Chapter Twenty: Yulia Ulysses

Seventh floor of the Supreme Spire, in the prayer chamber.

The girl was not praying.

She merely sat quietly in her wheelchair, eyes closed, letting her long silver hair cascade behind her.

Before her was a beam of light—pure, immaculate, a holy radiance symbolizing light and order. This was a manifestation of the deity—the god whom the Order served, revealed upon the earth. The being bore no name, nor did it require one; its very existence was proof of order, the one and only divinity both above and below. The Order called it the Lord.

It was the master of order, and thus of all things, an omniscient and omnipotent sovereign. Even if this was only a projection, a manufactured idol made holy by artifice, the light that stood for the supreme divinity, for the all-knowing and almighty Lord, was enough for every member of the Order to bow in worship, to offer up their faith and their lives.

This had nothing to do with status or position, but everything to do with the devotion of the soul.

Yet the girl sat silently in her wheelchair, neither speaking nor praying, her eyes closed from beginning to end. If not for the faint movement of her delicate nose, one might have thought she was long dead, or had become a marble statue—such was her stillness.

Yes, too still.

Perhaps it was due to her constitution, but her breathing was nearly inaudible, so faint that even if she were to lose her breath the next instant, no one would be surprised.

A porcelain doll.

Anyone who saw her doll-like features and her pale, almost sickly skin would easily mistake her for a beautiful but fragile porcelain figurine.

But she was no doll; she was Yulia Ulysses, a child of the Radiance.

Children of the Radiance were never frail. Even the most fallen among them possessed bodies of strength unimaginable to ordinary people—they were born strong, lacking only the heart and will to master their power. But the girl was different, different from most who shared her blood.

Though not as delicate as true porcelain, she was, in truth, fragile.

Not weak, but fragile.

Her small body bore a burden far too great, and a power far too immense.

“—Light.”

Her slender lips parted, letting out a warm breath.

She stretched out her hand, pale and slender fingers curling slightly, as if grasping at something.

But there was nothing.

When she opened her hand, all she saw was emptiness.

“So it is the purest light,” she murmured, though her eyes remained closed, as if she saw something beyond sight.

“Yet... it is not the color of the Flame.”

A trace of puzzlement crossed her features as she tilted her head, pondering. “It feels quite different from the Lighthouse as well... purer, even more... cold?”

Light came in many colors.

Ordinary fire, to her perception, was devoid of color, mere outline like a pencil sketch, while colored light was always special, always infused with extraordinary power.

Take the Flame, for example.

The light of the Flame was warm, like the early sun, lazy and comforting.

Or the Lighthouse.

The Lighthouse was light in darkness, cold and pure. It could dispel the shadows, carve order from chaos, yet offered no warmth at all—utterly mechanical, utterly lifeless.

But the light venerated by the Order felt entirely different from either the Flame or the Lighthouse.

It was exceedingly pure, lacking the lively soul and will that characterized the Flame, and yet not as dead as the Lighthouse. Undoubtedly, it too was “alive,” but unlike the Flame’s vibrant life, it was icy, with an inorganic intellect. Though warmth could be sensed, at the core, it felt cold to the soul.

Or perhaps, ruthless.

Like a god high above, gazing down upon the mortal world.

Such was the nature of the Order.

Reigning, but not ruling.

The girl found her doubts only deepened as she pondered.

Humans were social creatures; wherever there was a group, there would be desires. The Order, as the largest and strongest power in the human world, could not be as selfless as saints of ancient legend. Behind their aloof detachment, there must lie interests and ambitions—ambitions that had nothing to do with the rise and fall of humankind, nor with the spread of faith.

The faithful of the Order cared less for the fate of humanity or the dissemination of belief than for their own strictures.

For in those, their hopes of returning to the heavens after death resided.

Yulia could hardly understand why anyone would value their afterlife above the well-being of the living, or why one would abandon family so that their soul might ascend to the sky.

It was simply incomprehensible.

A slight frown creased her lovely brow, and her feelings toward the Order grew ever more complex.

On one hand, the Order’s discipline was the indispensable shield and sword against darkness and chaos. Yet on the other, this vast, chilling community of interests was as inscrutable as a beast lurking in the abyss, hardly one to whom she would entrust her back.

Thus, she had to uncover their true nature.

Before... the Day of Judgment arrived.

—

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt, and for the first time, panic appeared on Yulia’s delicate face.

“That Franks... always doing unnecessary things...”

She bit her lip in embarrassment, but her flush quickly faded from her cheeks. Calmly, she turned her wheelchair away from the outpouring of holy light behind her. Though her eyes remained closed, the uninvited boy felt as though he were being scrutinized.

“I meant to surprise you,” said the radiant youth hesitantly, scratching his head awkwardly as his sister ‘looked’ at him. “But, well... there’s nothing so interesting on my face that you have to stare at me like that, is there?”

“Amy,” Yulia uttered crisply.

“Yes?”

“Showing up uninvited is hardly gentlemanly,” she said evenly, her face devoid of any expression. “Besides... was your idea of a surprise to creep up behind me like a ghost, cover my eyes, and ask ‘Guess who I am?’”

“I was actually going to say, ‘You can scream all you want, but no one will hear you.’” The boy tried to laugh it off, but as his motives were seen through, he could only maintain his dignity as an elder brother with stubborn denial.

“Oh?” Yulia replied dryly, “Scream all you want.”

“Huh?” Amy was momentarily baffled.

“You see?” the girl spread her hands. “There’s always a fool who’ll answer.”

The boy was speechless.

He could only chuckle and change the subject, somewhat awkwardly, “So, Yulia, are you settling in with the Order?”

“It’s fine,” she replied softly, shaking her head. “How about you?”

“Me?” Amy smiled gently, reaching out by habit to ruffle her silken hair as he used to, but she tilted her head away. He touched his nose in mild embarrassment before replying, “It’s been pretty good, actually. Maybe not as lively as we’re used to, but people are friendly—perhaps a bit too friendly, if anything.”

He spoke these half-truths without a care.

“I’m not a child anymore, Amy,” Yulia arched an elegant brow. “Don’t think you can fob me off with the same tricks you used when I was little.”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded like a pecking chick, a suppressed smile tugging at his earnest face. “My little Lia has grown into quite the young lady.”

“A ‘lady’?” She couldn’t see the teasing smile, nor did she grasp the word’s unfamiliar connotation, but she frowned, nearly gritting her teeth, “I get the feeling you’re thinking something very inappropriate.”

“Absolutely not,” the radiant youth denied flatly.

Silence.

After a while, Yulia said, “You’d better not let me catch you out.”

“Of course,” he responded instinctively.

“...” She paused, “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Ahem—ahem—” He coughed to cover his embarrassment, then shifted the topic again, “Yulia, if anything bothers you, you can always tell your brother. I just did the old man a favor, so I should still have a say in the Order.”

“Are you sure you weren’t asking him for a favor?” she said, certain.

“Mutual benefit,” Amy replied without the slightest shame. “This way, Franks can strengthen his influence in the Council of Twelve.”

The Council of Twelve—Yulia had heard of it, of course. It was one of the Order’s decision-making bodies. When the Primate was absent and crucial choices had to be made, the White Robed Bishops could convene this council, whose resolutions carried the highest authority, equal to the Primate’s own.

It was good for Franks to gain more clout among the bishops, but...

She frowned, concern in her voice, “Did you get into trouble in the lower quarters?”

“It’s nothing,” Amy sighed, realizing his slip. “Just a bit of a nuisance.”

“There are no small nuisances when the Council of Twelve is involved,” Yulia’s voice was icy cold, as if her suppressed feelings might erupt like a volcano at any moment. “Amy, I already told you—don’t treat me like a little girl. I’ve grown up.”

“Yes, you’ve grown up,” he said, placing his hand on her head. This time, she did not dodge. “But it really isn’t a big deal. I’ll sort it out soon, and then I can take you out of the Order. We’ll live together again.”

“Amy...” Yulia hesitated, wanting to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

“What is it?” Sensing her unnatural stiffness, the young radiant one asked gently.

Yulia unconsciously pressed her lips together, her teeth barely touching. After a long pause, she raised her head and spoke, each word distinct, “I may have to stay with the Order.”

Like lightning splitting the sky, the boy was stunned. “What... did you say?”

“I,” the girl’s voice was soft, low, yet brooking no refusal, “must stay with the Order.”

“Why?” Amy asked.

“I told you before,” Yulia shook her head, her tone resolute. “I’ve grown up.”

Yes... grown up...

Staring at her serene face, the boy’s heart was churned by mixed emotions. He did not know whether to be glad or sorrowful; all he knew was a hollow sense of loss, as though something essential had slipped away.

He wandered in this daze for the rest of the day, and by the time he left the Supreme Spire, he could not even recall how he had departed.

All he remembered was—

Bathed in the holy light behind her, the girl seemed more sacred than ever.