Chapter 358 - The Broken Faith and Silent Goddess (5)

[Days back, Dwarven Lands]

The room was small.

Not cramped—but empty in the way rooms became when conversations weighed too much to be spoken easily. A single lantern hung from a metal hook, its flame steady but dim, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the dwarven quarters. The air smelled faintly of iron and old tea.

Luca stood near the doorway, leaning slightly on his crutches. His body had healed, mostly—but the fatigue still lingered in his bones.

Across from him sat Professor Aldric.

He hadn’t said a word since they entered.

His hands rested on his knees, fingers loosely curled, but his posture was rigid. Too rigid. Like a man bracing himself against something that had already broken him once before.

Luca studied him quietly.

Minutes passed.

The silence thickened.

Finally, Luca spoke.

"Professor... what did you want to talk about?"

Aldric didn’t answer.

Instead, he slowly lifted his head, then just as slowly looked away again, eyes drifting to the far wall as if he were seeing something far beyond it.

He exhaled.

"Sit down," he said quietly.

Luca hesitated, then did as asked, pulling a chair closer and lowering himself carefully. He waited. He didn’t rush him.

Aldric clasped his hands together.

Unclasped them.

Did it again.

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

Luca noticed the tremor in his fingers.

"...Is it about the Saintess?" Luca asked gently.

Aldric flinched.

It was subtle. Just a small hitch in his shoulders. But Luca saw it.

The man slowly turned his head.

And nodded.

Luca’s breath caught.

"H-Have you... have you met her?" he asked, unable to hide the urgency anymore. "Is she okay?"

Aldric’s lips parted.

Then pressed together again.

He nodded once.

Then—after a moment—shook his head.

The contradiction sent a cold knot into Luca’s stomach.

"What’s happening?" Luca asked, voice low but strained. "Professor... please."

Aldric leaned back in his chair as if the weight of the room had finally become too much. His gaze drifted upward, unfocused.

"I still remember the day I found her," he said quietly.

Luca froze.

"She was... so small," Aldric continued. "Barely a few days old. Left outside the orphanage doors before sunrise. Wrapped in cloth too thin for the cold."

His lips twitched into a faint smile—one laced with pain.

"She didn’t cry. Just stared at me. Big eyes. Curious. As if the world hadn’t hurt her yet."

Luca listened, unmoving.

"She grew up bright," Aldric went on. "Too bright. Always running around. Always helping the younger children. Always smiling."

His voice softened.

"She never once asked why she was abandoned."

A pause.

"Not once."

Aldric swallowed.

"She used to say... maybe her parents had their own hardships. Maybe they didn’t have a choice. She never blamed them."

His hands clenched.

"She just wanted to find them someday. To ask if they were okay."

Luca felt something tighten in his chest.

"Even after becoming the Saintess," Aldric continued, eyes glistening now, "that never changed. Power didn’t change her. Reverence didn’t change her."

A shaky breath.

"She still wanted the same thing."

Aldric lowered his gaze.

"And even now..." he murmured, "...she doesn’t expect to be saved."

Luca’s eyes widened.

"She isn’t hoping for escape," Aldric said quietly. "She isn’t praying for a miracle."

His voice cracked.

"She just wants to find her parents."

The room felt suddenly smaller.

"That’s why she sent me to you," Aldric added. "She said... you might be able to help."

Luca stood abruptly.

"H-How?" he asked, words tumbling over each other. "How am I supposed to help with something like that?"

Aldric shook his head slowly.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "I truly don’t."

Luca clenched his fists.

"There has to be something," he insisted. "Some clue. Something she left behind."

Aldric hesitated.

Then sighed.

"There was... only one thing."

Luca stilled.

"A broken brooch," Aldric said. "That was all that was found with her. She told me recently she’d found the other half. Said... you would understand when you heard."

Luca’s breath stopped.

"A... brooch?"

His voice barely came out.

Aldric looked up sharply at the change in his tone.

"D-do you have it?" Luca asked, stepping forward.

"N-no," Aldric said quickly, reaching into his robes. "But I always keep a sketch of it. I thought... it might help someday."

He unfolded a piece of worn parchment and handed it over.

Luca took it.

His hands were shaking.

The moment his eyes fell on the drawing—

His vision blurred.

His knees weakened.

The world tilted.

"...No," he whispered.

The brooch.

He knew it.

Every curve.

Every crack.

Every imperfect detail burned into his memory.

His fingers tightened around the paper.

"A-A brooch..." he breathed. "Professor..."

His voice wavered.

"What... what’s the name of your orphanage?"

Aldric looked up, confused by Luca’s sudden change.

"Barden’s Orphanage," he replied. "It was named after my father."

The room went silent.

Dead silent.

Luca’s hands began to tremble violently.

"...Barden," he whispered.

His breath came shallow.

His heart pounded so loud he could hear it in his ears.

And suddenly—

Everything clicked into place.

The brooch.

The orphanage.

The girl.

The timing.

Luca staggered back a step, gripping the edge of the table to keep himself upright.

His voice broke.

"...It can’t be..."

And for the first time since entering the room—

The truth began to surface..

***

[Back to present]

The square had gone deathly still.

Not the kind of silence born from obedience—but the kind that came when the world itself leaned forward, afraid to miss what came next.

Dust still hung in the air from Luca’s landing, drifting slowly around the shattered stone of the execution platform. The Divine Guards stood frozen, spears half-raised, eyes darting between the armored figure before them and the chained girl at the center.

No one knew what to do.

No one dared to move.

And in the middle of it all—

She looked at him.

The Saintess did not cry out.

Did not speak.

Did not even move at first.

Her silver-lavender hair stirred faintly in the wind left behind by the Kunpeng’s descent. Her eyes—tired, wounded, but unbroken—were fixed entirely on Luca.

There was no fear in them.

Only questions.

So many questions.

Her lips parted slightly, as if to speak... but no sound came.

Luca felt it then.

That weight.

That look.

The kind that carried years of longing, confusion, and a quiet hope that had refused to die even when everything else had.

Around them, the crowd held its breath.

The executioner’s hand trembled on his weapon.

The bishop’s face twisted in disbelief and fury.

The Divine Guards shifted uneasily, unsure who they were meant to obey anymore.

Then—

She moved.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Each step was measured, the chains around her wrists clinking softly as she walked forward. The sound echoed through the square like a heartbeat.

Clink.

Step.

Clink.

Step.

Luca didn’t move.

He watched her approach, his chest tight, his breath shallow.

When she stood before him, close enough that he could see the faint tremble in her hands, she finally lifted her gaze fully to his.

And then—

She opened her palm.

Resting there was an old brooch.

Worn.

Cracked.

Its metal dulled by time, its design simple yet unmistakable.

The same one.

The one burned into Luca’s memory.

Her fingers shook as she held it out, tears finally spilling over and tracing silent paths down her cheeks. She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her eyes asked everything.

Why are you here?

Do you know what this is?

Do you know who I am?

The square felt like it had stopped existing.

Luca’s breath hitched.

Slowly—so slowly—it felt like the world might shatter if he moved too fast, he reached out.

His armored hand closed gently over hers.

Warm.

Steady.

Real.

He folded her trembling fingers around the brooch, holding it there between them.

Then he inhaled deeply.

And spoke.

"Your uncle..."

His voice wavered, just for a moment.

"...gave it to me."

The words hung in the air.

Heavy.

Final.

And in the Saintess’s eyes—

The world broke open.

Her strength finally gave out.

Not when the chains were placed around her wrists.

Not when the crowd whispered her sins.

Not even when the executioner raised his voice.

But now.

Now—when hope had reached her hands.

Her knees buckled.

The Saintess collapsed forward, the brooch slipping from her fingers as sobs tore free from her chest—raw, broken sounds she had held back for far too long. Her shoulders shook violently, silver hair falling like a curtain around her face as tears streamed freely, soaking into the stone beneath her.

Luca moved instantly.

He knelt beside her without hesitation, the hard surface of the platform cracking slightly beneath his weight. The cold metal of his armor contrasted sharply with the fragile warmth of her trembling form.

She looked up at him.

Her eyes were red. Swollen. Desperate.

And for the first time since she had been dragged onto that platform, she spoke—not as a Saintess, not as a symbol, but as a daughter.

"M-my parents...?"

Her voice cracked so badly it barely formed sound.

Her fingers clutched weakly at his armor, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

Luca froze.

For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to still.

His jaw tightened. His breath caught in his throat.

Then—slowly—he exhaled.

And shook his head.

Just once.

The smallest motion.

But it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken truths.

Her eyes widened.

A broken sound escaped her as the meaning sank in.

She collapsed fully this time, her body folding in on itself as grief finally claimed her. Tears poured freely now, soaking into Luca’s armor as she clutched at him, sobbing without restraint.

Luca remained there, unmoving, allowing her to cling to him. His hand hovered for a moment—then settled gently against her back, steady and grounding.

Around them, the square was silent.

Even the wind seemed to have stopped.

Until—

"What do you think you’re doing?!"

The bishop’s voice tore through the moment like a blade.

Rage twisted his features as he stepped forward, robes flaring, eyes burning with fury.

"This is blasphemy!" he shouted. "An insult to divine judgment!"

He raised his arm sharply, pointing at Luca.

"Divine Guards!" he roared.

"Seize him. Now!"

The air snapped tight with tension.

Steel shifted.

Boots scraped against stone.

The execution platform trembled—on the edge of chaos.