Julian looked at his own hands. They were pale, matching the bone-white marble of the railing so closely that they almost seemed to belong to the city itself.

If he stood still enough, he might have disappeared into the scenery—if not for his hair.

​He touched a lock of it, feeling the silkiness of the black strands. To the priests, he was a living contradiction: a Saint whose soul they claimed was pure, yet a man whose hair was a dark stain against their blinding canvas.

They had looked at him with wide dilated eyes, expectant eyes, likely waiting for the moment he would finally cover his head and adorn himself in their white attire, but he had no plans of doing so.

​He would show them that he was as defiant as they come.

After all, he did not come here to be ordained or join their clergy.

He was just walking back into the room when a soft tug on his coat pulled his attention down. Lucius was there, standing next to him, the boy’s lips parted as he struggled to form the words from his thoughts.

​Julian leaned down, dropping one knee on the floor and patting the boy’s head with a gentle hand. "Take your time, Lucius. There’s no rush."

​Lucius took a breath, his small brow furrowing as he finally forced the words out.

​"Color... there is no color, Master. And we... we are wearing color. Even my skin..." He lifted his hand, looking at his tanned skin—a healthy, sun-kissed contrast to the bleached world around them. "Looks out of place."

​Julian was taken aback. He hadn’t expected the child to be so acutely aware of the visual pressure of the Sanctum. He felt a pang of concern, hoping the boy wouldn’t feel the need to shrink himself to fit in.

​"Well, for the citizens of the White City, they have a specific way of dressing and being," Julian said, his voice warm and steady. "But we aren’t citizens, are we? We are from the North. That’s why we’ll stand out no matter what we do, and that is perfectly fine. So don’t let it worry you. Be proud of who you are."

​He offered a soft smile, tucking a stray blonde hair behind Lucius’s ear.

​"Your tan is beautiful, your blonde hair is wonderful... and your blue eyes are the most breathtaking of all. Who could ever query a cutie like you?"

​Lucius pouted, the expression a thin veil for the shy blush creeping up his neck. He looked away, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve to hide his face.

Julian smiled, brushing his cheeks. He was so lovable. Could there be anyone in their right mind who wouldn’t find him so?

Just then, a sound caught his attention.

​Tap. Tap. Tap.

​It was light, like a bird pecking at wood, but it was coming from the balcony’s glass door. Julian went still. They were at the highest point of the East Spire; there were no walkways outside, only the sheer drop to the marble floors below. So... who could it be?

An assassin? Julian went rigid as he realized that he was now an important figure who could change the political structure of the Holy Empire.

So it was likely that someone wanted him gone.

​"Master?" Lucius whispered, his pouting forgotten as he sensed Julian’s tension.

Julian stood up from his knee slowly, positioning himself between the balcony and the boy. He slowly and cautiously walked to the glass, his heart hammering against his ribs as he peered into the silver-white gloom.

But there was no one there.

The tapping had been nothing more than a loose branch of a climbing vine—one of the few white-flowered plants one would see in the city—catching the wind and striking the pane.

Or perhaps it was just the marble settling.

In this city, the air was so still that every tiny sound felt like an intrusion.

Julian let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders finally dropping. It wasn’t an assassin. He had just been overthinking it.

He turned back to Lucius and assured the boy. "It’s just the wind, Lucius. Nothing to worry about."

He drew the heavy silk curtains, finally cutting off the view of the endless, glowing city.

In case of eyes watching, he didn’t want to give them anything to report on, even if he wasn’t exactly doing anything.

"Lucius," Julian called. "Are you ready to rest now?"

Lucius nodded and sat on the bed, frantically trying to get his shoes off.

Julian chuckled softly and helped him take off the shoes.

"You know, Lucius, even when you’re this adorable, there might be some mean old men who try to pick a fight. Even the young ones. Do you know what you’ll do at that moment?"

"Report to you?" He asked and Julian nodded.

"That’s very correct. Don’t start a fight with them, don’t talk back to them either. Unless someone lays a hand on you, walk away from there and come straight to me. I’ll deal with them." He smiles softly, hoping that such a situation doesn’t present itself.

"B-but... what do I do if they hit me?" Lucius asked and Julian went rigid.

He did say that unless they strike him he should walk away, which meant he didn’t want Lucius to just take a beating.

The right thing to do would be to come report. That is, if it’s the adults, but if it’s a kid his age, then walking away without a fight is not the Northern thing to do.

Julian wasn’t exactly one for violence, but he did know one thing. In this world, if you let them hit you and trample on you without fighting back, it gives them more reason to come back another day and mess with you.

"Listen to me, my brave boy," he caressed Lucius’s cheek. "Are you confident that you can win in a fight?"

Lucius went silent and then he began to calculate with his small fingers.

"I’m not asking you to solve a problem, Lucius. Just tell me. If someone hits you, are you confident you can hit them and overpower them?" Julian asked more clearly but Lucius still did not respond.