Chapter 5: Chapter 5: In Kustovka.

This was Ninka's first time in a carriage. She had expected a smoother ride, but even on the Elisian road, the path jolted now and then.

She had never ridden a horse, so she couldn't compare the two, but she suspected the comfort she enjoyed now far surpassed that of the mounted guards riding beside them.

"Are you sure you want to speak with Apostle Venceslave? This isn't about the boy?"

Evonia asked, her gaze sharp with scrutiny.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask about Radu. But... I haven't been feeling well lately. And after everything you've told me..."

Ninka hesitated. She wasn't sure if the words were part of her act or something honest, rising uninvited from within.

"Don't worry, dear. Your mother is with you, and the Celestial favors you."

As they traveled, Evonia held her close with one arm, the other gently toying with the pink strands of her daughter's hair. Ninka wasn't used to this kind of affection. She remembered—dimly—Valeria showing something like it in years past, but the memory was so distant and soft-edged she could no longer trust it. The whole situation felt... off. Last night, she had slept in the warmest bed she'd ever known. That morning, she'd eaten like a noble. Now, she sat wrapped in the arms of a mother—one who wasn't hers. This wasn't her world.

She watched the road slip past and wondered what she would do if she found Lissa before shaking Evonia's company. No good outcome came to mind. But she couldn't wait forever, either.

Her thoughts wandered toward darker places. She tried to picture the stretch of road where her grandfather had died. Some parts looked perfect for an ambush, but he hadn't been killed by men. It had been something else—something unnatural. A spirit, they said. But what did that mean, exactly? How did a spirit kill? And more than that—why?

Another thought pressed its way into her mind: if her grandfather hadn't died, if that attack hadn't happened... would she even exist? Or would her soul have taken shape elsewhere? The Apostolic faith claimed no soul was born in this world. All came from the First World, given one more chance to earn salvation. And yet, Ninka remembered nothing of any life before this one.

"Let's hope the apostle is still in Kustovka. Honestly, I don't understand why the clergy can't just assign more apostles and station one in each fief,"

Evonia muttered.

"Tradition?"

Ninka answered absently.

"I don't know. But this endless pilgrimage of theirs is maddeningly impractical."

After several hours, the dense forest that flanked the road gave way to open fields, and at last, Ninka saw Kustovka on its hill—larger than the village beneath Ivanove Castle, ringed by its old wooden palisade. She had learned the wall was built when Kustovka was still an outpost of the Elisian Bellicorium. Its name came from a displaced village that once stood there, pushed aside to make room for the military.

Ninka had been there only a handful of times, following her father on fur trades, but the memories were warm. What she'd liked most was the constant movement—how no one seemed to pay attention to anyone else's business. At the time, that had felt like freedom. Maybe it was just a childish memory. But it comforted her.

She had always wondered why the Ivanove castle wasn't built here instead of beside the Temni Vozda forest. Access to the Aquerum River must have been the deciding factor.

Trade in the town moved like there was no war in the north at all, but the guards posted at the entrance looked more suited to chasing stray pigs than defending a town. As they passed through the gate, she noticed their fawning over Sir Bosko—probably hoping to curry favor before the real soldiers came back from the frontier.

"Dear, do you mind if we don't go straight to the chapel? I'd like to look at winter clothing,"

Evonia said lightly.

Ninka did mind.

The longer she remained by Evonia's side, the higher the risk of crossing paths with Lissa—under the worst circumstances. But she couldn't say that.

"Is that really necessary, Mother? We have clothes for every season."

"Those old rags?"

Evonia smiled, then frowned.

"You must be feeling worse than I thought. Turning down a chance to shop? That's not like you."

"I'm sorry."

"No need. Here's what we'll do: you'll pick something you like, and then Sir Bosko can take you to the chapel while I handle the rest."

"Alright."

Textile Street looked the same. The smallest of Arbusteira's commercial sectors—yet easily one of the most profitable, along with Metal Street. It also smelled better than most, with fewer animals wandering between stalls.

"This place likes to think of itself as a proper city,"

Evonia said, amused.

"If the old Ivanoves had done their duty and restored Lesgrad, this town would be nothing but a road market. But I can't complain—thanks to these bold little merchants, I don't have to travel days to find decent fabric."

She wasn't wrong. Eighty years ago, Lesgrad had been a flourishing trade city of fifteen thousand souls. Then came the quake. Afterward, the family had rebuilt elsewhere—closer to timber, perhaps, but never with the same wealth.

The shop they entered was so neat and refined that it was easy to forget a family lived above it. Ninka was far more used to the open stalls where her father haggled for raw fabric, and Valeria stitched it into something passable. Shops like this, with ready-made clothes and artisans behind every hem, were rare to her.

The shopkeeper's eyes lit up when they entered. She left her previous customer without hesitation—a woman who looked insulted until she realized Evonia had arrived. The familiarity between them was clear. She even addressed the noblewoman by her given name. Ninka chose silence, unsure if Lissa would know this woman well. Her cautious reserve seemed to pass unnoticed.

"So? Has anything caught your eye?"

Evonia asked.

"I can't decide. They're all so beautiful,"

Ninka lied.

"Which one would you choose?"

Evonia flicked through the dresses like they were scraps, murmuring under her breath—some words sounding foreign or perhaps half-forgotten.

"Yes, this one. What do you think?"

The dress was exactly what Ninka imagined a noblewoman would wear—simple, without theatrical sleeves or gilded embroidery. A soft, muted purple, with fine silver trim. Understated. Elegant.

She could see the taste behind it. Valeria once had similar sensibilities—before bitterness hardened her. In a different world, she and Evonia might have been friends. Both proud. Both sharp. Both sentimental beneath their armor.

"So? Did I get it right?"

"Perfect, Mother."

Evonia beamed, a warmth in her expression that could melt all the snows of Lesgrad. And for a moment, Ninka wondered... was it that warmth and beauty that made Lord Ivanove abandon Valeria? Or was it simply about bloodlines? She let the question float. There was no answer in sight.

"Mother, may I go now?"

"Of course. Ask Sir Bosko to escort you and wait at the chapel until I come for you. Oh—and wear this."

Evonia handed her a hood. Ninka assumed she wanted her to keep her hair covered, given everything that had happened. It felt unnecessary—but she didn't object. She braided her hair tightly, pinned it at the base of her neck, and pulled the hood over, fastening it closed.

"Are we heading to the chapel, my lady?"

Sir Bosko asked.

"Yes, please."

∞∞∞

Sir Bosko seemed born for his role. From his appearance to his demeanor, everything about him radiated reliability. He was a man of few words, but every gesture exuded precision and confidence. Even with a slight limp, his presence was reassuring.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Not that Ninka was worried about her safety on such a short walk—the chapel was only two blocks away from the dress shop, and the streets were relatively calm.

The chapel's interior was adorned with painted walls, depicting scenes reminiscent of the tapestries hanging in the Ivanove castle. It was likely the most expensive building in the entire town, despite its modest size, barely larger than the houses in the textile street.

What stood out the most was the Aliscael, positioned at the center above the pulpit. The symbol of Celestial Apostolism, the Aliscael consisted of a spear crossed by wings with a crown atop its shaft. Here, the spear was made of steel, the wings were silver, and the crown was crafted from pure gold. Ninka took in the splendor of the artifact, recalling that the chapel in Lesgrad, while functional, was nowhere near as rich in detail.

People often whispered that the Ivanoves were not particularly devout followers of the Apostolic faith anymore. Some, mistakenly, even attributed the family's misfortunes—especially those concerning the spirit—to this supposed distance from religion.

At the front pew, a bald man sat with his back to them, engaged in conversation with someone at his side. However, from where Ninka stood, no other head was visible.

"Apostle Venceslave?"

Ninka called softly, but the chapel's acoustics carried her voice farther than she had intended.

"Lady Vasilissa? What brings you to me?"

He stood, revealing the figure beside him—one that Ninka recognized instantly.

"Radu! How have you been?"

She stepped forward as Sir Bosko remained by the entrance. The boy, upon seeing her, immediately hid behind the apostle's legs.

"Oh, what kind of behavior is this in the presence of your lady? Come on, step forward and bow properly."

"M-My... m'lady,"

the boy mumbled, keeping his head down as he stepped out of hiding.

"Not m'lady, but my lady!"

the Apostle corrected, visibly embarrassed.

"Forgive us, my lady. The boy is still shaken by last night's events, and his speech isn't the most refined."

"It's no trouble. Considering all he's been through—and being separated from his mother—I'm just relieved to see him well."

He probably doesn't even know what happened to his mother, Ninka thought.

"Apostle, could we speak in private?"

"Of course. Radu, go tend to your duties as we discussed."

The boy cast one last glance at Ninka before shuffling away with his head low.

"Let's sit,"

the Apostle said, motioning to one of the pews.

Ninka sat beside Venceslave and spoke in a low voice:

"Father, what will happen to the boy? Has my mother...?"

"She suggested that this would be the ideal time to start training him, so that he could take my place in the clergy when I reach a more advanced age,"

Venceslave replied with a faint smile.

"I think she underestimates how many years I still have ahead of me before I leave Purgatoria and ascend to the Celestial."

"I'm sure she didn't mean to offend you."

"I believe that as well, don't worry. In any case, she may be right. Even so, I would prefer for the boy to stay with his family, if possible."

"I agree. I don't think his mother will be incapable after..."

"Losing her tongue? The real problem will be if his father doesn't return from the conflict with the Hellanians. In that case, Lady Evonia's solution might truly be the best."

"That's why I sent a courier to the capital, requesting permission to stay here a little longer—at least until we have news of his father."

"Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me. I am here to serve the common good and the Celestial."

"May I ask something out of curiosity?"

"Of course."

"Isn't it dangerous to keep something as valuable as this Aliscael in the chapel?"

"It's highly unlikely that anyone would dare steal from the clergy. The penalties imposed by the Empire for such crimes are extremely severe, and even criminals fear divine punishment. The Hellanians, however, are a different matter..."

He paused briefly, then added, lowering his voice with a hint of humor:

"Off the record? I'd melt the thing, sell it off in Elisia, and feed a hundred mouths with the coin."

"That's not something I expected to hear from an Apostle."

"As you may know, the clergy is divided into two schools of thought. The Aceticis, like myself, value renunciation of luxury and material detachment. The Prosperis, on the other hand, advocate wealth and opulence, arguing that it 'affirms the clergy's status.' Unfortunately, over the past sixty years, the Prosperis have become the dominant faction. That's why you'll find an Aliscael like this in every chapel from here to Elisia. Either way, whether made of gold or wood, it remains the symbol of our faith."

"I see."

Ninka had received little formal instruction about the structure of the Apostolic faith. Her father had taught her only the basics, generally summarized as not doing harm on purpose. Her mother, on the other hand, cared little for spiritual matters.

"Apostle, what does the clergy say about spirits and other magical beings?"

"I suppose that question was inevitable, given Lesgrad's situation and the burden you carry. Faith teaches us that we come into this world to purify ourselves from the sins of past lives, and that the hardships born from our nightmares in the Old World manifest here to test our virtues and determine our place in the Celestial. So my advice is this: focus on what is right and just, rather than dwelling on the nature of evil and its artifices. We already know this world is a trial of faith and character—our final chance."

Had her grandfather passed his test? Ninka wondered. He had set out in search of fortune, only to fall victim to the spirit—or, as the Apostle would put it, "hardships meant to test our virtues." And yet, whether the pursuit of prosperity was truly virtuous or not, even the clergy seemed uncertain.

"I only have one more question. Well, two, depending on your answer to the first."

"You may ask as many as you need, my lady,"

Venceslave said with a smile.

"Do you know the people of this town well?"

"Of course. I've traveled this preaching route for nearly thirty years. I'd say I know not only this generation of Kustovka's people but also the one before it. Why do you ask?"

"I'm looking for someone from here—his name is Numa. He lives as a hunter."

"Numa?"

The apostle tilted his head slightly.

"I've only ever heard of one person by that name, and only in passing. Yes, he was from Kustovka, but he hasn't been around for a very long time."

"Where is he, then?"

"No one knows. He disappeared more than forty years ago, if my memory serves me."

"Forty years? No, the man I'm looking for should be about half that."

Venceslave shook his head.

"I'm afraid I don't know anyone else by that name, not in this town or anywhere else I've preached."

Ninka fell silent, thinking.

"Tell me about the Numa you've heard of."

"I never met him, only heard stories,"

Venceslave admitted.

"Like your Numa, he was a hunter from Kustovka. But one day, he chose a dangerous path—he fell in love with an Ivanove girl."

"An Ivanove? Who—"

"Your great-aunt, to be precise. Lady Elinde Ivanove, daughter of Janko Ivanove and sister to Lubos Ivanove, your grandfather."

"...What happened between them?"

"Well, your great-grandfather would never have allowed such a union. Though Lady Elinde returned the young hunter's affection, a marriage between a noble and a commoner was out of the question. So, predictably, they ran away together."

"They ran away?"

Ninka raised her eyebrows.

"For weeks, Lord Janko searched the territory, claiming he would 'rescue' his daughter and impale the kidnapper. Then, one morning, as he stepped onto his balcony to pray to the Celestial, he saw a fire burning deep in the Temni Vozda forest. Without hesitation, he rode toward it."

Venceslave paused, as if considering how much more to say.

"The couple hadn't gone far. They'd been hiding in the woods. Lord Janko found them and arranged a proper marriage for Lady Elinde soon after. As for the hunter... he was exiled from Rajmir, thanks to Elinde's plea for mercy."

"Is it possible he returned after my great-grandfather's death? Maybe he had a son and named him after himself?"

"Unlikely. And if it happened, he didn't raise the child here. Something like that would have stirred gossip even decades later."

The apostle studied Ninka a moment.

"If I may ask, my lady—who is this man to you?"

Ninka couldn't find a convincing excuse.

"I'd rather keep that to myself. And if possible, I'd like to ask that this conversation remain between us."

"Of course. Though if you're looking for more details, there is someone who knows more than I do."

"Who?"

"Your escort—Sir Bosko. He was just a boy back then, but he lived in the castle. His father was captain of the guard. I only heard what my predecessor and the townsfolk said."

"I see."

"Do you need anything else, my lady?"

"No. I just need to think for a moment. Apostle... would you give me a moment alone?"

"Of course. I'll check on Radu's chores. And if I may—this is a place of faith. There's no better place to seek the Celestial's guidance."

After the apostle left, Ninka turned to face the aliscael. Well? Would it be too much to ask for a sign? A flame, maybe, like the one Lord Janko saw? I know I'm not devout, but she is. Lissa is. She glanced toward the entrance. Sir Bosko stood exactly where she had left him—watchful, still, like a hound eyeing the flock.

"Sir Bosko, could you come here?"

He approached immediately.

"Yes, my lady."

"Please, sit down."

He took the same seat the apostle had occupied.

"I want you to tell me about my great-aunt and the hunter. All of it."

The old knight took a moment, fingers tightening briefly on his knees.

"That's a very old story. If I may, my lady, why the interest?"

"I want to understand my family."

"Do you wish to know what happened to the hunter?"

"Yes. Exactly that."

"My lady... some things are better left in the past."

"Sir Bosko, I give you my word—whatever is said here stays between us. But if you hesitate now..."

She tilted her head just slightly.

"...I may need to involve my mother."

Sir Bosko blinked. That wasn't like Lady Vasilissa. But perhaps she was changing. Becoming more like her mother, who could balance gentleness with iron when the moment demanded it.

"Very well, my lady."

He straightened his back.

"The truth is... the hunter was never exiled."

"I suspected as much. Then what happened?"

He exhaled slowly.

"Let me start from the beginning. When people told this story back then, they said the Celestial had sent Lord Janko a sign in the form of a flame that led him to his daughter. Some may interpret it that way, but the truth is—the sign was sent by Lady Elinde herself."

"...How? And why?"

"The how is the easier part to answer, my lady. She lit a fire. A large one—the kind that takes true determination to build."

"And what was her motivation?"

"Now we get to the whys. Even if Lord Janko never wanted to admit it, she ran away with the hunter of her own free will—but later changed her mind. She built that fire because she wanted to be found. Most likely, the two had an argument. My father used to say that when they entered the cave, they were already fighting."

"Cave?"

"Yes, that's where they were hiding. A cave several kilometers deep into Temni Vozda. When Lord Janko arrived, his relief at finding his daughter was immediately overshadowed by the fury that consumed him, and he tried to end the hunter's life. But Lady Elinde stepped between them. He couldn't bring himself to commit such an act right there, in front of her. So she offered a compromise—exile. And Lord Janko agreed. But in secret, he ordered the two men escorting the hunter beyond Rajmir's borders to kill him the moment he and his daughter were gone."

"Could the hunter have escaped death?"

"No, my lady. That is not a possibility."

"Are you certain? How can you be so sure?"

"Because it was my father who carried out the order—who drove the dagger into the poor man's heart."

Ninka fell silent.

Sir Bosko's words seemed to weigh in the air, carrying the echoes of a past that perhaps should have remained buried. Her gaze drifted across the chapel, landing once more on the aliscael, which now seemed even more luminous under the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows.

"Thank you, Sir Bosko. Wait for me outside—we'll be leaving soon."

"As you wish, my lady."

He rose, gave a respectful nod, and stepped out of the chapel. Ninka remained where she was, alone, tangled in a web of conflicting thoughts.

The hunter's death felt like a distant tragedy, yet its implications were uncomfortably close.