* * *
“Ein.”
“Yes, the name is Ein.”
“Ein…”
Kaindel repeated the name, rolling it over his tongue.
It was such an unremarkable name, yet it stubbornly lingered in his mind.
It had to be because of what he’d heard at the temple.
The priest who mentioned it had also added that Ein—or whatever his name was—had black hair, but strikingly pale, almost icy, eyes.
Kaindel had dismissed the detail about his hair color at the time, but now that he thought about it, Isa’s eyes had shone like a sky filled with countless stars.
And hair could be dyed, couldn’t it?
Just because he hadn’t seen a silver-haired man at the temple didn’t mean he should give up.
He now realized how foolish it was not to have considered checking people’s eyes—especially when priests often covered their faces with masks.
If the teacher he had met in Aiden had left the village and joined the temple—if he had become a trainee priest and settled there—it all started to make sense.
One by one, the puzzle pieces were clicking into place.
The weight pressing on his chest slowly began to lift.
If, by any chance, the child’s teacher was truly Isa, then sending him to the temple was a decision that was unmistakably characteristic of Sehir.
Because Sehir understood Kaindel better than anyone else.
Reaching that conclusion, Kaindel gestured behind him.
From the shadows along the wall, a figure seamlessly stepped forward—Jerome.
The man in front of Kaindel visibly stiffened at Jerome’s sudden appearance, his face going pale as he instinctively took a step back in fear.
Ignoring him, Kaindel massaged his stiff neck and rose to his feet.
His intoxication had long since faded.
The hallucinations and echoes that had haunted him moments ago disappeared the more he thought about the temple.
“Jerome.”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to the temple.”
“Understood.”
Jerome, unfazed by the abrupt decision, merely bowed his head.
He had no intention of stopping Kaindel—not that it would have worked anyway.
He knew all too well that Kaindel never listened to reason when he was set on something.
Kaindel couldn’t head to the temple immediately after leaving Jon Snow.
The land on which the temple stood technically bordered the Kingdom of Hadelber, but it belonged to the temple itself.
To enter, one needed permission from the temple authorities.
If he showed up without a valid reason, he would be denied entry.
That was why he first arranged a meeting with the Pope.
Only after securing that could he set foot inside.
Of course, he could have used his status as the Hero, but that would have drawn too much attention.
He was already ignoring the king’s summons and had indefinitely postponed his marriage to Kerelona.
If his movements as a Hero were widely known, things would become much more complicated.
So instead, Kaindel intended to visit quietly and leave just as discreetly.
Fortunately, the Pope was more than pleased to hear that the Hero wished to meet him.
He even sent a letter saying Kaindel was welcome at any time.
Under the guise of diplomatic meetings with the Pope, Kaindel stayed near the temple, repeatedly engaging in meaningless conversations with him.
But his true goal remained unchanged.
To find Isa.
And if possible, to win him back—to make him choose, of his own will, to return to Kaindel’s side.
That was why his top priority remained the same.
To find the priest named “Ein.”
At that time—just like the day before—Kaindel left the Pope’s chambers and, before departing, took a detour through the temple’s garden.
It was a completely impulsive decision.
He simply wanted to.
Or rather, it felt like he needed to.
Taking the long route through the central temple garden meant he’d have to walk much farther to reach the main gate.
And yet, for some reason, he didn’t mind at all.
The moment he arrived at the garden, carried on the wind, a clear laughter rang out—accompanied by a half-formed call.
“Isaac! Help me with this!”
“Okay!”
…Isaac?
Kaindel froze in place, staring at his unmoving feet.
Then, for a long moment, he doubted his own ears.
Isaac.
It was a name he had heard countless times, even after Isa disappeared.
A name mentioned by strangers with no connection to him, and by Isa’s closest friend.
Was it truly referring to that Isaac?
Or was he just grasping at straws, afraid of setting himself up for yet another disappointment?
And then, as if to mock his hesitation, the voices called out again.
“Is this enough? Do you think we need more?”
“No, the High Priest said this should be fine. But, Isaac, did you eat lunch? You didn’t skip it again because you were transcribing, did you?”
“The transcriptions were piling up. What else could I do?”
“You mean Hezl transcriptions were piling up, not yours. You’re too nice for your own good.”
“It’s not Hezl, it’s Harilson.”
Like ice melting into water, Kaindel’s stiffened head finally turned toward the direction of the voices.
There, two priests were taking down freshly dried white sheets from the laundry line and neatly stacking them into a basket as large as their bodies.
One of them, called “Isaac,” had black hair, but with his face concealed behind a mask, only his lips were clearly visible.
Kaindel unknowingly stared at those lips, curved into a crescent shape, before letting out a quiet sigh.
No wonder they seemed familiar.
The way they curved into a smile was something he knew all too well—something he missed so much it hurt.
It was unsettling, the way that familiar sight stirred such an aching longing within him.
The rational part of him, the one that insisted this man wasn’t Isa, wavered, its resolve crumbling like a fragile vessel filling rapidly with water.
A sudden breeze brushed past the tip of his nose, carrying with it a faint scent.
It wasn’t an overpowering, artificial fragrance, nor the kind that triggered headaches.
On the contrary, it eased the persistent ache in his temples.
It was the same scent he always sought when something unsettled him, the one he buried his face into whenever he needed solace.
His frozen gaze locked onto the black-haired priest again, his movements stiff.
Why was it only now that he recognized that faintly lingering smile, one that seemed on the verge of vanishing at any moment?
There was only one person in this world who smiled like that.
Only one person who, despite their faded presence, always made their existence known.
“…….”
That was Isa.
There was no way it wasn’t Isa.
His instincts roared in recognition.
He wanted to run to him immediately, to grab him and never let go.
But another thought clashed against it—what if, after all this time, Isa rejected him?
Even so, the overwhelming relief of finally finding Isa tightened Kaindel’s fists.
A sharp sting bloomed in his palm—he’d clenched his hands so tightly that his nails had broken skin.
Kaindel forced himself to keep his expression steady, though his eyes twisted with emotion.
He had never imagined their reunion would happen like this.
He was startled, but at the same time, he was relieved.
His emotions tangled in his chest, too complex to be summed up in a single word, leaving him breathless.
“Anyway, Harilson really… He just loves playing around too much. That’s his problem.”
“But he’s a good kid.”
“If you say so. But there’s no way I’d ever take care of him like you do. I’m not about to finish his transcriptions for him.”
“I’m not really doing them for him. It’s just… when I have time. He’s busy too.”
“Still can’t tell if you’re kind or just an idiot.”
“Don’t worry, Louis. I make sure to get something in return.”
At those words, Isa gave a gentle smile.
Kaindel had no idea who this Harilson was, but from the way the other priest sighed in exasperation, they must have been close.
Even after two years, Isa was still the same—so kind it was almost foolish.
Kaindel looked at the priest speaking to Isa, then back at Isa himself, biting down on his lower lip.
A faint taste of blood spread in his mouth.
Isa was smiling.
The Isa who had once felt so far away was right in front of him, smiling so clearly.
Of course.
Isa had always been someone who smiled like that.
Someone who could smile like that.
And the person who had taken that smile away was none other than Kaindel himself.
I’m sorry, Isa.
Kaindel swallowed the words, forcing them down along with the truth he had once drunkenly blurted out.
* * *
