“Ha—!”

Martiana gasped and opened her eyes sharply.

How much time had passed?

Darkness surrounded her on all sides. The only visible object was a candle flickering on top of a hard bed.

‘Where am I?’

It felt unfamiliar.

She remembered running towards the temple to escape from him. Had she been caught?

“Ha—!”

The worst possibility.

The moment she had the thought, fear gripped her.

She might die again.

This time, it might not be her abdomen, but her throat.

The chilling image made her heart plummet.

‘I have to run.’

Not knowing where she was meant she could not remain still.

Martiana forced herself upright in a panic.

But—

“Ah—!”

She couldn’t move.

Something had gone wrong with her wound.

It hurt.

The pain went far beyond what the word ‘hurt’ could convey.

It felt as though iron skewers were piercing her body all over.

It was a sensation she never wanted to experience again.

Her whole body trembled violently.

Unable to endure it any longer, she finally collapsed to the floor.

“Good heavens! What on earth—!”

The loud thud of her fall brought someone rushing in.

A middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway, the aroma of freshly cooked food clinging to her as though she had just finished preparing a meal.

The moment she saw Martiana lying on the ground, she began to pace around, flustered.

“Why is a wounded person trying to move? You should be lying still!”

The woman lifted Martiana back onto the bed and scolded her relentlessly.

Was she out of her mind? Why would she move in that state?

The reprimands came one after another.

But Martiana barely heard them.

No — she simply did not listen.

‘Priest…’

She was too busy feeling relieved to see the woman before her.

From her shoulders to her toes, she was wrapped in pure white robes.

There was no mistaking it — she was a temple priest.

The blue insignia stitched onto the edge of her sleeve marked her out as a junior priestess.

Once Martiana had confirmed this, she let out a long breath.

‘I made it to the temple.’

Thank goodness!

It seemed that this woman was the one who had helped her.

Martiana looked up at the priest.

Their eyes met and the priest offered her a sympathetic smile as she examined her.

“Are you all right? Let me check the wound again. I applied a hemostatic salve earlier… Oh dear, it needs to be reapplied.”

“Ugh—!”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? I’ve done everything I possibly could… but here, it still isn’t enough.”

After gently lifting the bandage to examine the wound, the priest replaced it and slowly shook her head.

There were limits to what a junior priest could do.

Junior priests were usually assigned to local temples, where they counselled civilians and dealt with everyday issues. Only senior priests possessed true healing power.

In this case, the correct course of action would be to seek assistance from the Grand Temple.

Under ordinary circumstances, Martiana would have agreed.

“For now, I’ll give you something for the pain. Bear with it. And I think I should send word to the Grand Temple…”

The priest handed her the medicine and glanced at her cautiously.

“Shall I contact Priest Lawrence?”

A familiar name escaped her lips: Lawrence, Martiana’s older brother and a senior priest at the Grand Temple.

Despite not having seen each other for some time, Martiana spoke his name as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

There was no need to ask how she knew him.

Anyone within the temple would know the Kisca family. A family that had produced high priests for generations was not easily forgotten.

***

The Marquess Kisca family.

For two hundred years, they produced a High Priest in every generation. This tradition began when one of their ancestors was discovered to possess a rare and extraordinary gift.

That gift—

the sacred healing power, which was said to belong only to senior priests.

Its purity surpassed all others and its efficacy was undeniably stronger. No one dared to challenge it. Yet this power manifested itself in only one person per generation.

Anyone of Kisca blood could inherit it.

Most often, it appeared in the eldest son.

Occasionally, however, it manifested itself in a daughter. On rare occasions, it even appeared in a collateral branch of the family.

However, if the bearer did not retain the Kisca surname by the time they reached adulthood, the ability would fade away.

No one knew why such a restriction existed.

It was simply accepted as fact.

Thanks to this unique phenomenon, the title of High Priest had remained in the Kisca family for generations.

This was a great honor for the family. They held unmatched authority and reputation within the temple.

Martiana’s grandfather had once served as High Priest. Her uncle now held the position. Martiana’s elder brother was destined to succeed him.

It was only natural that everyone in the temple would recognize their name. This was precisely why Martiana had come here seeking refuge.

“Martiana!”

Otherwise, she would not have seen her brother so quickly.

“Marie! What happened to you?”

Lawrence, who bore a striking resemblance to Martiana, hurried inside. His usually immaculate robes were disheveled, suggesting that he had come in a hurry.

“To think someone would do this—!”

When Lawrence saw Martiana lying on the bed, the color drained from his face. It had been a long time since he had last seen his sister.

She should have looked lively and radiant. Instead, she looked as though she were dying. It was no wonder his vision blurred with rage.

“What happened? Who did this?”

“She was found unconscious in front of the temple. More importantly, Priest Lawrence, please see to her first.”

The junior priest who had saved Martiana spoke gently, interrupting his heated demand for answers. Lawrence’s expression hardened.

He nodded.

“Very well. Leave us.”

Yes, saving her was the priority.

Giving in to emotion now would achieve nothing.

Lawrence steadied himself.

“It’s all right, Marie. I’ll have you healed in no time.”

When he carefully lifted her clothing, he could see the deep gash beneath. Blood had soaked through the hastily wrapped bandage and stained the fabric a dark red.

Lawrence clenched his jaw.

A wound like this would heal quickly if he used his healing powers. He could pull even those on the brink of death back from the edge — Martiana would survive.

Yet he had never imagined that he would see his sister in such a state.

It had been so long since he last saw her, and now she lay before him like this.

Drawing a slow, bitter breath, Lawrence poured his healing power into her.

“Ha…”

As he exhaled, a pure white light burst forth from his body.

It was a light she knew well.

Feeling it, Martiana slowly opened her eyes.

The pain that had threatened to tear her mind apart was already beginning to subside.

“Marie, are you all right? Do you recognize me?”

After confirming that the wound had disappeared, Lawrence leaned in and examined her face. Martiana’s complexion had regained a faint flush, as if a weight had been lifted from her.

“Lawrence… Brother.”

A cracked voice slipped between her dry lips.

For a moment, the siblings simply stared at each other, stunned.

One was startled by the sound of her own voice after such a long time. The other was stunned because the sister he thought had lost her voice was speaking.

“Your… your voice—you can speak?”

Lawrence scooted closer, eyes wide.

“H-how? How is this possible?”

He pulled her into his arms, looking as though he was about to cry.

And who could blame him?

The last time he had seen Martiana was six months ago. After she lost her child and fell seriously ill, he repeatedly travelled to the Duchy of Vandyk, desperate to save her.

To help her regain her strength.

To make her eat.

If nothing else, he just wanted to hear her speak.

He poured his healing power into her dozens of times. And every time, it ended in failure.

He could mend bodily wounds as easily as breathing, yet he could not heal a broken heart.

Only the gods knew how crushing that helplessness had been.

“Say it again. Who am I?”

“Lawrence… My brother.”

“Oh—Gods above, thank you!”

Lawrence took her hand and burst into tears.

It didn’t end there.

He cried at the sight of her thin wrist.

He cried again when he looked into her violet eyes.

“You foolish girl… Why are you so thin? Have you eaten? You’re not in pain now, are you?”

“Yes. I’m all right.”

Martiana nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

Although she had been unable to speak, she knew how hard Lawrence had tried.

She could sense his disappointment, too. Yet he continued to encourage her.

She was grateful for it all, even his frantic concern.

“Good. Then tell me what happened. Everything—don’t leave a single detail out!”

Now that he had confirmed that she was well enough to speak, Lawrence wiped away her tears and urged her on.

Martiana parted her lips, searching for words.

“Well…”

She had been silent for so long that her thoughts no longer formed in an orderly manner.

Where should she begin?

If she were to tell her whole story, where should she start?

The fact that she had almost died?

Or that her voice had come back?

And how had it returned?

Martiana had only just realized herself that she could speak again. She had been running, wounded and struggling to breathe through the pain, so she hadn’t had the chance to notice.

She hadn’t even thought to test her voice deliberately.

The only clear thought in her mind was—

“My child!”

Those were the words she screamed when the man stabbed her.

Had her voice broken free then?

Or when she saw the woman and child in the carriage that sped past?

“……”

Martiana clenched and unclenched her hand. Lawrence was still watching her, waiting for her to speak. In that case—

“Brother.”

That was where she would begin.

“I… got divorced.”

Because everything had started there.