The Chamber of Transference had always reeked of the scorching thirst of asceticism, but after the sealing of The Fated Covenant, the withered wood finally drank its fill of sweet dew.

  For Vivian, it was a time as viscous and sweet as honey.

  Every few days, she would come to serve The Unstained. Each session of "Receiving Grace" became a quiet yet fervent canticle.

  She would kneel beside the Holy Coffin, wipe the trace of blood from the corner of her lips, and gaze at the Unstained One’s flushed face after he had accepted her offering. In those moments, she felt an unparalleled serenity.

  The Ark within her body was solidifying. The Holy Fire, which used to spill over unpredictably, was now as docile as hearth fire, flickering in rhythm with her breath.

  There was no scorching anxiety, only an overflowing tremor of near-perfection.

  One morning, a Gaia-month later, during the Matins prayer.

  The Scripture on the Holy Coffin stopped pulsating, solidifying into a golden line symbolizing "Completion."

  "Look, Mother." Vivian chanted excitedly. "He drank my fierce fire, yet in the end, he breathed out serenity."

  Mora sat in the candlelight shadows, her gaze fixed on the Holy Coffin.

  Her defiance of Mora earlier hadn't created much distance; Mora still cared for her, but adhered strictly to the path of master and servant. A Mother Superior was still a Mother Superior, but strictly speaking, she was merely the attendant of the Fire Keeper.

  "Yes, Your Highness. As you wished, the Fated Covenant is sealed. The soul of the Unstained One is cleansed; the vessel should no longer remain in the coffin." Her voice lifted slightly. "Take him to receive the tempering of the 'Force of Earth'. A floating soul needs weight to land."

  Vivian nodded deeply, crossing her hands over her chest.

  "Yes, Mother."

  Crow removed the Unstained One.

  Ignoring the strong objections of Mora and Crow, Vivian installed the Unstained One deep within her own private chambers in The Sanctum.

  On the first morning, she quietly brought a golden basin of warm water. Kneeling by the couch, she soaked a snow-white square cloth. Then, inch by inch, she wiped the skin of the Unstained One. This was her most direct dialogue with divinity.

  The sensation was a mix of curiosity and fervor.

  Until... nourished by the pure water, the Unstained One suddenly displayed the awakening of a miraculous power.

  Vivian’s breath hitched violently.

  "Vitality..." She had read about it in ancient forbidden tomes. That was the "Staff of Life," the authority symbolizing creation and reproduction.

  She covered her burning cheeks, stumbling backward, her heart filled with trepidation at her reckless touch upon divine power.

  In the end, trembling, she had to summon Crow. Through the gauze curtain, she let the Gatekeeper, whose face was as dark as eternal night, dress the Unstained One for her.

  But the moment Crow lifted the fully dressed Unstained One onto the wooden wheelchair and covered him with a cashmere blanket woven with protective scriptures, Vivian immediately chased him away.

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  "Leave."

  Her cheeks were still flushed, but she fully regained the majesty of a Fire Keeper.

  Pushing the wheelchair was a holy ritual; she would never allow another to usurp it.

  "Let us go. My Guardian." She gripped the wooden handles, heading for the small garden. With every inch pushed, the wooden wheels ground against the stone slabs, making a dull thud. This, in itself, was a form of cultivation.

  In the days that followed, Vivian almost made her home in the small garden of The Sanctum.

  Early each morning, she would push open the heavy bronze doors to welcome the moist earth and the inextinguishable light of truth.

  "Do you feel it?"

  Vivian stopped beneath a massive oak tree, sweat dampening her temples.

  In this "Force of Earth" (Artificial Gravity), which was several times denser than the underground, her breathing quickened, and her legs ached slightly from the load.

  But she savored it like nectar.

  She looked up at the towering canopy and told the Unstained One: "The Force of Earth is the embrace of Gaia. Thaea is far from the protection of the Supreme One Gaia, so souls are always light, floating like dust without roots. Only in the Holy Court does the Supreme One grant us the Force of Earth, allowing us to root into the soil like trees."

  The Unstained One’s brow furrowed slightly. He was clearly recovering, but for some unknown reason, his soul had not yet returned to its seat. This worried Vivian, yet also delighted her—she could serve him as she pleased.

  That contract, completed through lips, gave her a tingling sweetness.

  A bee flew over, hovering above a red flower, its golden wings refracting a cold glint in the sunlight.

  The Unstained One was attracted by the bee, his gaze focused as if it were the most enchanting miracle in the world.

  Vivian’s eyes grew misty.

  "You are pitying it, aren't you?"

  She gently stroked the back of the Unstained One's cold hand, softly interpreting the Supreme One's mercy.

  "Even an insignificant insect, in your eyes, is filled with the glory of life... Your benevolence shames me."

  It was evident that the Unstained One was enjoying the peace of this return. His body, usually tense, was relaxing inch by inch.

  She enjoyed it just as much.

  Soon, she began to pour out her joys and troubles to the Guardian.

  "Do you know? Before I met you, I always felt I was a volcano ready to erupt at any moment."

  She half-knelt by the Unstained One’s legs, pressing her cheek against his hand on his knee.

  "But now, in your shadow, I have grown into a tree. And you... are my sun."

  In this corner filled only with the sound of wind and water, the confidences became more frequent. She even took off her mask, revealing the fears she could only chew on alone in the long, dark nights.

  "Last night... I dreamed of my sisters again. They were dancing in a sea of fire, burning at the end of the abyss... They had no faces, only burnt wings. They were screaming... not because of death, but because of... Emptiness!"

  Vivian’s shoulders trembled uncontrollably.

  "Mother says that is a glorious destination, a ritual of turning to light, scattering to dust, returning to the Supreme Place. But I... I am still afraid. I fear turning into ash like that before completing my mission. I fear that even the most intense pain cannot fill such a void of grandeur."

  She lifted her head, her sea-blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  "Only when I serve you, only when I watch you tear up, do I feel I am alive... Even if this is a selfish sin, I want to keep this sin."

  The Unstained One was moved. His black eyes were shining, filled with the ocean!

  Such wonderful days passed one after another, as if they could go on forever.

  However, God does not promise eternal peace.

  One day, Mother Mora appeared at the end of the path, her face as dark as the shadow of the Tycho Ring.

  She told Vivian that a secret envoy from the Privy Council sought an audience.

  She followed the Mother to the reception hall.

  As the heavy wooden doors closed behind her, the moist earthy scent of the garden was instantly cut off. Replacing it was the cold incense that lingered perennially within the temple.

  The reception hall was vast and empty. Cold light from the dome struck the obsidian floor, casting a gaunt and sharp shadow.

  That shadow belonged to a man in deep crimson robes. Just standing there, he made the surrounding air thin and oppressive—the aura of an Inquisitor, unique to the Privy Council.

  "Your Highness, Fire Keeper." The envoy performed a prostration, but his voice carried the arrogance of one long in power. "There is a rumor."

  Vivian exchanged a glance with Mora.

  The envoy took a step forward, lowering his voice. The tone carried the scent of blood.

  "...Have you lost a case of exclusive Drop?"

  He paused, the corner of his mouth hooking into a knowing smile—the expression of a hunter spotting prey.

  "...Was it stolen by someone? Someone who is... a heretical physician, personally stripped of his title by High Cardinal Morrison for attempting to dissect theology with a scalpel."

  In that instant, Vivian felt a chill run down her spine.

  Someone is coming to take the Guardian.