They walked.
Not hurried. Not slow.
Just… forward.
The stone beneath their feet was warm from the sun, pale ivory tiles veined with gold dust that caught the light with every step. The streets of the Holy Kingdom from twenty years ago unfolded around them like a living painting—alive, unbroken, unaware.
People passed straight through them.
A woman carrying a basket of fresh bread laughed as a child tugged at her sleeve. Two young priests argued softly about whose turn it was to clean the outer shrine. A knight removed his helmet to wipe sweat from his brow, greeting a passerby with an easy smile instead of rigid authority.
Faith here was… gentle.
Not enforced.
Not sharpened into a blade.
Incense drifted lazily from open chapel doors, mixing with the smell of baked goods and sun-warmed stone. Wind chimes tied to prayer poles rang softly, their tones light, almost playful.
