"Let me go! Please, put me down!" Sylvie's scream tore through the stillness of the empty streets, her voice cracking as she squirmed desperately under the old man's grip.
But it was all pointless. The white-robed elder didn't so much as flinch under her struggles. He just turned around and threw one last glance at the old woman behind the stall, before tossing her what Cyrus thought had been a single silver coin.
"That should cover everything." He murmured quietly, before looking back at Sylvie, his eyes flaring once more with excitement.
Then, without another word, the man turned around and began walking away, as though carrying a terrified child through the streets was nothing out of the ordinary.
Cyrus felt something cold settling in his stomach as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. Every instinct he had was telling him not to get involved. To just avoid attracting the old man's attention and just run.
After all, whether it was in terms of strength or speed, it was obvious that he wouldn't stand a chance. He would die before he even made a single move against the white-robed monster.
And yet... staring at Sylvie's pleading eyes and that desperate look on her face, he just couldn't bring himself to abandon her. After all, she hadn't given up on him when he'd fallen unconscious, had she?
Cyrus didn't know what was going on anymore. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear Sylvie's cries, but something inside him just refused to stay still.
Before he could even realize what he was doing, he had already stepped forward and gritted his teeth as he said
"Senior."
The white-robed elder halted mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at him, those pale eyes of his fixing on Cyrus with an almost bored curiosity.
Cyrus swallowed, feeling his throat tighten under the old man's gaze. He didn't know why he was doing this in the first place, but for some reason, he didn't back down. He just took a deep breath and continued
"I don't know what a child of Vormund is, or why you're so set on taking her away, but you should know that that girl's father is a Bloodsworn warrior. Unless you want to deal with him yourself, you should at least explain why you are doing this."
For a long moment, there was only silence. The old man just tilted his head and looked Cyrus—really looked at him—for the very first time.
Then... his lips curved into something that could have been a smile, though it looked more like a look of scorn instead.
"A Bloodsworn?" he repeated softly, as if tasting the word on his tongue. His gaze shifted almost lazily to Sylvie's face before he continued
"You are trying to threaten me... with a Bloodsworn from the Church of Evereen?"
The old man didn't even bother to hide his disdain as he said the words Bloodsworn and Evereen in the same sentence, as if the mere notion of it was insulting to his own status.
And yet, Sylvie's struggles had slowed down considerably at this point, while her ragged breaths had become a bit more even as she stared at the young boy who had suddenly stepped in.
For a while, the elder only watched her, his gaze softening by a fraction.
"Still, if you are so worried about this child, you can follow us to the temple. You will then see that this is all for her benefit. Well... as long as you can keep up, that is."
The old man didn't wait for an answer. He just turned around, carrying Sylvie in one arm, as he made his way deeper into the heart of Novera.
...
Cyrus didn't know how long they had been walking for, but it must have been at least a couple of hours since they'd left the street stall. The old man seemed to be walking casually, as if he was taking a stroll, but each of his steps somehow carried him more than a dozen meters forward, forcing Cyrus to practically run if he wanted to keep up.
The deeper they went, the colder and quieter the streets of Novera seemed to become, until they reminded him of the slums of Morwyn.
There was no stench or beggars lying around, but the half-collapsed buildings and the lack of any humans or animals told Cyrus that they weren't in any prime location of the city, at least.
When the old man finally came to a halt, though, Cyrus, who was still struggling to catch his breath, could barely believe his own eyes. He just raised his head and blinked, and for a moment, he wasn't sure if he was imagining the place he was looking at.
A small temple of white stone stood in the darkness, lit by a pair of black lanterns right above its doors. The white blocks of stone looked almost like marble, gleaming under the light of the lanterns and the rays of pale moonlight.
Above the entrance, a carved statue of a snake coiled itself in a perfect circle, its head resting atop its own tail. Even in the lantern light, its black eyes looked almost alive, its slitted pupils staring down at him as though judging his presence.
Cyrus swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease creep up his spine. He'd never seen a temple like this before. Even when he'd visit the church of the Goddess in Morwyn, for all its towering spires and gilded icons, he had never felt this kind of oppressive quiet before.
Almost involuntarily, he took a step back, distancing himself from the snake's gaze and the horrifying temple.
But the old man didn't stop. He just stood at the foot of the short staircase and bowed deeply for a deep moment, before pulling Sylvie further inside.
The moment he got up the stairs, the gates of the temple opened by themselves, and the old man entered inside, without even sparing Cyrus a glance.
Whether the talentless child approached or not was up to him.