There were times when Light discovered something worth holding, even in a place made of gray stone and dark hallways. For Harry, that Light often seemed like silver hair trapped in a candle flame. The girls' dorm was across the hall from the guys' hostel. There was a regulation as strong as the Church walls that said no lingering, no superfluous discussion, and no crossing after evening prayer. People followed the rules closely, and sanctions for breaching them were quick.
But childhood always found its gaps, much like water.
Three years ago, on a cold evening, Harry first saw Yvanna when they were both told to help clean the basement chapel. The candles along the aisle had burned down, and the flames were flickering as drafts blew through the old stone.
She had been kneeling in the front row, gently trimming the wick of a light with steady hands. Her hair still caught the sun, though. It wasn't just pallid. It sparkled. In the gloomy chapel, it looked nearly bright against the black wool of her coat. She was quietly but clearly marked by the half-elf blood in her family. Everyone saw it, but no one talked about it.
There weren't many half-elf kids in the Church.
Some of the older lads talked about it in the dark at night—about lineages that didn't fit neatly into theology and legacies that didn't fit neatly into doctrine. But Harry had never cared about that.
Her calmness was the first thing he noticed.
While some kids rushed through their work to avoid getting in trouble, Yvanna took her time. She worked as if the world might break if she didn't take care of it.
As Harry knelt to clean the stone floor near the altar steps that night, a draft made the candle next to her flicker. The flame flickered, dangerously close to going out.
He stretched out and put his hand in front of it without thinking.
They looked at each other.
She had whispered, "Thank you."
Her voice was quieter than most, yet it wasn't feeble. It had a calmness that didn't fit her age.
He nodded once and went back to work.
After that, they started to share assignments more often, at first by chance and subsequently by choice. During supervised hours, the Church let kids help out in different wings, especially with chapel responsibilities. It was during these times that people talked to each other.
Years later, on this night, the chapel gleamed softly under rows of new candles set up for a holy observance. The stained glass windows were dark against the night sky, yet their shapes framed the flickering inside in broken color. Harry crouched down toward the front again, rag in hand, and shone the brass railing.
Yvanna stood a few feet away, putting in new candles one by one.
She whispered, "You missed a spot."
He looked down and fixed it.
He said, "You're picky."
"Yes, you are."
He let forth the tiniest hint of a smile.
The quietness between them felt different than the silence he felt in other places. This wasn't armor. It was understanding.
"Did they get another one today?" After a while, she inquired.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Matthias."
She stopped for a moment with her hands over the candle she was holding. "He was only nine."
Harry nodded.
"They said he was chosen to serve," she went on.
"They always say that."
She pushed the candle securely into place and stood back. "Do you trust them?"
He thought about the question quite thoroughly.
"No."
Yvanna didn't look shocked.
A light breeze blew through the chapel's lofty vents, making the candle flames move. The Light played with her hair, weaving silver lines through the dark.
She replied softly, "You're watching."
He didn't pretend to be dumb. "Yes."
"For what?"
"Proof."
She looked at him for a long time. "And what will you do when you find it?"
Harry's eyes moved to the altar, toward the spot where Malrec stood every morning to give them words of comfort from God.
"Then we make a choice."
She took that in without saying anything.
Yvanna didn't question what "we" meant. She knew he was talking about her. Rav, too.
They had formed a discreet triangle of support in small, wordless ways. They were allowed a few minutes after completing their allotted tasks before returning to their dorms. They were supposed to leave individually, according to the rules. The back nook in the storage corridor was an unofficial blind spot from the main hall.
They were standing there now.
The chapel beyond them was warm and bright with candlelight, but the alcove was dark, and the air felt chilly on the stone.
Yvanna said, "Rav says we should go."
Harry softly crossed his arms. "And where do I go?"
"He says any place is better."
"Anywhere is unknown."
She turned her head a little bit. "You're scared."
"I'm careful."
"Those are not the same."
"Yes," he said. "Not them."
She leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful. "I don't want to leave without knowing."
"Me neither."
"But I don't want to stay blind either."
Her words hung heavily between them.
Harry saw how the final candle flames flickered in her eyes.
She said, "You're not like the others."
"You've said that before."
"And it still is."
He thought for a moment before saying, "Is that good?"
She grinned a little. "It depends."
A tiny bell rang in the distance, letting everyone know that nighttime work was over. They straightened up without thinking. The Light changed again as they walked back into the main hallway, catching her hair in that brief, glowing way again. Harry felt something strange move in his chest.
Not the keen awareness he had when watching the clergy. Not the peaceful math that made up his days.
Something more stable.
Safe.
That night, while lying in his cot under the cold ceiling of the dormitory, he thought about the talk again.
Rav's lack of patience. Yvanna's care. His own measured self-control.
He knew that just being quiet wouldn't keep them safe forever. But he also knew that acting without thinking would lead to their death.
The Church was very big. Organized.
Be patient. It would take more than bravery for them to move.
It would take timing. Yvanna was also awake in the girls' dormitory across the hall. The candle by the door had gone out, leaving a pleasant glow over the rows of tiny beds.
She looked up at the ceiling and listened to the soft wind hitting the walls of the tower.
She had faith in Rav's heart.
She believed in Harry's mind.
They might be able to survive together. The next morning, when the bells rang at dawn, and orderly rows of youngsters filled the chapel again, Harry couldn't help but look at her—silver hair in the morning sun.
Still steady.
Still calm.
That day, High Priest Malrec's sermon was on being thankful and following the rules.
Harry heard.
But when he closed his eyes to pray, he didn't see the altar.
It was candlelight flashing across silver threads in a stone chapel that felt less sacred as the days went by. And somewhere under the steady sound of bells and the reading of scripture, the three kids' silent comprehension was growing into something greater than faith.
Something on purpose.
Something that wouldn't bend easily.
The stone halls stayed cool.
But Light nevertheless found its way into their depths when it could. For Harry, the Light was the silver in the candle flame.