Chapter 36
The radiant light that had erupted from the bud began to settle, losing its searing intensity and dimming into a gentle, ethereal glow that bathed the stone chamber in golden luminescence. The walls, once stark and cold, now shimmered with divine light like sunlight glancing off dew-covered marble. Aurorwen slowly lowered her hands from her eyes, blinking away the residual blindness as her vision began to adjust.
Her golden eyes, sharp and vigilant, flicked toward the source of the brilliance. Her breath hitched.
There, hovering at the heart of the opened bud like a miracle in bloom, was Lucien.
He floated in midair, suspended by unseen forces, his posture slouched slightly forward, arms hanging loosely and his head tilted downward as though in a trance or deep sleep. His silver hair cascaded over his face and shoulders like threads of moonlight, lazily swaying as if stirred by a nonexistent breeze. He was utterly naked, his body aglow with a subtle inner brilliance that flickered like starlight beneath his skin.
Aurorwen, though momentarily surprised by his lack of clothing, quickly steeled her heart. Her cheeks warmed slightly, a pink tinge brushing against her porcelain skin, but she dispelled the thought almost instantly.
"I am a devout of the goddess Elyssira. The body is a sacred vessel. Composure, Aurorwen. Composure."
Murmuring a silent prayer to Elyssira to fortify her mental resolve, she steadied her breath and took a cautious step forward. Her white-and-gold robes whispered against the polished stone floor as she advanced, the weight of her sacred duty pressing more heavily upon her shoulders than any burden of modesty.
As she drew closer, her eyes narrowed, focusing on Lucien’s form. There was something... different. His physique no longer matched that of the ten-year-old child she had met earlier in the waiting chamber. Then, he had stood roughly her height, lean and smaller—expected of a child yet to bloom.
Now, however...
"Did his body... grow?" she whispered aloud, her voice barely carried by the still air of the sanctum.
Lucien’s shoulders were broader. His limbs were longer, more defined. His frame now resembled that of a matured youth—no, not merely matured. He looked like an adult in his late teens, perhaps even early twenties. His features, though still serene and boyishly handsome, held a newfound edge, a subtle sharpening of bone and muscle that hinted at power beyond comprehension.