As they neared the orphanage, the faint sound of singing reached their ears. It was a gentle, melodic tune, filled with a serene warmth. Absinthe and Melchior exchange a glance, a small smile playing on their lips as they quickened their pace.

The orphanage was a modest structure, built into a large cavern. The entrance was adorned with simple carvings of protective symbols, and the wooden door was slightly ajar, allowing the song to flow out and welcome them.

They stepped inside, the warmth of the place immediately enveloping them.

In the main hall, Sister Sappho stood surrounded by children and a few adults, all gathered in a semi-circle.

She was a serene figure, her dark robes and veil glowing softly in the lantern light. Her voice, despite being slightly suffused because of her veil, is clear and soothing. She leads the group in a folk prayer song, a hymn of gratitude and supplication to the Unorthodox Deities.

"O' blessed songbird

Blessed songbird

Restore us, Gods and Goddesses of hosts,

so that we may be saved.

O' blessed songbird

Blessed songbird

Bestow us, hearts of wisdom and eyes of truth,

so that we stay on the path and repel the depraved

O' blessed songbird

Blessed songbird

Hear us and tell our stories."

Through the veil, Sister Sappho's eyes met theirs as she sang, a warm smile spreading across her face.

She finished the verse and gently lowered her hands, signaling the end of the prayer.

As the last notes of the hymn faded, the children and adults began to disperse, their faces aglow with a sense of peace and contentment. Sister Sappho's gaze lingered on Absinthe and Melchior, her smile softening into a gentle, maternal warmth. She glided towards them, her dark robes rustling softly, like the whispers of the shadows themselves.

"Ah, my dear boys," she said, her voice a soothing balm to their senses. "I'm so glad you came to bid us farewell. It is good to see you both," she said softly, her voice still carrying the musical lilt of the song.

"And you, Sister Sappho," Absinthe replied, his voice filled with genuine affection. "Your song was beautiful, as always."

Melchior heaves a sigh and mutters, "If only Brother Carlson followed in her footsteps."

As Sister Sappho's eyes crinkled at the corners, her gaze shifted to Melchior, and she reached out to gently pat his cheek. "Ah, Melchior... Brother Carlson's path is not an easy one to follow. He has his own crosses to bear."

As Sister Sappho's words hung in the air, Absinthe's gaze drifted towards the orphanage's entrance, where Brother Carlson stood, his eyes fixed on the brothers with a small smirk. The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on his face, making his features seem chiseled from granite.

Absinthe's lips curled into a faint smirk, a spark of mischief kindling within him. He whispered to Melchior, "I think Brother Carlson's crosses are just the punishments he gets from Father."

Melchior's eyes rolled, a low, exasperated chuckle escaping his lips. "You're not helping, Absinthe."

Absinthe then turns his head to Sister Sappho with a wry smile. "As for that psalm earlier, can you tell us about it? I sensed that you were quite emotional while you sang it."

She smiled, her gaze sweeping over the children who were now settling down, some still humming tune. "It's a simple prayer, but it's comforting. To all of us who are forgotten by the world, the songbird represents someone who will hear our cries."

Sister Sappho giggles softly, her light-brown hair and veil jumping at each laugh. "It doesn't help that we live underground, you know? We cry out with our heart, but there's no wind to carry our voices. But it takes only a gentle reminder that there's many who listen to us, whether we shout or whisper."

"Wonderful words indeed," Absinthe comments as he and Melchior grab chairs, sitting beside Sister Sappho.

"You don't need to worry about a single thing Sister," Melchior comments resolutely, "we'll bring everyone from the underground and back to the surface."

Absinthe smirks and glances at his brother, earning him a quick jab in the ribs.

Sister Sappho places a hand to her cheek under her cloth veil.

"That's very sweet of you, Melchior, but I implore you both to focus on yourselves. It's a dangerous world in the East."

"So we've heard," Absinthe replies as he rubs his right side. "Do you have any advice for us, Sister?"

She smiles with a soft nod. Sister Sappho puts a hand on the shoulders of Absinthe and Melchior. "Never forget where you came from. A great legacy lies on your backs. Let it be a source of strength rather than burdening chains."

She pulls them both in for a hug, Melchior flushes slightly as he catches the scent of orange blossom.

"Thank you Sister Sappho, it was a pleasure to see you one last time," Absinthe pauses as he glances around the room, "and the children of course."

Melchior reluctantly pulls out of the hug as well. "We'll be off to Magdellien tonight."

"Of course, I don't want to keep Lord Salinger waiting. We will meet again, Absinthe and Melchior. Take care until then, please."

"You take care as well, Sister Sappho," Absinthe finalizes with a small bow.

Waving goodbye, the two exit the orphanage.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

They retrace their steps back to the temple and plunge themselves back into the trails of alleys.

"Orange blossom huh? That's all it takes for you to get a little rosy around the cheeks?"

"One more word and I'm killing you," Melchior mutters as he straightens out his coat.

Absinthe's baggy trousers flail as he picks up the pace. He hops with each step, eager to move. "Hurry up! Pops said he'd finally take us to the aetherRails!"

"I hear you…"

…

The shuffling of clothes and the clinking of metal and wood echo through the Chapel of Saklos as Absinthe and Melchior approach their father.

By Absinthe's side is a long dark-oak suitcase with a leathered finish. Black and gold, the Salinger Family Colors, makes up most of the suitcase's palette.

Melchior's baggage is almost identical, save for a steel lock that holds the handle shut.

Drinking in his final looks of the chapel where he had always watched his father preach, Absinthe stops before his father.

"Finally ready to go, hm?"

"Yeah… Mel kept fussing over anything he might've forgotten."

"Hmph! I would rather fuss rather than forget anything."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Absinthe replies back as he slings his suitcase over his back. "Let's head out."

Snap!

The emblem of Saklos tattoo on Arthur's hand glow violet as a grimoire appears from thin air, fluttering around his index finger.

"Lord Salinger, how may I serve you on this fine day?" A melodious voice rings out from the weathered book. No matter how many times he sees it, Absinthe really can't get over a talking book.

"Grimm, index Teleportation spells."

"Via spatial manipulation or shadow travel?"

"Shadow travel. Distance is Milliband magiStation roughly three-hundred and fifty kilometers away."

Like the flapping of droves of doves, Grimm flips through pages pinpointing the spell. "Shadow Transport Spell located… calculating exchange."

An oppressive silence emerges as the grimoire finishes its calculations.

"The cost is a month of Arthur il Salinger's lifespan."

Absinthe looks away, gritting his teeth as Melchior frowns deeply.

"Damn… a whole month! You should've let me do the exchange! We also could have traveled that distance to Milliband ourselves without the magic!"

Arthur shakes his head with a soft smile, as if the pain from lost time doesn't exist. "Absinthe, this is the price I pay for being a wielder of the Grimoire of Saklos. Also, you know that it isn't possible to get from Misest to the border nations, it's a death sentence to try and pass through the Deathblight Continent without some sort of flying vehicle."

"Then it will be a long time before we all meet again," Melchior adds solemnly.

"It may be," Arthur replies as he bends slightly, becoming eye level with his two sons. "Stay strong Absinthe, Mel. Watch out for the Rosenfelds."

"Rosenfelds? It's not as if Vesera's a student there… no! She's not an Instructor, is she? That's going to be really awkward," Absinthe asks with apprehension as he puts a finger to his mouth in contemplation.

"No, Vesera vi Rosenfeld has nothing to do with Vivil Sanatoria, but her youngest daughter does. Seraphina vi Rosenfeld will be taking the Practical Entrance Exam and she may know your identity."

Arthur pauses. "And maybe do everything in her power to fail, injure, or kill you."

"You're kidding me. What about Melchior?"

"I don't think they know about his background just yet."

"Great. I got the Ice Queen's hateful kid on my ass… Does that make her the Ice Princess?"

As Absinthe's sarcastic remark hung in the air, Arthur's expression turned grave, his eyes clouding like a stormy sky. "This is no laughing matter, Absinthe. The Rosenfelds will stop at nothing to protect their interests. You must be cautious around them."

Melchior, sensing the tension, placed a hand on Absinthe's shoulder, his eyes locked on his brother's. "We'll face this together, Absinthe."

Absinthe nodded, a hint of determination etched on his face. "Right."

"Remember that everything you two do will be scrutinized by everyone. And… stay safe. We'll meet again," their father whispers solemnly.

Cheering erupts from outside the chapel, and the two brothers realize that the people have come to set off their departure.

"Good luck Young Masters!"

"Show the Orthodox Nations our strength!"

"Absinthe, Mel, come home safe!"

The brothers turn their head into the distance, picking out Sister Sappho's voice.

Before Absinthe or Melchior can say anything, the ground under their feet disappears as their shadows envelop them.

The last thing Absinthe can see as he sinks into darkness is his father gazing down into the two shadows with a forlorn expression.

As the shadows swallowed them whole, the cacophony of farewells and blessings from the crowd faded into an eerie silence. The darkness was absolute, like being entombed in a sarcophagus of velvet blackness.

Absinthe's stomach lurched, his heart racing with anticipation. He couldn't see Melchior, but he sensed his brother's presence, a reassuring weight beside him.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, a morbid reminder of the unforgiving power of Saklos. Absinthe's thoughts were a jumble of anxiety and determination, his mind racing from apprehension.

'I… I will return, I swear it on my life!'