​Elian walked forward and bowed in the direction of the Pope and the council, his hands interlaced in his sleeves.

Then, he turned and followed after Julian, and as they reached the massive doors, he could not help but look at Julian with a complicated expression.

​"That was... unexpected," Elian murmured once they were out of earshot of the Council. "The Pope is rarely so accommodating regarding the attire of the Sanctum. You have made an impression, Julian."

​"I told him the truth," Julian replied, his pace brisk. "And he seems to value that more than a change of silk."

​"He does. But do not mistake his patience for indifference," Elian warned. He paused at a junction in the hallway. "The Council is unsettled. They have decided to postpone the morning sermons. You have an hour before I am to escort you to the archives. I suggest you find some rest."

​"I don’t need rest, Purifier. I need air," Julian said. "Come, Lucius,"

​He didn’t wait for a debate. Keeping a tight grip on Lucius’s hand, he led the boy toward a side exit that led away from the incense and the watchful eyes of the acolytes.

They walked through a series of smaller, quieter courtyards until the sound of the hall was far behind them.

​Finally, they found a secluded garden. In the center stood the Great Cedar, its dark, ancient branches a deep green against the blinding white sky. It was one of the only things in the city that looked like it belonged to the earth. That looked... real.

​Julian sat on a stone bench, finally letting out the breath he had been holding since. He didn’t let go of Lucius’s hand yet.

​"We’re alright," Julian said, more to himself than the boy.

​Lucius looked up at him, then at the towering tree. He got down from the stone bench and stepped closer to the trunk, his hand reaching out to touch the rough bark.

Lucius sat on the stone bench, watching his master who finally felt like he could relax under no gaze. Yes, it was peaceful.

​But it was in that moment of peace that the branches above them began to creak.

​"Whoa—hey! Look out!" A voice yelled.

​With a loud crash and a shower of green leaves, a figure tumbled from the upper branches. He hit a lower branch with a loud thud, yelped, and then landed flat on his back in the grass right at Julian’s feet.

​Julian went rigid, standing in front of the startled Lucius to shield him from whatever threat was in front of them.

​The intruder groaned, rolling over and rubbing his hip. He was a young man, tall and lanky, dressed in the white silk of a high-ranking acolyte. His white head-wrap had caught on a branch on the way down, leaving it dangling ten feet above them.

​He sat up, his hair a mess—a rich, deep chestnut brown that caught the sun. He looked at Julian, blinking rapidly, then a wide, sheepish grin spread across his face.

​"Well," the young man said, his voice bright and casual. "That wasn’t exactly the ’graceful descent’ I practiced."

​Julian stared at him, taken aback by the sudden situation, and then he looked at his hair. It hadn’t been bleached which meant he wasn’t a priest yet.

"Are you... alright?" Julian asked. "That was a significant fall."

​"I’ve had worse," the boy said, standing up and brushing dirt off his white robes. He looked at Julian’s black hair, his eyes widening. "Wait—you’re the one. The guy from the Viremount Empire, right? The ’Black Saint’ the elders are all grumpy about."

Black saint. That sounded a little offensive but Julian shrugged it off as harmless since it didn’t look like he said that to mock him.

​"I am Julian," he replied. "And this is Lucius."

Lucius gave a little shy nod but still hid behind Julian.

The boy looked at Lucius, his eyes wide with excitement. The child was tanned. There was literally no one in the City who was as tanned as he was.

But it was not a cause for mockery or scrutiny. It was just... fascinating.

Man, I don’t know when the last time I actually saw a person that wasn’t fully white was. He thought, and then looked back at Julian.

​"I’m Castor," the boy said, extending a hand stained with tree bark. He didn’t bow, and he didn’t treat Julian like an icon like the rest were doing.

He knew who Julian was, but there was no reverence in his eyes or scrutiny.

He just looked at him like he was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

"Your hair is amazing. It’s actually black and... beautiful." He said and then laughed, looking up at the tree where his head-wrap was still stuck.

Julian honestly didn’t know what to make of this situation. But he seemed quite friendly.

"Sorry. I don’t see much color up here. It’s a bit of a bore, isn’t it? All this white." Castor said, smiling with all his teeth displayed.

​Julian looked at him for a second and then he felt a strange ripple of ease. For the first time since crossing the border, his shoulders had eased up in front of another from this Empire.

​"It is... a bit much," Julian offered.

​Castor snorted.

"It’s a cage, Julian. But the trees at least seem natural with their greenery. And..." he looked at the Cedar he had fallen from. "They are high enough to see over the walls."

Julian also looked at the tree. Yes, it was indeed tall and huge, and... ah, this was the tree he had felt a specific set of eyes from, but brushed it off thinking it could be anyone from anywhere.

Was it him at the time?

Castor’s grin softened.

"I like your clothes. Don’t let them make you change. The blue looks good on you."

Julian looked down from the tree and offered a smile. Not a smile that was meant to mask anything, but a pure genuine smile.

"Thank you, Castor." He said. "But... Do you climb this tree often?"