"Greetings, nice to et you, Lady Vestal and her companions." Alia bowed slightly. Her tone was kind, but clearly asured."
"You don't have to be so formal, sister Alia." Lysaria quickly went forward, helping Alia up.
"It's not every day that soone outside notices little hands and hungry bellies."
"They noticed," the eldest boy said firmly. "They ca all the way just to walk us ho."
Riku chuckled. "Well, how could we ever not co to such a beautiful place?"
The children laughed. Even Sister Alia smiled.
Still, her gaze returned to Lysaria — not distrustful, but wary, as if she'd seen too many robes and not enough action.
Sensing the unspoken weight in the air, Lila took a quiet step forward. "Why don't I take the little ones outside for a bit? The courtyard looks like a nice place to show off so cart tricks."
Riku gave her a small nod.
The children erupted with excitent as Lila ushered them out into the sunlit yard with promises of mochi crumbs and "cart racing" (though the cart would remain firmly in place).
Once the chapel was quiet again, Lysaria stepped forward.
"Sister Alia," she said gently. "You may not know . I am Lysaria of the Inner Fla. Vestal rank. We t these wonderful kids on the streets today. So we ca to drop them by.."
The old woman gave a slow nod. "Ah. I thought the colors on your sash looked familiar."
Lysaria looked around — at the worn furniture, the chipped altar tiles, the candles burned low on reused wicks.
"I've been told... you receive aid only once every six months."
Alia smiled — but this ti, the kindness in her eyes was tinged with sadness.
"Once every six months," she confird softly. "If I write three tis, that is."
Lysaria frowned. "That's not the distribution policy. Every church receives money every month from Luxsia, which is distributed to all facilities under the church."
"I know," Alia said, gently placing a worn teacup on the nearby table. "But I'm told this building isn't 'active enough' to receive priority. We don't run rituals. We don't convert. And we don't tithe."
She smiled again, a little wryly.
"We just feed children. Tell them stories. Help them sleep at night."
Riku sat down on a nearby bench, listening silently.
"And... you've never tried appealing again?" Lysaria asked.
"I have," Alia said. "Three tis. One scroll got returned. Another was never answered. The last one... I was told not to ask again."
Lysaria's hand clenched at her side.
Riku exhaled softly.
Lysaria's hands trembled as they fell to her sides, her golden cuffs rustling against the rough fabric of the orphanage table.
"This is unacceptable," she said, her voice low but burning with tightly held fury. "A registered sanctuary — with orphans no less — reduced to begging for support? The state of the church is much more worse than I thought."
Her eyes flashed. "I'll go to the Central Council myself, and find out what is happening here. I'll na nas, and—"
"Lysaria," Riku's voice cut through — not loud, but steady.
She turned to him, breathing hard.
He didn't look away.
"Do you plan to stay here after that?" he asked quietly.
Lysaria frowned. "What?"
"If you march into the central council, demand justice, and expose the corruption... will you stay behind afterward? Here, in this orphanage?"
Alia said nothing — only sipped her cooling tea with a calm stillness.
Riku leaned forward slightly.
"Because they'll need you when the church retaliates. Not with force — but with indifference. They'll stop responding. They'll cut funding elsewhere. Or worse — they'll raise it again, but only by pressuring the public, taking more tithes from people already stretched thin."
Lysaria's lips parted, but no words ca.
"You'll fix the surface," Riku continued gently, "but not the roots. And when you leave, they'll find a new way to punish this place for daring to speak."
Lysaria looked away, her fists clenched now.
"I just... I can't accept it," she muttered. "This place doesn't deserve to suffer because soone in the capital prefers golden altars to hungry mouths."
"You're right," Riku said.
His voice softened.
"No one deserves a life like this. That's why I have another idea."
Lysaria looked back up.
Riku smiled faintly. "Let's move them. All of them. The kids, Sister Alia, the books, the quilts, even the half-dead flower pots."
"But where should we move them?" Lysaria asked, her eyes still slightly teary from her earlier emotions.
He leaned back.
"Bring them to Elowen."
Lysaria blinked. "Elowen...?"
"The orphanage can be part of the new church," he said. "No middlen. No bureaucracy. Just food, water, and peace."
Alia looked between them, startled. "I couldn't—"
"You'd still be in charge," Riku added. "But this ti, you'd have fresh harvests. Endless clean water. And..." —he glanced at Lysaria— "...a Vestal who actually gives a damn."
Lysaria's mouth fell slightly open.
The vision unfolded in her mind — the green fields, the laughter of the children, no temple walls or sealed scrolls, only the quiet warmth of faith and care.
A place where light didn't need a golden chandelier to shine.
She exhaled slowly. "It's... not a bad idea."
"No," Riku said, standing and stretching with a satisfied yawn, "it's a great one."
Riku walked toward the chapel door, poked his head out, and called cheerfully, "Lila! Bring the squad back in. We've got sothing important to discuss."
The patter of feet filled the hall seconds later. The kids burst in first, faces sticky with crumbs and laughter, Lila following behind them with an exaggerated sigh.
"They cheated," she said flatly, dusting off her sleeves. "One of them tried to tie my bootlaces together mid-cart race."
The smallest boy raised a hand proudly. "That was !"
Riku grinned. "A future strategist, clearly."
Once everyone had settled into a loose circle around the chapel room, Lysaria stepped forward. Her expression was gentler now, and her eyes still shimred faintly.
"We've been talking with Sister Alia," she said. "And... we have a proposal."
The room went quiet — not tense, but curious.
Riku crouched beside the nearest child. "How would you all feel about moving to a new place?"
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