The Foundation Stone

The bookshelf where Lyset and Christoph had first stood face to face.

Lyset slowly walked into that deepest space filled with historical volumes and anthologies.

‘Surely, I’m being told to follow her.’

Morten glanced around.

When he had first entered the library, the guide priest Odense and others nearby had been surprised and greeted him, but now everyone was focused on their own business. After all, in a library, paying too much attention to others’ movements was considered improper.

Confirming no one was watching him and that the area was empty, Morten slipped into the aisle where Lyset had disappeared.

“…!”

As expected, Lyset was standing there, visibly tense.

‘Still… she truly does resemble her.’

Morten sighed and approached. His sheer size was intimidating, and Lyset instinctively stepped back.

“Forgive me… you are Sister Lyset, yes? We’ve seen each other before, but I am—”

“Sir Morten. You are the Knight Commander, Sir Morten.”

“That is correct.”

“And Sister Roze’s father.”

“Indeed. As I said at the banquet. I only wished to ask—”

“The underground.”

“Wh—what did you say?”

“The last thing Sister Roze left us were three words: ‘Underground, Morten, Roze.’”

“Underground… Morten… Roze…”

“I—I mean, we all understood it to mean that she was in the basement and wanted it relayed to her father, Sir Morten. We saw no other meaning in it.”

“I understand. But what is in the convent’s basement?”

“There are many small chambers where one prays in darkness for penance. Beyond that, I do not know. I have never been inside. Only that those who commit truly grave sins are taken there.”

“Then… what great sin could our Roze have committed?”

“I cannot answer that either. But Sister Roze was taken away after only a few days of serving Prioress Cecilia. The last time I saw her was during the special hymn — she vanished after shedding tears. Then at dawn, those words were carved into a desk, and her clothes and Scripture were gone.”

Morten realized Lyset was not lying to him.

It was the intuition honed from countless encounters over the years. And that intuition told him Lyset spoke the truth — and that Roze was truly in grave danger.

At that moment, a priest came pushing a book cart toward them.

“For now, thank you. If ever there is something I can do for you, find me without hesitation. Whatever Sister Lyset asks of me, I will see it done — no matter what. Farewell.”

Morten pulled a few random books from the shelf, walked out, traced the Sign of the Cross to the approaching priest, and passed him by.

Left alone, Lyset busied herself with dusting the shelves, pretending nothing had happened.

“Father Thomas has returned from his mission.”

“Has he? Rather late. Send him in.”

Kraf, having received the message, ordered the door opened.

Thomas entered the chamber, made the Sign of the Cross, and knelt.

“Peace in the Lord be with you. High Priest Kraf, your faithful servant Thomas has returned, having completed the mission you entrusted to me. My safety is wholly by the Lord’s will, and thanks to the concern and prayers of many.”

“Oho! Well done, Father Thomas.”

Kraf ordered the novice at the door to leave. Once gone, only the two remained in the large chamber.

They sat facing each other across the table. Kraf spoke first, eager for news of the delivery to the Duchy of Grandelvald.

“Well? Was it delivered safely?”

“Yes, it was delivered without incident.”

“But why are you so late? And so gaunt?”

“They questioned me much and made requests. Given the gravity of the matter, fearing the danger, they would not leave it in writing but asked me to convey it orally. From the tension, I could hardly eat on the way.”

“You’ve suffered much. But they told you to pass it on orally?”

“There was no choice. Their fears were well founded. At the border, inspections were severe. At the Grandelvald post, they even searched my belongings.”

“You were fortunate. The Lord’s grace. Still, to search the baggage of a priest on duty—this must be addressed firmly at the Ducal Council.”

Kraf muttered with a furious face, “How dare that whelp…”

Thomas pretended not to hear and continued.

“The Duchy of Grandelvald’s request is this: the final section of the document I delivered — the impeachment of Lord Christoph, the enthronement of another heir, and the union of the three Cathedrals — must be clearly formalized. It must bear your signature, High Priest, and that of the Prioress, representing this Cathedral.”

“So they ask you to deliver orally, but demand we formalize the promise?”

“Shouldn’t a promise of such weight be formalized? Grandelvald Grand Cathedral takes this most gravely. Duke Bedgrid has already begun large-scale conscription.”

“But even if we formalize it, how can we deliver it, with such watchful eyes everywhere?”

“On your request for an ‘effective channel,’ High Priest Runsted of Grandelvald said this: henceforth, all matters will be answered and received only through me, Thomas, bearing documents. Any other document claiming to be from Nastrand Grand Cathedral will be judged false and unopened.”

“Hm. Wise. A channel must be clear and single to be trusted.”

“And since crossing border posts is difficult, we agreed to meet in the abandoned old castle within the border mountains of Estderin. There we will deliver documents and discuss future promises. The meeting is set for five nights hence.”

“Five days… How long to get there?”

“On horseback, we would draw eyes. To avoid notice, we must go on foot — three days’ march, walking day and night.”

“Then we must prepare the documents at once. But how will you leave?”

“There are ways: hide among cartloads, crawl through the drains to the moat, or, risky as it is, climb down the cliffs behind the castle.”

“Hmm, understood.”

These were the same plans Christoph, Morten, and Fynel had rehearsed with him the day before.

What they sought was one thing only: perfect proof to eliminate Kraf, Prioress Cecilia, and the cathedral’s leadership in one fell swoop.

Morten especially insisted that Cecilia’s signature be included. No one disputed it — to uproot corruption completely, there could be no loose ends.

“Tomorrow is the Ducal Council. Afterward, we will prepare the documents. You must depart in two days. You’ve had no rest — I pity you.”

“In times like these, all this is for the Cathedral and the Duchy of Nastrand, is it not?”

These words were not only for Kraf, but a vow Thomas whispered to himself again.

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. His fists clenched tight.

The next day.

Christoph visited the library for the first time in a long while.

“Hilde, wait outside, as you used to when I came here.”

Christoph stopped his maid from entering, straightened his attire, and stepped inside through the door opened by a middle-aged priest.

He greeted Father Odense politely, saying he sought works on military science and war history and needed no guide, then proceeded inward.

Christoph moved shelf by shelf, scanning the area.

It was still early morning; the library was quiet. Sunlight streamed through the windows, reflecting off old shelves.

‘Have I come too early?’

Christoph gave a wry smile and went deeper to browse military texts.

The innermost door opened, and Lyset emerged, pushing a cart of cleaning tools.

‘Ah! Lyset!’

Christoph’s heart pounded wildly.

Just yesterday, the heir had been studying kingship with his mother, the Duchess, strategizing, summoning Morten and Fynel for counsel. Now, before Lyset, he reverted to a youth on the verge of manhood.

Pushing her cart, Lyset reached Christoph’s shelf. At last, she looked up and saw him.

“Ah!”

Lyset gasped and covered her mouth, but even that seemed beautiful to Christoph.

Christoph quickly glanced around. Fortunately, they were alone.

Step, step.

Christoph slowly walked toward Lyset.

Lyset instinctively clutched her chest. Her heart raced as madly as his.

She remembered the words Ingmar and Elin had told her on the hill.

The prophecy’s fulfillment.

And the great love they would give to each other.

The new kingdom and the world of the gods they would establish together.

Of course, prophecy aside, she truly desired Christoph — and he her.

If she did not love him, nothing else mattered. Even if sorrow came later, better that than a life never bound with him.

Christoph now stood before her; Lyset thought she must say something.

But against her will, the greeting drilled into her since initiation slipped out first.

“Peace in the Lord be with you. How are you, Christo—”

She could not finish.

Christoph’s lips pressed over her small lips.

Her body trembled in shock, but Christoph’s hands held her tight.

They remained locked in an embrace, lips pressed together.

Slowly,

yery slowly.

Christoph finally pulled his lips away and gazed at her face.

Lyset, face scarlet, could not meet his eyes. She only stared at the floor, frozen.

“Sister Lyset… no, Lyset.”

“……”

“Lyset.”

“Yes, Lord Christoph.”

He spoke her name. Lyset, chest trembling wildly, answered with difficulty.

“You once told me, did you not? That you never intended to live as a nun forever?”

“…Yes.”

“Then if I were to free you from the convent?”

“You could take me out of the convent?”

“By any means necessary — if I did that, would you be mine?”

“Your woman…”

“Yes. Exactly what you think it means.”

“My Lord.”

“Say it, Lyset.”

“I… to you, My Lord…”

Lyset hesitated.

How could she say she was chosen to enact prophecy upon Nastrand, while also truly desiring him? Should she even say it at all?

Christoph stared at her, now silent.

Lyset swallowed hard.

And finally whispered:

“Please take me. To your castle, to your side. Me… without fail.”