first, robes brushing the frame. Charlotte followed close behind, and Noel entered last, Noir slipping past his feet like a shadow that belonged here.

The stairs spiraling downward weren't intimidating anymore.

They were reminders.

Charlotte touched the handrail lightly, her golden eyes soft.

Charlotte brushed her fingers along the stone handrail, golden eyes narrowing as she studied the glowing seals carved along the corridor.

"…It feels strange," she murmured. "These wards weren't here the last time I visited."

Noel glanced at the walls, surprised. "Weren't you here recently?"

Charlotte nodded softly. "Yes to visit, when we parted ways but the security was still in work then."

"When we fought here… everything was chaos. But seeing it like this now… it feels different."

Noel hummed in agreement. "Yeah. A lot happened here."

Noir purred inside his mind. 'And a lot exploded here.'

'Please don't remind me,' Noel replied.

Orthran didn't comment on their quiet murmurs, but he slowed his pace slightly, acknowledging the weight of the place.

When they reached the bottom, he pushed open the thick darkwood door — revealing the private office they all remembered.

Nothing had changed.

The same uneven stacks of scrolls. The same lantern hanging overhead. The same table Charlotte had once slammed a corrupted cleric onto.

The air still carried the faint scent of old incense and lingering mana.

Charlotte stepped inside slowly, voice almost a whisper. "…It's smaller than I remember."

Orthran's lips curved faintly. "Rooms always feel larger when your life is in danger."

Noel let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "You did good that time."

Orthran chuckled softly before gesturing to the chairs around the circular table.

"Sit."

Charlotte and Noel took their seats. Noir curled beneath the table, her tail brushing Noel's boot in quiet reassurance.

Orthran remained standing for a few moments, lighting a candle and staring at the scorch mark on the wall as if it were an old wound.

When he finally sat down across from them, the room fell into a deep, familiar silence.

A silence that remembered screams, steel, and holy light.

Orthran folded his hands.

"Charlotte," he said softly, "you wrote that there is truth I must hear. Truth not found in any report. Truth about Elarin… and about the god we serve."

Charlotte swallowed.

Noel placed a hand on her knee beneath the table — grounding her.

They couldn't reveal everything.

Not Noctis.

Not the other dimension.

Not the fullness of Elarin's fall.

Orthran sensed the tension but didn't push.

"You may speak freely here," he assured them. "No judgment. No punishment. Only truth."

Noel exhaled.

"Some truths," he said carefully, "are dangerous not because they're forbidden… but because they can break people."

Charlotte nodded. "And we need to be extremely careful with what we reveal."

Orthran's expression tightened with dread and understanding.

"So it is as grave as I feared."

His eyes drifted toward the sealed scroll Charlotte had sent him about Elarin.

"…Then tell me," he whispered, voice trembling, "what you can say."

Charlotte took a breath.

"There was truth in the old stories," she said softly. "The god we follow… was good. At the beginning."

Orthran's fingers tightened.

"But later," Charlotte continued, "something changed."

Orthran closed his eyes — a slow, pained motion.

"And the people," Noel added quietly, "must never learn the full reason. Not now. Not like this."

Orthran's hands trembled over the table.

"…Then tell me," he whispered, "what must be done so our faith does not collapse."

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