The Divine Skiff cut cleanly through the morning air, its hull etched with prayer-runes that glowed a soft cerulean as they drank in ambient mana. Below, the white spires of Atlantis gradually shrank, the Imperial Palace becoming a distant geometry of marble and authority.
Inside the cabin, silence reigned.
Null sat near the window, hands resting loosely in his lap. His posture was relaxed, almost careless, yet there was something withdrawn about him—as though he were merely accompanying his own existence rather than inhabiting it. The reinforced glass beside him shimmered faintly, warded against pressure and sound, granting an uninterrupted view of clouds rolling past like slow, indifferent tides.
Across from him sat Sora.
She had removed her ceremonial mantle, replacing it with a lighter traveling vest bearing the sigil of the Divine Church—simpler, practical, devoid of sanctified excess. Her back was straight, her hands folded neatly, expression composed into the distant calm she always wore.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
The skiff hummed softly, a sound halfway between a chant and a current.
Finally, Sora broke the silence.
"…You're taking this remarkably well."
Null blinked, then turned slightly toward her. There was no surprise in his eyes—only mild curiosity, as if he were amused by the observation itself.
"Am I?" he asked, his tone light, carrying a faint, unreadable edge—something like quiet amusement at a joke only he could hear.
She studied him then, not as a Saintess addressing a subject, but as a woman trained to read people as scripture—to search for fractures, tells, hidden verses beneath the surface.
"Most summoned beings react with anger," she said coolly. "Or fear. Some beg. Others demand answers they don't yet understand."
Null considered this, gaze drifting back toward the sky.
"I don't have the right to demand anything," he replied. "Not here."
His voice was calm. Not resigned. Not bitter.
Merely… accepting.
Sora's brows knit faintly.
"That isn't true."
He gave a small shrug, a gesture so casual it almost felt deliberate.
"It feels true."
The words were not bitter. Just… factual.
The skiff passed through a thin cloudbank, light scattering briefly across the cabin. In that fleeting glow, Sora noticed something she hadn't fully registered before—not emptiness, not weakness, but distance. As though Null stood half a step removed from the world itself, observing it from an angle impossible to reach.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
There it was again—that subtle lilt in his voice.
Polite. Curious. And faintly amused, as if he already suspected the answer.
She inclined her head. "Within reason."
"Why did you volunteer to escort me?"
The question settled between them, unforced, unchallenging.
Sora did not answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was quieter—still cool, still controlled, but softened at the edges in a way she did not consciously intend.
"Because when you stood before the Emperor," she said, "you did not ask for power. Or protection. Or purpose."
She met his gaze, and for just a moment, the distance she maintained with the world wavered.
"You asked for permission to return you to your home world."
Null's fingers curled slightly.
"That scared you?" he asked—not probing, not accusing. Almost… gently curious.
"No," she replied honestly. "It concerned me."
A pause.
"And because," she continued, her tone returning to its measured calm—though still not quite as cold as before, "I've seen what happens when the Church leaves anomalies in the hands of ambition."
The skiff surged forward, sunlight flooding the cabin once more.
Null leaned back, eyes lifting toward the endless blue beyond the glass. A faint smile touched his lips—not warm, not cruel—just subtly amused, as though he found something ironic in the situation.
"…Then I suppose," he said, "I'm glad it was you."
The words were simple. But there was something in the way he said them—an undercurrent of quiet sincerity wrapped in distant humor.
Sora looked away first..
A faint warmth touched her cheeks—gone as quickly as it came.
"Do not misunderstand our roles," she said, professional once more. "This is observation. Nothing else."
"Of course," Null replied easily.
The skiff's steady hum filled the brief lull that followed.
Null shifted slightly in his seat, turning his head toward her once more. The faint smile at the corner of his lips returned—unhurried, knowing, almost playful.
"…Enough about me," he said lightly. "Why don't you tell me about you?"
Sora stiffened.
The question struck her far more sharply than any accusation could have.
"…There is nothing of note," she replied at once, her voice cool again, reflexively so. "My life is dedicated to the Church. It is neither unique nor relevant to your observation."
Null hummed, as if considering a riddle.
"That wasn't an answer," he said pleasantly.
She shot him a sideways glance. "It was sufficient."
"For a report, maybe." His eyes gleamed faintly. "Not for a conversation."
Sora turned fully toward him then, frown forming. "You are remarkably bold for someone under ecclesiastical supervision."
"And you're remarkably evasive for someone who volunteered to sit alone with me in the sky," he countered, tone mild, almost amused.
She opened her mouth—
—and closed it again.
For a heartbeat, she looked genuinely caught off guard.
"That is not—" She paused, inhaled, and straightened her posture. "This is a matter of duty."
"Is that all?" he asked.
Not accusatory. Not mocking.
Just… curious.
Sora looked away, fingers tightening together in her lap.
"…Yes."
Null tilted his head. "You hesitated."
Her eyes flicked back to him. "You imagine things."
"Maybe," he said. "But you didn't deny it."
Silence stretched—thin, delicate.
The clouds outside shifted, sunlight washing the cabin in pale gold.
"…What would you even want to know?" she asked at last, her voice quieter than before.
Null's smile widened just a fraction.
"Anything," he said. "What you like. What you hate. What makes you forget you're a Saintess for five minutes."
"That is an inappropriate line of inquiry."
"Ah," he nodded solemnly. "So that means it's the right one."
She stared at him.
Then—against her will—a small, incredulous sound escaped her.
It was almost a laugh.
She froze the moment she realized it.
Null noticed.
His eyes softened, amused but gentle. "There it is."
"There is nothing," she said quickly, cheeks warming. "You heard nothing."
"Of course," he replied smoothly. "My mistake."
She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a brief moment—as if steadying herself.
"…I used to like the night sky," she said suddenly.
Null blinked.
She opened her eyes again, clearly surprised at herself—but the words had already left her.
"I used to sneak out at night," she continued, quieter now. "I liked watching the stars shimmer in the darkness. It felt… unclaimed. As though the universe hadn't yet decided what kind of wonderous shape it wanted to take."
"Used too?..."
"Yes, In my childhood days..." A faint pain laced her voice—there, and gone an instant later. "Back when my world was still intact."
She glanced at him, then quickly looked away again, as if unsure why she had said any of it.
Null listened without interrupting, an unreadable glint briefly passing through his dark red eyes.
Uncomfortable with the openness, Sora shifted—and changed the subject.
"And you?" she asked abruptly. "What did you like? Before… all this."
Null leaned back, gaze drifting upward.
"…I like the night sky too, especially the moon."
She looked at him.
Properly looked at him.
"You do?"
He nodded, eyes still lifted, expression unreadable—yet touched with an insurmountable fondness.
"There's something comforting about it," he said. "it never stops illuminating. No matter how many times I look up, it remains mystical and pristine. A quiet beacon in darkness".
A pause.
"I used to spend nights just watching it," he added. "Not out of wonder. Not for meaning. Just because… it made me feel anchored to the world."
Sora stared.
For a moment, the Saintess forgot to guard her expression.
"…That's—"
She stopped herself.
Then, quieter, "…I thought I was the only one."
Null glanced at her, surprised.
"Really?"
She nodded faintly. "Most people prefer the sun. Glory. Certainty."
Her lips curved before she could stop them.
"The night is for those who don't quite belong where they're placed."
Silence settled between them—not heavy this time, but shared.
Then Null chuckled softly.
"Seems we have better taste than most."
She huffed before she could help herself.
"…You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why?" he asked, amusement deepening.
"Afraid someone might discover you're human?"
Her cheeks warmed.
"I am human," she said quickly.
"Of course," Null replied. "But you don't often sound like it."
She opened her mouth to retort—
Then stopped.
Because she realized she was smiling.
Not politely.
Not professionally.
Genuinely.
The realization startled her more than his words.
"…This conversation is inappropriate," she said, turning away far too quickly.
"And yet," Null said lightly, a mischievous lilt in his voice, "you don't seem eager to end it."
Sora flushed deeply, lowering her head as she gripped the fabric of her skirt—her heart beating slightly faster for reasons she could neither name nor suppress.
***
{Sora's POV}
I shouldn't feel like this.
That thought surfaced first—sharp, reflexive, drilled into me by years of discipline.
A Saintess does not lose composure.
A Saintess does not drift.
And yet… my heart hadn't obeyed.
I kept my head lowered, hands clenched in my lap far tighter than necessary, as if gripping fabric could anchor the quiet tremor inside my chest. My face was warm. Embarrassingly so. I could still feel the faint echo of my own smile—uninvited, unguarded.
When was the last time I smiled like that?
Not the practiced curve meant for society.
A real one.
I told myself it was fatigue. Emotional residue from the audience and the aftershocks of the mortal summoning ritual.
But the lie rang hollow.
Because the truth was far more unsettling.
I felt… comfortable.
Not relaxed—no, that wasn't it.
It was more profound, more serene, as if a deeply buried chamber within me had been gently unlocked, allowing a soulful breath to enter, as if the very essence of my existence had been touched by his mysterious presence, awakening feelings and thoughts that had long been dormant.
Soul-deep quiver.
That was the only way to articulate it.
Null hadn't pressed me. Hadn't demanded, hadn't pried. He simply asked—with that infuriatingly mild tone, that distant amusement that made it impossible to tell whether he was teasing me or simply… observing.
And somehow, in his presence, my cold composure kept slipping.
Not shattered.
Not broken.
Just… softening.
That frightened me more than hostility ever could.
I had spent years perfecting distance. Years ensuring that my voice remained steady, my thoughts aligned, my emotions neatly folded away where they could not interfere with my personal goals.
And yet with him—
A summoned anomaly.
An unblessed deviation.
I felt alive.
Not exhilarated. Not overwhelmed.
Alive in a way I had forgotten long ago.
As though the world had briefly shifted from obligation to experience.
I hated that realization.
And I hated how, when he spoke of the moon—so simply, so earnestly—it felt as though he had reached into a memory I hadn't dared touch since childhood. Those nights when the sky felt vast and unclaimed, when I wasn't yet a Saintess, when the stars didn't watch me with expectation.
When I belonged to myself.
I told myself it was coincidence.
Shared sentiment. Nothing more.
But coincidences did not unsettle the soul.
I lifted my gaze just enough to glimpse his reflection in the window—calm, distant, quietly amused. As if he were aware of something I wasn't.
Or worse.
As if he were perfectly aware of me.
My fingers tightened again.
This is dangerous, I thought.
Not because of him.
But because of what awakens when I am near him.
And the most terrifying part?
A unknown, treacherous part of my heart and soul whispered—
I don't want it to stop.
Just then—
The cabin door slid open with a soft hiss of displaced mana.
I straightened instantly, posture snapping back into practiced composure as Elder Ozag stepped inside.
The senior priest moved with measured calm, his long grey hair bound at the nape of his neck, his robes marked with layered sigils of warding and authority. His presence alone shifted the air, grounding the cabin in solemn reality.
"Saintess," he said evenly. "We are nearing the Divine Sanctum. Arrival in approximately ten minutes."
"I understand," I replied at once, my tone cool, distant—perfect.
Ozag's gaze flicked briefly between us.
Too briefly.
Too precisely.
His eyes lingered for half a heartbeat longer than necessary—on the ambiguous atmosphere between Null and myself. On the residual warmth that had not yet fully faded. On the subtle tension that had nothing to do with mana flow.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he inclined his head politely toward Null. "Make ready. There will be formalities upon arrival."
Null nodded easily. "I'll try not to trip over destiny on the way down."
Ozag paused.
Just a fraction.
Then continued on without comment, exiting the cabin as silently as he had entered.
The door sealed shut behind him.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.