Elshua's eyes fluttered open, his consciousness surfacing like a diver breaking through water.
The first thing he noticed was the ceiling, vast and soaring, its intricate frescoes depicting Aeloria's triumphs in swirling golds and blues, each brushstroke glowing faintly as if kissed by divine light.
The room was a symphony of opulence, its high walls draped in tapestries of white silk embroidered with silver threads, their patterns of stars and suns shimmering in the soft morning light that streamed through arched windows.
The windows, framed by carved marble, offered glimpses of Lumora's spires, their tips piercing a sky of endless azure.
The bed beneath him was a sea of plush linens, its canopy of translucent gauze swaying gently, and the air carried a faint scent of lavender and incense, soothing yet unfamiliar.
Elshua's fingers brushed the fabric of his clothing—a loose, silken tunic and trousers, cream-colored and impossibly soft, tailored for sleep but finer than anything Jun had ever worn in his college days.
He blinked, his golden eyes wide, his mind reeling. Even a ten-star hotel, if such a thing existed, couldn't rival this room's ancient grandeur, its every detail a testament to a faith that shaped a continent.
He was in the Holy Empire of Aeloria, that much he sensed, but the specifics eluded him, his memories of the quarry battle fragmented—flames, Caelan's arms, a deep voice promising safety.
His body felt different, a radiant warmth pulsing in his chest, his divine energy overflowing like a spring after a drought.
Three years ago, his energy had been an ocean, vast and boundless; a week ago, when Caelan found him, it was a quarter, drained by some unknown force; and in the battle, it had dwindled to a flicker.
Now, it surged, vibrant and alive, as if someone had poured light into his soul. Yet, when he tried to sit up, his limbs trembled, his muscles weak, his head spinning with a strange disconnect.
His energy was radiant, but his body felt like it belonged to someone who'd run a marathon without training.
Elshua pushed himself up on his elbows, his breath hitching as the room swayed. He gripped the bed's edge, his bare feet brushing the cool marble floor, its inlaid patterns of golden vines gleaming under his toes.
The effort left him panting, his golden hair falling into his eyes, and he frowned, puzzled by the contradiction—his divine energy was a roaring fire, but his body was a fragile ember.
Before he could ponder further, the heavy oak doors, carved with Aeloria's sun, creaked open, and two figures hurried in, their robes rustling, their faces lighting up with startled joy.
"Your Holiness!" the woman gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, her silver hair braided in an intricate crown.
She wore a robe of pale blue, its hems embroidered with silver stars, and her eyes, a warm hazel, shimmered with relief.
The man beside her, bald and broad-shouldered, in a matching robe, dropped the tray he was carrying, a silver teapot clattering but miraculously not spilling. His brown eyes widened, his weathered face breaking into a grin.
"By Aeloria's grace, you're awake!" he exclaimed, his voice booming, then softened as he saw Elshua's pale face.
"Oh, lad, don't move too fast. You've been through a storm."
Elshua froze, his heart racing, their reverence startling him.
They rushed to his side, the woman gently easing him back against the pillows, her hands cool and steady, while the man retrieved the tray, muttering apologies to the teapot.
"I'm… alright,"
Elshua said, his voice hoarse, testing a smile to calm them. Inside, he was reeling—Jun, the college kid, wasn't used to this kind of attention, and Elshua, the Spark, didn't know how to handle it either.
"Who… are you?" he asked, his golden eyes flicking between them, cautious but curious.
The woman's smile was warm, her hazel eyes crinkling.
"I'm High Priestess Lirien, Your Holiness," she said, her voice like a lullaby.
"And this is High Priest Caldor."
She gestured to the man, who bowed awkwardly, nearly knocking over the tray again.
"We're your attendants from now on, here to serve and care for you in the Holy Palace."
Elshua's breath caught, his mind stumbling over their titles. High Priest and High Priestess—ranks just below Priors and Abbots, overseeing cathedrals and cities, not fetching tea for a kid like him.
In the Holy Empire's hierarchy, they were near the top, yet here they were, fussing over him like doting parents.
"High… Priestess?" he echoed, his voice small, his inner Jun panicking at the idea of such powerful figures as his attendants.
"Why… me?"
Caldor chuckled, setting the tray on a bedside table of polished ebony, its surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
"Why? Because you're the Spark of Aeloria, lad," he said, his voice warm, his bald head gleaming in the light.
"Saint Elshua, blessed by the Goddess herself. We've been praying for your return these three years, ever since you left for the monastery."
He poured tea, the steam carrying a floral scent, and handed Elshua a delicate cup, his hands steady despite his earlier clumsiness.
Lirien sat on the bed's edge, her robe pooling like water, her hands folding in her lap.
"You're home, Your Holiness," she said softly, her eyes searching his.
"This is the Holy Palace, your residence before you departed for the monastery three years ago. It was meant to be a brief stop, but…"
She trailed off, her smile faltering, and Elshua sensed the weight of that loss, the monastery's fall a wound still fresh in their hearts.
Elshua sipped the tea, its warmth soothing his throat, though his hands trembled, the cup clinking faintly.
"Home?" he murmured, the word foreign.
He didn't remember this palace, its lavish rooms, or his life before the forest.
His amnesia excuse was a shield, but it felt flimsy here, surrounded by people who knew Elshua's past better than he did.
"I… don't remember much," he admitted, his voice quiet, testing their reaction. "It's all… foggy."
Lirien's eyes softened, her hand hovering as if to touch his, then withdrawing, respecting his space.
"That's alright, Your Holiness," she said gently.
"Your light still shines, even if your memories are clouded. Aeloria will guide you back, in time."
She smiled, a motherly warmth that eased Elshua's nerves, though Jun's skepticism lingered, wary of their faith.
Caldor nodded, leaning against a chair carved with vines, its wood polished to a mirror sheen.
"Aye, lad. You've been through a trial—demons, battles, and who knows what else. Grand Inquisitor Valdor brought you here three days ago, half-dead from energy drain. The healers worked miracles, pouring divine light into you. No wonder you're overflowing with it now."
He grinned, but his eyes were sharp, noting Elshua's trembling hands.
"Though your body's still catching up, eh? Don't push yourself."
Elshua's heart skipped, the mention of Valdor stirring fragmented memories—the quarry, Caelan's arms, a bridal carry that made his cheeks burn even now.
"Three days?" he said, his voice faint, the timeline jarring.
"I've been out that long?"
He glanced at the window, Lumora's spires a distant anchor, and felt a pang for Caelan, Laren, Mara, the Lion Hearts who'd fought for him.
"Where's Caelan? Is he… okay?"
Lirien's smile returned, her hazel eyes twinkling.
"Templar Commander Herdos is fine, Your Holiness," she said, her voice reassuring.
"He's been hovering outside your door like a lost puppy, refusing to leave until you woke. He's with the Pope now, reporting on the battle, but he'll be back soon, I'm sure."
She chuckled, a soft, musical sound.
"That boy's devotion to you could light the basilica."
Elshua's cheeks warmed, his inner Jun flustered by Caelan's clinginess, though a part of him—maybe Elshua's part—felt comforted.
"That sounds like him," he said, a shy smile tugging at his lips, the tea's warmth spreading through him.
"He's… a good friend."
The words felt right, even if he didn't remember their past, and Lirien's nod was approving, her braid glinting as she tilted her head.
Caldor snorted, crossing his arms, his robe rustling.
"Friend? Lad, he'd walk through fire for you, and probably has. Lion Hearts are a tough lot, but Herdos is something else when it comes to you."
He winked, then gestured to the tray, piled with pastries and fruit.
"Now, eat something. You're thinner than a reed, and we can't have the Spark fainting on us."
Elshua laughed, a soft, surprised sound that lightened the room, his tension easing.
The pastries were golden, flaky, dusted with sugar, and he took one, the buttery taste melting on his tongue, a far cry from Jun's instant noodles.
"These are… amazing," he said, his voice muffled, and Caldor beamed, puffing out his chest.
"Made by the palace bakers, blessed by Aeloria herself," he said, his tone mock-serious.
"Though I might've sneaked one earlier, just to test them, you know."
He winked again, and Lirien rolled her eyes, her smile playful.
"Don't believe him, Your Holiness," she said, her voice teasing.
"He ate three and claimed it was 'quality control.' You'd think a High Priest would have more restraint."
She nudged Caldor's arm, and he feigned offense, clutching his chest.
"Betrayed by my own colleague!" he groaned, his brown eyes sparkling.
"Your Holiness, you see what I endure for your sake?"
Their banter was warm, infectious, and Elshua found himself grinning, the laughter bubbling up despite his weakness.
It was strange, being the center of such care, but their ease made him feel less like a saint and more like… a person.
The moment softened, and Lirien's gaze turned gentle, her hands folding in her lap.
"We're here for you, Your Holiness," she said, her voice earnest.
"Not just as attendants, but as your support. The Holy Palace is your home, and Lumora is your city. Whatever you've faced, whatever you've lost, you're not alone."
Her words were a balm, soothing the ache of his missing memories, and Elshua nodded, his throat tight.
"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, his golden eyes meeting hers.
"I… don't know what I'm supposed to do, but I'm glad you're here."
He meant it, the weight of his role—the Spark, the saint—feeling less crushing with their warmth beside him.
Caldor cleared his throat, his grin softening.
"You'll figure it out, lad," he said, his voice gruff but kind.
"You're the Spark, after all. Aeloria chose you for a reason, even if you can't see it yet."
He gestured to the room, its opulence a quiet reminder of Elshua's status.
"This palace, these walls—they're yours. Been waiting for you to fill them with light again."
Elshua glanced around, the frescoes, tapestries, and marble a world apart from Jun's cramped dorm. The Holy Palace was his, they said, his residence before the monastery, before the betrayal and demons that stole three years.
He didn't remember it, but the radiant energy in his chest felt at home here, as if the palace's light resonated with his own.
"It's… a lot," he admitted, his voice small, a pastry crumb clinging to his lip. "I don't even know where to start."
Lirien laughed, a soft, bell-like sound, and brushed the crumb away with a maternal gentleness that made Elshua flush.
"Start with resting, Your Holiness," she said, her tone firm but kind.
"Your body needs time to match that radiant soul of yours. The healers will visit soon, and we'll help you settle. One step at a time."
She stood, smoothing her robe, and gestured to Caldor.
"Come, let's not overwhelm him. He needs peace, not our chatter."
Caldor grumbled, but his eyes were warm as he picked up the tray.
"Fine, but I'm leaving the pastries," he said, setting them within Elshua's reach.
"Eat, lad. And don't let Lirien steal them—she's worse than me."
He dodged her playful swat, chuckling, and Elshua grinned, the lightness lingering as they moved toward the door.
"Rest well, Your Holiness," Lirien said, pausing at the threshold, her silver braid catching the light.
"We'll be nearby if you need us."
She bowed, Caldor following, and the door closed softly, leaving Elshua alone in the vast room, the tapestries swaying gently in the breeze.
Elshua sank back into the pillows, his tea cooling, his hand tracing the silken runes on his sleeve.
The Holy Palace, Lumora, the Spark of Aeloria—it was all overwhelming, a world he barely grasped. His divine energy pulsed, radiant and strong, but his body's weakness was a reminder of the quarry, the demon's hunger, and the mystery of his drained light.
Caelan's face flashed in his mind, his blue eyes warm and worried, and Elshua's resolve hardening, a spark of determination igniting within him. He was Elshua, the Spark of Aeloria, and this palace was his home.
He'd learn to carry its light, one shaky step at a time, with allies like Caelan, Lirien, and Caldor at his side.