Saint Aldric's monastery appeared as a blur at first. Then the dark grey walls, partially covered in snow, revealed themselves. The light had already grown dim.
"Here we are." Larik said with a mild grin.
"So it seems." Vencian spoke coolly.
He looked at the monastery with interest. Though he had hoped that seeing the monastery in person would have triggered some kind of memory fragment that he didn't remember. Maybe the last visit that Vencian's mother had talked about that he had no recollection of.
But reality proved quite different. The monastery did look familiar, though perhaps through the original Vencian's memories. However, no such revelation occurred. A mocking chuckle almost escaped his lips at his own strange expectations.
The wooden gates creaked open at their approach. A young monk emerged, his white woolen habit barely visible beneath a thick quilted cloak lined with what looked like snow-fox fur. His eyes lingered on the Vicorra family crest embroidered on their clothes before he gestured toward a stable carved into the monastery's eastern wall. Vencian dismounted and handed his reins to the waiting boy without a word.
The horse neighed softly. Valnor. The name came to him without effort, along with fragments of shared journeys. Vencian found himself unexpectedly fond of the dark stallion's steady temperament. "Easy now, Valnor... Get some rest. We'll worry about the trip back later." Steam rose from the horses' flanks as they were led into the warm stone shelter.
Vencian adjusted his gloves, making sure the bandage remained hidden, and followed a second monk toward the main buildings. Behind him, Larik's voice carried on the winter air: "This place looks like it could use a ghost or two. Might liven the mood."
Vencian and Talor ignored him this time. The monk's only response was a slight smile as he pushed open the chapel doors.
The chapel's interior felt warmer. Candles flickered, casting shadows across stone walls. The atmosphere carried a subtle tension.
"Young Lord Vencian."
The voice belonged to a man approaching from the other direction. Middle-aged, perhaps forty-five, with graying brown hair visible beneath his deep cowl. His white woolen habit was pristine, the brass clasps at his throat bearing the monastery's starburst seal.
Vencian did not recognize the man. Is this Abbot Sebastian? The question formed instinctively as he prepared to engage. How should I approach this conversation? With Moses, Lumea, Talor, and Larik, the dynamic had been different. Though they were unfamiliar faces, Vencian possessed memories to guide those interactions, fragments of shared history to navigate by.
Here, he had nothing.
"I am Abbot Matthias," the man continued, extending his hands in the traditional greeting. "Welcome to Saint Aldric's."
Matthias? Confusion flickered through Vencian's mind. Where is Sebastian? Did I misremember the name, or has something changed?
Vencian accepted the gesture, masking his bewilderment behind composure. "Abbot Matthias. I was hoping to speak with Abbot Sebastian."
"I'm afraid Sebastian is no longer with us here." Matthias's expression grew solemn. "He departed for his pilgrimage a week ago. The calling came to him quite suddenly, and he felt he could not delay any longer."
A week ago. The timing struck him as significant, though he kept his expression neutral. Lumea had mentioned Vencian's visit to the monastery on his way home from the academy. If Sebastian had left a week ago...
"I see. That must have been a significant transition for the monastery."
"Indeed. I was called from the northern monasteries to assume temporary leadership." Matthias gestured toward a side chamber. "Please, come. We can speak more comfortably in my study. And may I offer my condolences regarding your father's situation. This must be a very difficult time for your family."
Vencian nodded, accepting the condolence without words. He gestured for Larik and Talor to find food and rest elsewhere, indicating he preferred to handle this conversation alone. The two guards followed a young monk who appeared to guide them away.
Vencian followed Matthias, his mind racing.
The abbot gestured toward a side chamber where two simple chairs flanked a modest hearth. "I must admit, your arrival is somewhat unexpected," Matthias said, settling into his chair. "Though I am new here, I do know that we have very few visitor during this time of year."
"Well, neither did I. Not again in such a short time."
"Pardon me, young lord, but did you visit the monastery recently? I was not aware of such things."
Stupid. Vencian mentally cursed. He needed to ask the right questions, not offer details.
"Ah—I must've been mistaken. Perhaps it was before your time. When exactly did you arrive here, Abbot Matthias?"
"More than a week ago, I'd say."
Keep your expression neutral. Gather more information first. Vencian tried his best to not show the turmoil inside. The timeline he thought he'd grasped was crumbling with every word.
"Well, I only meant that it feels recent," Vencian evaded smoothly, adjusting the glove on his hand. "So much has happened lately. It's easy to lose track of whether something happened a week ago or a month ago. I imagine the isolation makes those transitions even harder, with so few visitors to help ease the change."
"Precisely. You're actually our first visitors since the snows began. What brings you to Saint Aldric's in such weather, if I may ask?" asked Matthias
The question hung in the air as Vencian's thoughts raced towards the implications of the Abbot's words.
If no one had visited the monastery in weeks, and Sebastian had left only a week ago, then the timeline didn't match. Vencian had never been here. Either his mother was lying, or someone had lied to her.
"I came to discuss the arrangements from the Southern Highlands campaign," Vencian said, choosing directness over elaborate deception. "When our forces used the monastery as a communication base two years ago. I wanted to understand how those arrangements were handled."
Matthias's expression shifted slightly. "The war arrangements? I'm afraid I wasn't here during that time - I was serving in the northern monasteries then. From what little I've gathered since arriving, House Ortega handled most of those details, but I have no firsthand knowledge of the specifics."
Vencian leaned forward. "Are there brothers here who were present during the campaign? I'd prefer to speak with someone who witnessed the arrangements directly."
"Certainly. Brother Torik and brother Paros are here for the longest time." Matthias paused. "They would have far more detailed knowledge than anything I could offer secondhand."
Vencian nodded, but something else was nagging at him. The timeline still didn't add up. "I appreciate that."
"It's no problem at all. Though I should mention, we people of monasteries are meticulous about maintaining the monastery's neutrality in political matters. Even during the war."
"Of course. I'm not questioning the monastery's conduct." Vencian leaned forward slightly. "I'm more interested in who had access to our communication systems during that time. The timing of certain... developments... has raised questions."
The words hung in the air. Vencian watched Matthias's face carefully, noting the slight tightening around his eyes.
"Understandable. Your family has faced considerable trials lately."
He spoke like a man with nothing to hide. And that, Vencian thought, was the part that troubled him.