The Shattered Crowns

Irina darted down the winding streets, her bright red scarf fluttering behind her like a banner in the cool morning breeze. The sun hung high in the sky, casting fragmented shadows on the cobblestones below. Her laughter rang out, clear and sweet, like the chiming of bells. "Come on, big brother! If we don't hurry, I'll be late!"

Sylvan trudged behind her, his arms full of produce and bundles of flowers from the market. "Whose fault is that?" he grumbled, the weight of the bags digging into his calloused hands. Irina ignored him, glancing back with a cheeky grin before darting ahead.

They reached the weathered stone steps of the church with few interruptions, Sylvan's long strides catching up to her just as she stopped to fidget nervously. Irina circled around his leg like a bird unsure of its perch, clutching the hem of her scarf tightly. Her shyness returned in the presence of other children already gathered near the entrance.

Sylvan placed a steadying hand on her head and ruffled her dark hair. "Sister Friede isn't going to be happy with you."

"But what about you?" Irina shot back, puffing her cheeks indignantly.

"I'm only here to make arrangements," he replied, shifting the weight of the produce in his arms. "I don't attend the lessons."

Irina huffed, crossing her arms. "Why do I have to do these stupid lessons?"

Sylvan shook his head, amused. "And now you're upset?"

"No!" she snapped, stomping toward the church doors with exaggerated defiance.

"If you keep stomping like that, your braids will come undone," Sylvan called after her, smirking.

Irina stomped harder, refusing to look back.

The interior of the church welcomed them with soft light filtering through stained-glass windows. The children's chatter echoed through the space, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying their voices. Sister Friede stood in the center of the room, her hands raised as she tried to corral the excitable children into a semblance of order.

She was dressed simply, her long brown hair cascading down her back, the three-pronged crown of her faith nestled delicately atop her head. Five smaller prongs of the crown were hidden beneath her hair, though they caught the occasional glint of light. Her soft features and warm green eyes gave her a beauty that felt out of place in the harshness of Franzisch.

Sylvan's gaze drifted to the centerpiece of the church: the emblem of the Eight-Pronged Comet. Suspended high above the altar, the bright white sphere shimmered faintly, with eight blue tails trailing in symmetrical arcs. Its symbolism was meant to inspire devotion, but Sylvan had never found himself moved by it. Be good, and the comet would return—or so they said.

Sylvan tipped his head slightly and muttered under his breath, "Protect my sister, and this church, please."

A soft voice interrupted him. "That's surprisingly thoughtful of you, Sylvan. I wouldn't have expected a prayer from you."

He turned to see Sister Friede standing beside him, her steps so light he hadn't heard her approach.

"Sister Friede," he greeted with a nod, his tone dry. "You're as quiet as ever."

She smiled gently. "It's not polite to comment on how much a lady weighs, Sylvan. I thought I taught you better manners than that."

Sylvan coughed into his hand, deflecting the remark. "It's better to have many gods listening, rather than just one. The ancestors won't mind me asking for a little extra protection."

Friede tilted her head. "I'm surprised you're not already lecturing the children. They seem more unruly than usual."

"We were waiting for Irina," she said, glancing at the girl who had just joined her friends in a game of tag. "It seems you were late today."

"Hunter's work ran long last night," Sylvan explained, setting the bundles of food on a nearby table. "I woke up late. We brought some food for the children."

Friede's face softened. "You shouldn't have. How you spoil us, Sylvan."

He ducked his head slightly at her gratitude, uncomfortable under her kind gaze.

Before he could reply, a boy with messy blonde hair came barreling toward him, his small hands gripping Sylvan's leg as he shouted, "You came!"

Sylvan grunted. "Get off, Sern."

The boy clung tighter, giggling. "You said you wouldn't be back for weeks!"

Sylvan crouched and pried the boy off his leg. "Your parents wouldn't like you hugging a hunter," he said sternly.

"-Care," came Sern's muffled response as he buried his face in Sylvan's cloak.

Friede's soft laughter joined the children's, her voice teasing. "Oh, I'm sure Sylvan was just lying to surprise you all when he came back early."

Damn that woman. Giving the children false hope was the last thing they needed. Still, he managed to untangle himself from the boy's grip and send him back to the other children—though Sern continued to beam at him from across the room.

Sylvan turned back to Friede. "I need someone to look after Irina while I'm gone for the next few weeks. I was hoping…"

Friede stepped closer and placed a calming hand on his arm. "Of course I'll watch her," she said gently. "You don't even need to ask."

"Thank you," Sylvan said quietly. "I'll make it up to you. To you and the church."

Friede smiled. "You don't owe us anything. You've done more than enough with all the repairs you've made here."

Sylvan hesitated. "I'm grateful for the lessons you've been teaching her. No one else would."

"It's not much," Friede replied, her voice laced with sadness. "The girl's as bright as the comet itself. If only the fire hadn't—"

"Best to drop that thought," Sylvan cut in, his tone turning cold. "It happened. We have to live with it."

Friede sighed softly, but she didn't press further. "I'll take care of her, Sylvan. Don't worry."

The hours passed as Sylvan busied himself repairing broken planks and furniture while Friede led the children in their lessons. Irina sat cross-legged near the front, her face lighting up with enthusiasm as Friede handed her a book.

"Would anyone like to read today?" Friede asked, holding up the well-worn tome.

Irina's hand shot into the air, her voice bright. "I want to!"

Most of the other children shrank back shyly, though Sern raised his hand as well. "I want to read about the hunters!" he said excitedly, glancing toward Sylvan.

Friede pursed her lips, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Ah, I was thinking of a story about the comet instead," she said gently.

The children groaned in disappointment, but Friede leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you're good and listen to the first story, maybe—just maybe—Irina's brother will tell you a story afterward."

At that, the children perked up, their energy renewed. Irina opened the book and began to read aloud, her voice steady and confident.

"Long ago, when the land of Lorian was covered in water, no life stirred upon its surface…"

Sylvan listened half-heartedly as he worked. The story was familiar—he'd heard it a dozen times before. It told of the Eight-Pronged Comet, which crashed into the barren waters of Lorian and shattered, its core giving rise to the first men. Those men, divided into eight factions, fought endless wars before uniting to drive the karnen back into the seas. The comet was a symbol of divine intervention, its return promised to herald a new era of unity and prosperity.

As Irina finished reading, Sern bolted toward Sylvan, tugging on his cloak. "Tell us a story about the hunters!"

Sylvan frowned. "Hunts aren't meant to be spoken of. Best stick to your lessons."

The children groaned in protest, but Friede stepped in with a smile. "Children, you heard his answer. Let's not scare our guest away."

Despite their protests, Friede managed to redirect their attention back to their lessons. Sylvan continued his repairs, watching from the corner of his eye as Irina leaned eagerly over her book, her scarf trailing on the floor beside her.

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, Sylvan and Irina stood outside the church. The air had grown cool, and Irina leaned lightly against Sylvan's leg, her small frame swaying with exhaustion.

"Time to go, little one," Sylvan said, gently placing a hand on her back.

Irina rubbed her eyes and yawned, stumbling slightly. Sylvan crouched down and scooped her into his arms, cradling her close.

"Sister Friede will take care of you while I'm gone," he murmured.

"But big brother, you just got back," Irina whispered, her voice thick with sleep.

"I'm close to finding a cure," Sylvan said, his voice firm.

Irina placed her small hand on his arm. "I don't care about the cure. I just want to spend time with you."

"And I you," Sylvan replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But once I find the cure, we'll have all the time in the world."

Irina's gaze dropped to the ground. "I'll miss you."

Sylvan's tone softened. "Keep your scarf on whenever you're with Sister Friede, alright? No matter what. We can't let anyone see…" His hand brushed against the deadened, scaled skin of her neck.

Irina nodded reluctantly.

"I love you, big brother," she said. "Promise you'll come back."

Sylvan smiled faintly, his voice steady. "Not even the Eight-Pronged Comet could keep me from you."

As Friede guided Irina back into the church, Sylvan lingered by the steps, his hands clenching into fists. The heavy wooden doors closed behind them, leaving him alone in the fading light.

"Everything I do is for you, Irina," he murmured to the quiet street.

With that, he turned and disappeared into the gathering shadows. A long night awaited him. A longer hunt still.