"What is...?"

Julian could not exactly ignore the commotion that was going on right under his window.

And then he began to wonder, what were the Priests who had brought in these sick people doing while the Duke was exhausting his resources for them?

What was Elian doing?

Couldn’t they heal with their holy power?

Then, he spotted Elian right behind the commotion.

The Priest wasn’t stopping her. Wasn’t even going to consider it. He was standing on the steps, his silver hair glowing in the torchlight, looking up at Julian’s darkened window.

He didn’t move to help the child even if he had the power to; he simply waited, his hands folded in his sleeves, a silent observer of the chaos that was going on.

In his defense, they had done all they could, and their priests were exhausted.

So now, it was time for the saint to shine.

Watching the crying and pleading woman, Julian’s resolve shattered. Alaric was on the other side of the yard, occupied with a group of disgruntled elders. He wouldn’t reach her in time.

No one would.

And if the lump of wool in her arms was a child that was minutes away from dying, and that child died while Julian ignored her... He would never forgive himself.

Julian grabbed a small vial of concentrated mint oil from his bedside—something he had mixed for his own headaches. It also helped with relaxing the nerves, so even cold limbs can feel warm.

Then, he slipped out of his room. He didn’t take the main stairs because he knew that guards would stop him. Alaric had made it so he wouldn’t go near the courtyard, and so, he took the servant’s spiral, his heart thumping like a trapped bird.

"I am not a saint. I am not a saint," his thoughts frantically told him as he headed down. "So nothing will happen. There will be no miracles."

He burst out of the side door, the cold air hitting him like a blow in his lungs. But that was the least of his worries.

He moved through the shadows of the pillars, reaching the woman before the guards could even notice what he was about to do.

"Let me see him," Julian whispered, immediately kneeling in the snow in front of her.

The woman looked up, her face a mask of grief. She didn’t see a scholar, but a savior. One who had heard her cries and was here to answer.

"Please," she sobbed, her body trembling from cold and fear. "He’s so cold."

Julian took the child’s small, limp hand to check for a pulse. Luckily, he was still alive, but his pulse was weak. Too weak. He could die in a second flat.

What have the physicians been doing about this? What have the priests been doing?

Did they neglect this child just to force him out and watch a miracle?

This innocent child had been dragged into all of this...

He felt his heart prickle.

I am not a saint. How do they expect me to perform miracles when I cannot even save myself?

His thoughts mocked him. But that was that. He was not here in hopes of performing a miracle. He was going to make sure this child does not die; if not, the resentment of this mother will be the cries he hears at night.

He stained his fingers with the mint oil and intended to simply rub the stimulant onto the boy’s temples to help his breathing. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

But the moment he touched the boy’s head, something that did not happen even as he held the boy’s wrist just now, occurred.

It was a sudden ’jolt’.

It was a sudden, violent resonance. A wave of heat rolled out from Julian’s chest, traveling down his arm and into the child’s head.

Julian felt the heat, but just before he could take his hand back and process what was going on, the boy arched his back as his grey skin flushed a deep, healthy pink in seconds.

The wet, rattling sound in his chest vanished, replaced by a deep, clean breath.

Warmth. There was warmth spreading out of Julian’s hands and filling not just the boy, but the mother herself.

Julian was horrified.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Julian finally pulled his hand back as if he had been burned, his eyes wide with horror.

He stared at his hand; it was trembling. What... just happened?

"This..."

He squeezed his hand and looked up, only to find Elian, standing five feet away, smiling—a thin, sharp expression of absolute victory.

"The Duke said the North has many wonders, Saint," Elian said, his voice carrying clearly over the hushed crowd. "But the myths of the North don’t breathe life into the dying, now does it? Only the Heavens do."

Julian turned, desperate to hide, but his eyes were searching for one person first. Alaric.

His eyes swept through the crowd, trying to find his lover, but all he saw were the faces of the people—suddenly hopeful, suddenly hungry. They began to go down on their knees, their heads flat against the snow as they revered him, calling him the saint who had come to save them.

But this only burdened Julian.

He was not a saint. He was just a man, just a scholar... he did not want to be a part of this.

He simply has compassion for the dying child and... and...

His eyes faintly fell on the Duke standing frozen across the yard, his face pale with the realization that the gates he had tried to close had just been torn off their hinges.

Julian’s breath got caught, and his heart squeezed. He didn’t mean for this to happen. Don’t... Don’t look at me like that, please, Lucien.

It felt like looking at the eyes that blame, the eyes that say, You betrayed me. Why? Why didn’t you stay inside?

But he really had no choice. He just... wanted to help the dying child.