Sylia, the Dark & Light Saint

Erlankor - Early March of the Saint Year

It was early March in the City of Erlankor. The cold rain had not stopped since morning, drenching the fields, slicking the stone, and lashing the countryside roads with relentless wind. Just outside the city walls, near District 5's Side Gate of the South West, a modest pub stood under the creaking weight of the weather.

Dio Sigmond, adoptive son of Grenar Krevoski, stepped through the door with water trailing off his shoulders. Tall, broad in the chest, with short blue hair now damp from the rain, he was easily recognized as a Commoner soldier who lived in the countryside from just his clothes, talk and his rugged look. The man entered with his daughter Syliamor and his son Neron, both quiet under the storm's weight. Many knew him around here. He had come often to visit his grandfather Grenar, also a soldier who used to work as a guard on the South Gate.

The pub was dimly lit, warm, and filled with the low murmur of drinkers sheltering from the rain. After greeting the pub manager, Dio led his children to a table near the back and waited.

Before long, the door opened again, letting in another gust of cold. A very tall man entered — 1.95 meters, black hair perfectly cut, his expression unreadable. He scanned the room, saw them, and approached with long, purposeful strides.

Count Juran Tarnesier.

He did not sit immediately. He looked first at Dio, then turned to Syliamor and Neron.

Slowly, he pulled out a chair and lowered himself onto it with deliberate precision.

Dio had called him to ask for a favor.

They spoke in quiet tones. Through their conversation, it became clear: Dio's daughter had just been kidnapped by the National State Church. She had been enslaved, taken by force after they tricked her aunt—all of it orchestrated so they could get to Syliamor. There was nothing left of the home they had fled. What remained had been abandoned in haste.

Count Juran, though sympathetic, was not pleased.

He had received a message under threat—if he did not comply, the potion deliveries for his son would be stopped. He was angry. He reminded Dio that he had already accepted one of his daughters into his household back in early January. And now, yet another?

"The youngest," Juran said, "keeps visiting us already."

He stared across the table. "Are you planning to send me the whole family?"

Dio said nothing.

Juran's eyes narrowed. "Who is this daughter that was kidnapped?"

There was a pause.

Then he asked, more sharply, "Can't the mother go get her? Cesylia is, after all, very powerful in her own right."

Dio cleared his throat. "She is not Cesylia's daughter."

The Count turned his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked toward the two cloaked children beside Dio. They were concealed more thoroughly than most would have noticed at first glance— not just with a heavy hooded cloak, but with Glamourie and a subtle hiding Spell layered over it.

It was almost comical, really, seeing Dio beside them. Juran studied him with cool detachment and thought how the children looked nothing like their father.

A Commoner soldier of low standing, Dio had no title, no rank, no Noble blood to his name. His features were more than passable. Too passable. The children, whatever they truly looked like under those spells, couldn't resemble him. If they looked anything like their sister… that would be a problem.

Even Juran's reserved wife, who disliked most displays of affection, had delighted in dressing the girl up like a doll. It was likely due to her cousins' influence. Felistine and Louisa Lesmerios had taken to the girl immediately. Dio's daughter, Sasha, was now staying mostly with one of them.

Yes. Juran decided. Dio looked more like their hired guard than their blood. And perhaps he preferred it that way now, considering the Church and the Region Lord's men were actively looking for him. The contrast between him and his children was even more noticeable when you looked closely at the clothes and cloaks of the children. One could smell money and magic.

Juran tilted his head and smiled faintly, dryly. "I see. And here I thought you became a one man's woman."

Dio flushed, the color rushing across his face, and looked away, clearly embarrassed.

Juran didn't relent. "Well, I suppose it's expected. You were married." He folded his hands. "The things you've taught your children, though…"

He shook his head. "I had to wash my children's ears after what Sasha told them."

Dio straightened sharply, alarm in his voice. "What did my Sasha say?"

Juran gave him a long, slow look. "She told them her mother was your sister. And about how you somehow managed to have many children with her despite being married. I had to explain how she was not even blood related to you."

Dio paled. He groaned, lowered his head slightly, and glanced around the room as though trying to disappear. "When will Mathias be here?"

Juran's face soured instantly. "He's busy. I'm not sure he'll even come."

Dio's voice was low. "If we have to negotiate the terms, I'd rather he be here."

"Oh? Why? So he can force me to take her in anyway?" Juran's voice turned sharp. "Because Mathias is damn weak when it comes to Cesylia—even though she's been an utter bitch to him."

At that, the older child—still silent until now—lifted her head. With one firm gesture, she drew back her hood.

Her face was set in a scowl.

"I don't like him," she said. "I'd rather not stay with someone nasty."

The Glamourie fell just enough for Juran to see her clearly. Her features were unmistakable but the eyes were different from what he remembered and had been told. Still, that expression— sharp, calm, and unimpressed—he had seen it before. That was Cesylia.

There was no doubt about it.

Juran exhaled slowly. "Oh?" His lips curled. "So it's the infamous Syliamor."

The boy pulled back his hood as well.

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His features came into view slowly, shaped in the same delicate frame as his sister's—too symmetrical, too composed for a Commoner's child. The resemblance was unmistakable. His expression, however, was harsher, more guarded.

Juran's gaze flicked between them.

"Why don't I take the boy instead?" he said lightly. "My son could use a playmate. The boy looks like a future Knight."

The girl glared at him instantly, green eyes narrowing with clear disdain.

Dio's voice was dry. "No. I'm keeping that one around."

Juran arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure? He looks far easier to snatch than she does. That one—" he gestured toward the girl "—takes after her mother."

The girl glared harder.

Dio exhaled and glanced at the rain-speckled window. "I guess we need to wait for Mathias."

"Leave him out of it!" Juran snapped, all humor gone from his voice. "He just buried a son this afternoon! I had to come here instead of staying at the funeral and support him."

Dio's eyes widened. He had not known. It was terrible. Dio himself had lost plenty in his life to feel sorry for others.

The girl tilted her head, voice calm and cool. "I doubt it was Mathias'. There's been no report of any of his children dying this month."

Juran's eyes narrowed. "And how would you know that, girl?"

"I just know," she said flatly. Her eyes looking defiantly at him. So much, like her mother, he thought.

Juran stared at her a long moment, then leaned back, his lips pressed in a thin, displeased line. "There is no way she would get along with my wife and kids," he muttered. "At least your daughter Sasha is cute."

Dio looked down in discomfort. Then, with a quiet sigh, he said, "I'm sorry… but this one is yours, my Lord."

He placed a hand gently on the girl's shoulder.

"Her name is Syn." He added.

Juran's jaw dropped.

Dio kept his hand steady on the girl's shoulder.

"The boy next to her," he said, "is her brother, Seron."

Juran's eyes snapped to the boy.

"He's pretending right now to be my adoptive son Neron," Dio continued calmly. "Seron is Mathias' son. I'm keeping him for now—we need his protection."

There was a pause.

"He is a Sainted Knight from the Order of the Dark Phoenix."

Juran stared at them both. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came.

He kept looking—at the boy, then the girl, back again. Then he murmured, almost to himself, "No…"

Dio's expression did not shift. "Your other son, Syglion, is in a carriage with my children."

He hesitated just a breath before adding, "It was Cesylia's idea."

Juran looked sharply at him.

"I'm sorry about what Sasha said," Dio offered. "Maybe you can explain better Syglion and Syn's situation."

The girl, Syn, nodded silently.

Juran's hands curled slightly against the edge of the table. "How could you bring them here like that?" he demanded. "Why are they so grown up?"

Dio met his gaze. "They are Saints," he said simply. "That's why. And they were staying in Darklanga."

Juran looked down at the table, eyes darkening. His voice was quieter now, the sharpness faded. "That's why you called Mathias."

Dio nodded. "Yes. I'd rather he doesn't see my Syliamor. Or even knows about her."

He glanced briefly at the girl beside him.

"She'll be going under an alias: Syrelka. It will be easier to hide her that way." His jaw tightened slightly. "Syliamor might be a Saint Potential… but she's also my adoptive daughter. The daughter of a Commoner."

Juran's eyes flicked up again. "So, what do you really need me to do?"

Dio straightened. "I need you to hide Sasha and Syliamor at your father's estate for a while."

Juran's expression tightened again, but Dio continued before he could respond.

"Syglion will be providing you his assistance. He's taking some time off from his position as a Saint of the Dark Empire, so he travels as a child for now."

A beat passed. Then Dio added, "He's more powerful than Syliamor and Syn…apparently."

Juran's eyes narrowed. "He is with the Dark Empire?"

Dio nodded. "Yes. You likely heard of him. Dark Saint Syg." He allowed himself the faintest smirk. "He really likes the name."

Seron gave a small nod. "Yes," he muttered, voice flat. "It's almost annoying."

Syn added calmly, "I shall also return to the Empire in time. Mother still thinks this is a good opportunity to meet with you and your father."

Juran looked between them again—the young siblings, the unmistakable presence in their eyes, the weight behind their words. He pressed a hand to his temple, exhaling slowly.

Juran leaned back, groaning into his hand. "Adolphia shall have my head over this."

Syn tilted her head slightly. "It's okay. Mother doesn't like you much anyway."

Juran looked sharply at her, but she continued, ignoring his expression.

"I would rather not listen to the story of my conception. I can already tell it is not a tale for children."

Juran sat up straighter, flustered. "I was never involved with your mother! It was just a one-time thing."

Syn raised an eyebrow. "Then Syglion was a miraculous conception. A true Saint! How wonderful! His reputation will grow."

Her brother chuckled quietly beside her.

Juran scowled at them both. "So… you two are adults pretending to be children… is it so they try to kidnap you?"

Seron shook his head. "Not at all! I'm just hiding for now."

He crossed his arms, tone even. "In order to get here, I had to kill Prince Yanzark."

The words dropped like lead.

"I left him not far from the road," Seron added. "He came after us personally."

Juran stared at him.

"What?" he said, voice sharp, disbelief edging into his face.

Seron remained composed. "The news should reach the capital soon," he said quietly, "and then it will spread here."

Juran looked stunned, his eyes flicking briefly toward the door as if the storm outside could carry the weight of what he had just heard.

Seron's tone did not change. "Lezanart shall fall sometime between today and next week," he said. "The Holliries Empire is backing Yeznag to take control over it."

He paused only a second before continuing.

"The reason invoked is that Lezanart's ruler was kidnapping children from this country and using their powers as his own. The King of Nagasmar will have to answer for those actions—otherwise, the Gods shall take his children one by one."

Juran stared at him, his voice caught somewhere between alarm and confusion. "What do you mean, taking his children?"

Seron looked at him plainly. "Well, you know. If it's okay to kidnap Saints, then it's okay to call the Souls of his adult children back. One by one."

Juran leaned forward slightly, voice low. "Is the new Empire of Kargura behind this?"

Seron shook his head. "No. It was Mother's decision to lead the expedition," he said calmly, "with a few of her children."

Juran's voice rose, sharp with frustration. "Why don't you just free the girl, damnit? Why launch a war?"

His gaze turned to Dio. "Dio, shouldn't you be concerned about her?"

Dio looked down, his expression heavy. "Actually… Nyor was adopted. So I'm leaving that to my biological father and Sylia."

He paused.

"I can't fight it. I adopted her for my brother's sake," he said quietly, "but it was a very bad move."

Juran's eyes narrowed. "Would that stop you?"

Dio nodded, his voice steady. "Yes. Because Nyor wasn't forced."

He looked away, jaw set. "She entered the contract willingly. In order to return to her maternal family's side."

Dio's voice lowered. "We learned it only later. Syliamor was about to fall into that same trap."

He looked toward the girl without meeting her eyes. "She didn't… because her mother had taken actions to prevent it."

There was a long pause before he added, even more quietly, "I didn't tell Syliamor… but Nyor is dead."

Juran's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"

Dio nodded slowly. "Well… the problem is that she's still considered alive.

Count Juran Tarnesier exhaled softly, his expression unreadable.

The intelligence he had just received was both unexpected and potentially pivotal to their plans. Yet caution remained paramount. This could very well be another elaborate ruse orchestrated by Saint Sylia.

There was no conceivable reason she would relinquish Syliamor so readily—not when he had spent years striving to liberate her from the oppressive grip of her family. Even enlisting his father's influence had yielded little result. The Duke, ever the diplomat, preferred to remain neutral in matters concerning him.

Juran's recent incident with Mathias had already backfired spectacularly.