Julian stood paralyzed in the center of the Great Hall, the silence between them ringing louder than the chanting outside.

He looked at the man he loved—the indomitable Duke of the North, a man who had faced blizzards and steel without flinching—and saw him crumbling under the weight of a miracle.

These made the words he could say die in his throat before he could even utter them.

​Alaric’s face was wet, the firelight catching the tracks of tears that felt like acid to Julian’s soul.

​"I do not mind being called a heretic," Alaric repeated, his voice cracking like thin ice. "I would bar the gates against the world. I would let the Empire’s armies rot at my walls. But you... The peace you crave, I want that for you more than anyone else. I would start a war just to create that peace, Julian. But with the heart you have... You wouldn’t let me. You would watch the blood on the snow, and it would kill you faster than any stake."

​He took a step forward, his hands trembling at his sides, caught between the urge to pull Julian into his arms and the fear that he was touching something that no longer belonged to him.

​"So tell me, Julian," Alaric whispered, a broken plea. "What do you want me to do? How do I fight a battle where my own people are the enemy and your own mercy is the weapon they use against us?"

​Julian’s heart shattered into pieces. But he couldn’t let them lie around, so he picked them up one after the other.

He didn’t want to be a Saint. He didn’t want to be a miracle. He just wanted to be the scholar who had fallen into a Duke’s arms on a winter morning.

The scholar who had taught the Duke how to feel warmth again... To open his heart and love again.

​"I don’t want a war, Lucien," Julian sobbed, finally closing the distance and burying his face in Alaric’s chest.

He gripped the heavy fabric of the Duke’s coat as if he could anchor himself to the earth.

"I never wanted any of this. I just... wanted to save a life."

​"And in doing so, you’ve invited the world to take yours," Alaric groaned, his arms finally coming around Julian, crushing him against his chest with a desperate, suffocating strength.

​They stood there for a long time, two men clinging to each other in a fortress that had suddenly become a glasshouse. Outside, the murmurs of the crowd continued, a low tide of expectation that wouldn’t recede.

​"I will go," Julian whispered into the dark wool of Alaric’s mantle.

​Alaric stiffened, his grip turning painful. "No."

​"Listen to me," Julian said, pulling back just enough to look into Alaric’s eyes. "There are other ways, I know, but the most effective way is this."

"Sending you to them? No! That is the last thing I want to do." Alaric hissed. "You shall not leave the North, Julian,"

Julian went silent for a second. He could feel the Duke’s arms trembling around him. He could feel the way his heart was thundering against his chest.

Fear.

They were both scared. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

But being afraid and inclined would not solve their problems.

Julian leaned his head into Alaric again, his fingers digging into the Duke’s shoulders as if trying to steady both of them.

He wasn’t a hero in a legend or fairytale; he was just a man cornered, and his mind was already clawing for a loophole—a way to turn this ’divinity’ into a bargaining chip.

Now that it had been confirmed, he could no longer deny it. He could no longer hide it.

So, instead of hiding in the shadows and biding their time before an army is brought to their gates, he would use it.

"I am a man before I am their saint, Lucien," Julian whispered, his voice gaining a sharp, desperate edge. "The life I wish to live is here, in the North. How do they expect me to serve their god if I do not have a willing heart? Faith cannot be forced, and I will make sure Elian understands that."

He pulled back, looking Alaric dead in the eye, his expression shifting from grief to a cold, calculated defiance.

"I will give them an alternative. I will tell them that if they so much as choose to force me—if they try to drag me away like property—I will turn my back on their ’Light’ entirely. I will go into witchcraft. I will become the very thing they fear most."

Alaric’s breath hitched, and his brows furrowed. In the Holy Empire, such a threat was more than just words; it was the ultimate blasphemy.

"But," Julian continued, "I will offer them a deal. If they agree that I stay in the Holy Empire for just two months—no more—then I will accept the invitation to see their Pope. It will be no different from a business trip. A consultation. It is up to them if they can manage to ’convince’ me into staying, but if they cannot... that is the end of it. I shall come home."

Alaric’s grip around Julian tightened, his veins thrumming. "You think they will honor such a deal? They will use every trick, every ounce of incense and chanting to brainwash you, Julian."

"Let them try," Julian countered, a bitter smile touching his lips. "I was a very capable teacher in my old world, Lucien. I do the brainwashing, not the other way round. Their sermons won’t work on me because I don’t care about their doctrine. My heart is crossed."

There was no way they would succeed in brainwashing Julian, and he knew it. After all, his heart was set in one place, on one person, well, two if they were counting Lucius.

"But if I stay here now, they will tear this manor apart. The people will never stop coming, and the Church will never stop pushing until blood is spilled. I do not want that."

He reached up, cupping Alaric’s face, his thumbs wiping away the remnants of the Duke’s tears.

"You said you would start a war for me. Give me these sixty days to make sure you don’t have to. It’s a gamble, but it’s the only one we have that doesn’t end in a massacre in our lands."