In the first light of dawn, Aveline and Lucian set out on the journey to Carmol, the holy city of the faith. The caravan traveled along winding mountain paths, flanked by ancient pines that pierced the sky. Morning mist flowed through the forest, as if the holy city still rested within a sea of clouds. Wrapped in a feathered cloak, Aveline gazed into the distance through the carriage window—this was the beginning of her reconciliation with the church, and the next revelation of her bloodline's prophecy.
By midday, the caravan reached the "Pure Heart Spring" outside the holy city. The water was clear and cold, said to wash away worldly sins. Aveline stepped down from the carriage, knelt on the ground, and cupped water in her hands to touch her cheeks. As droplets slid past her lips, she whispered: "Sworn by royal blood, I know no fear today." Lucian approached slowly, draping a white silk shawl over her shoulders. "This is the holy city's ritual. May your heart be free of fear, with faith and me at your side."
Entering Carmol, stone pillars carved with holy verses lined the broad greenstone avenue. Believers in the city stood in reverence, watching the "Snowflame Queen" and the "War God's Throne" ride side by side—equal parts awed and respectful. High Bishop Ihtar of the Supreme Pontificate greeted them at the sanctuary entrance, clad in pure white ceremonial robes, his face both merciful and majestic.
"Your Majesty the High Priestess," Ihtar bowed. "You have reshaped the kingdom's order with royal blood, bringing new hope to the church. Today, we welcome you and your companion with a ritual to seal the covenant between the holy city and the throne."
Aveline nodded slightly and entered the sanctuary. Its vaulted ceiling soared high, and stained glass cast colorful light onto the marble floor, as if holy songs echoed in the air. She knelt slowly before the altar. Ihtar held a chalice, pouring in Pure Heart Spring water and holy oil. Murmuring a prayer, he offered the cup to her lips. Aveline closed her eyes and sipped, as holy light formed a faint halo in her palm. The prophecy's mark—"royal blood bears divine fire, where light and order coexist"—quietly activated within her.
After the ritual, Aveline and Ihtar stood side by side in the corridor. He said earnestly: "Your Majesty, your bloodline represents not just royal power but also sacred duty. Greater trials await, but the church will walk with you to safeguard this holy land and the faith of all people."
Lucian supported Aveline beside her, murmuring: "Your figure now shines with divinity. Standing together, we fear nothing." Aveline looked back and smiled at him. In that moment, they were not just monarch and subject, but each other's spiritual anchor.
As night fell, in the sanctuary garden outside the holy city, a bonfire lit up roses and white lilies. Lucian led Aveline through the moonlight, where the scent of flowers mingled with night dew. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, kissing away a dewdrop: "No campaigns tonight—only rest in my arms." Nestling against his chest, Aveline traced the mark on his collarbone with her fingertips, replying softly: "Guided by holy light and held in your embrace, this life is enough."
Firelight danced in their eyes as the holy city's bells rang slowly through the night—melodious and warm, blessing their covenant and foretelling that more storms and glories awaited these guardians of royal power and bloodline.