Chapter 245: The White City with no Dark Corner

That seemed to lift the mood a little, and Julian hugged Alaric one last time before taking Lucius from him.

"Bye now," he whispered. "I’ll see you in two months."

"Two months," Alaric whispered back.

Julisn watched Alaric mount his horse. The Duke’s hands were clenched so hard on his reins that the leather groaned under the pressure, looking as though they might snap at any second, even as he tried to remain cool.

His knuckles were white, his jaw set in a line of pure agony.

Zane got on his horse and gave a somber nod, his eyes promising a vigilance that his playful words never could.

"Since the goodbyes are done," Elian began. "I believe it’s time to continue on our journey, Saint."

He had not interrupted them, just so there would be no hard feelings.

Julian nodded and got into the carriage with Lucius, still watching his father from his arms.

Once Julian was inside, Lucius peered out the window, and Julian did the same. He didn’t want to watch Alaric leave, but he was sure that Alaric watching him leave out of reach was even harder.

He dropped his hand on his palms. He did not want to cry in front of Lucius, but he couldn’t help it. The tears were already gathering.

"Move out," Elian commanded from outside.

As the carriage began to roll under the final arch of the Holy City, Julian looked back one last time with his teary eyes.

Alaric stood perfectly still on his horse, a solitary, dark figure against the white marble city before him. He didn’t wave. He just watched, his hands still tight on the reins, standing guard at the gates of the enemy’s heart until the silver carriage was swallowed by the shadows of the city walls.

The silence inside the carriage was heavy. Lucius was curled in Julian’s lap, staring at the floor, while Julian stared at his own hands, still feeling the heat of Alaric’s embrace.

He missed him already.

Suddenly, the small partition at the front of the carriage slid open. Elian’s pale, smiling face appeared.

"Welcome to the White City, Saint," Elian said, his voice smooth and triumphant. "Now that we are home, shall we begin our first lesson on the history of the High Altar?"

Julian didn’t look at him. He pulled Lucius closer and felt the boy’s hand go to his chest.

"I am a scholar, Purifier," Julian said, his voice cold as ice. "I choose my own curriculum."

The click of the partition sliding shut echoed in the small space like a gavel.

Julian let out a silent sigh and leaned back against the cushions, the cloying scent of jasmine—so prevalent in the Holy Empire—already beginning to make him uncomfortable.

Outside the window, the ’White City’ lived up to its name. It was a labyrinth of bleached stone and soaring arches, polished so brightly they seemed to generate their own internal light.

There were no crooked alleys or dark corners here; everything was designed to be seen, to be exposed, and to be worshipped.

Julian felt Lucius stir in his lap. The boy wasn’t looking at the golden domes anymore. He was staring at the small piece of blue gem Alaric had given him.

"He’s still there, Lucius," Julian whispered, more to himself than the child. "Just on the other side of the wall. We’ll see him soon."

Lucius nodded and hid his face in Julian’s shoulder.

The silver carriage came to a halt in the center of the ’Sanctum of the First Light’.

It was a place that felt less like a building and more like a captured fragment of the sun. Carved entirely from pearlescent marble that had been polished until it mirrored the sky, the Sanctum rose in terrifyingly perfect tiers above the White City.

There were no shadows here; the architecture was designed to eliminate them, using soaring arches and fluted pillars to ensure that light touched every inch of the stone.

To a stranger, it was a breathtaking display of purity, but to Julian, it felt like being trapped inside a diamond.

It was a place where clergymen stayed, and also served as a cathedral.

As Julian got out, the air he was already finding uncomfortable became even more uncomfortable.

The air was thick and stagnant, heavy with the expensive, cloying scent of jasmine and the low, constant vibration of a thousand distant bells.

It’s already exhausting. Julian thought.

Elian stood at the base of the steps, his white robes pristine, his hand extended with a look of practiced, saintly humility.

Julian stared at the hand for a moment, his expression cold. Without a word, he adjusted his grip on Lucius—who was clinging to his neck—and stepped down from the carriage on his own.

He ignored the offered help, his boots striking the polished marble with a sharp, defiant click that echoed through the silent plaza.

"Your quarters have been prepared in the East Spire, Saint," Elian said, retracting his hand without a hint of embarrassment as he already knew Julian’s defiant character very well and expected that reaction. "It is the highest point in the city, where the sun kisses the stone first."

Julian didn’t look at the spire he was referring to. Rather, his eyes were scanning the crowd of hundreds of acolytes 1and priests lining the square. A strange, unsettling realization washed over him. He hadn’t seen a single strand of colored hair since they crossed into the city.

Every priest of rank had hair the color of moonlight—bleached, ghostly silver. Those who were younger, the acolytes, all wore the traditional white cloth head-wraps that tucked away every strand of their hair, leaving only their faces out, as if they were nuns.

But at least Nuns were allowed to wear black and blue in the real world. This one had only white and silver.

Are they obsessed with white? Julian wondered bitterly.

It was as if the city were trying to scrub the very concept of color from existence. In his dark Northern furs, with his raven-black hair spilling over his shoulders, Julian felt like a stain on a fresh canvas. A ’black among the whites.’ 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

But he didn’t really care. He would rather be the stain than join the white canvas to be... ordinary.

"Lead the way, Purifier," Julian said, his voice hard. "My student is tired and needs to rest."

Meanwhile, atop the Great Cedar tree...

These are priests-in-training and helpers