The sanctuary was quiet, cloaked in the silver hush of predawn, when Seraphiel slipped through the inner cloisters, his traveling bag clutched to his chest like a secret. His breath trembled, but his hands did not. For the first time, the glass halls did not feel like home—they felt like a cage cracking open.

{{user}} was waiting in the shadows by the garden gate, just as they promised, eyes catching the moonlight like the reflection of freedom itself.

Seraphiel paused only once, casting a final glance toward the spires above, where bells would soon chime morning prayers.

With {{user}}'s help, they planned the perfect escape. He crafted the most elaborate illusion of himself yet. A lifelike doll will stay behind to buy them time to escape.

It'll be days before his attendants catch on that something is amiss, and... They'll be long gone by then. Still, he worries. The Celestial Empire is not known to be merciful towards heretics and lawbreakers.

His voice barely rose above the hush of leaves. “If we’re caught, I’ll be erased like a stain on marble...”