Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.

"Saint Julian?" Elian’s voice came through the wood. "The High Council is convening for the morning prayers. I have taken the liberty of having your travel garments laundered. I have also provided attire more suited to the spire."

Julian looked at the white silks. They were designed to make him look like every other priest in the building. He looked at Lucius, who was sitting up in bed, staring at the white robes with a confused frown.

Julian didn’t open the door. He walked to the large travel trunk he had brought from the manor. He knelt and unlatched it, pulling out a set of deep-blue scholar’s robes and a pair of sturdy boots.

Right, once a scholar, always a scholar.

In this place, he was going to live as a scholar, not as a priest or a saint.

"Your kindness is noted, Purifier," Julian called out. "However, I am most comfortable in my own clothes. Please wait a moment; we will be ready shortly."

There was silence from the other side of the door.

"The Council expects uniformity, Saint," Elian replied, his tone shifting.

"And I did not exactly come here to meet their expectations, now did I?" Julian responded.

Elian thought for a second, and then sighed.

"I understand that you are more comfortable in your own clothes, but to appear in colors suggests you do not yet feel at home. It may unsettle the elders."

"Then let them be unsettled," Julian murmured to himself as he helped Lucius into his own set of dark blue.

When Julian finally opened the door, he was dressed in his midnight blue robes. His black hair was neatly brushed back. Lucius stood beside him, his blonde hair catching the light.

Elian stood in the hallway with two acolytes. He looked at Julian’s dark clothes, then at his hair. He bowed his head, but the gesture was stiff.

"As you wish," Elian said. "But the citizens have gathered in the lower plazas to see the Saint. Your choice of attire will make it difficult for them to see you as one of their own."

"I am not one of their own, Elian," Julian said, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door shut. "I am here as a diplomat, not a mirror. Let’s go."

Elian wasn’t in a hurry. He knew with time he would be able to convince Julian into joining them. This was the start so... he would be patient.

The walk to the Hall of Sunbeams was long. Elian led them through corridors where the windows cast long shafts of light across their path. Every few yards, they passed acolytes who stopped to stare.

None of them looked at Julian’s face. They looked at his hair.

"Why are they staring, Master?" Lucius whispered.

"They aren’t used to seeing things that aren’t white, Lucius," Julian explained quietly.

They reached the massive doors of the Council hall. Elian turned to Julian, his expression grave.

"Inside this hall sits the High Council," Elian said. "They will ask for a sign, Julian. If you deny them, you are being dangerous."

Julian met Elian’s gaze. He searched the priest’s eyes for his intention but Elian did not exactly wear his feelings or his thoughts on his cheek.

Then, he looked towards the massive door and, with a composed gait, said,

"I will give them the truth."

The massive doors groaned open, revealing a chamber designed to overwhelm. It was a vast theater of white marble, constructed so the morning sun hit the center of the hall with a brilliance that forced Julian to squint. At the far end, seated on a raised dais, were twelve men with hair like spun glass—the High Council. In the center sat the Pope, a man who looked less like a human and more like a figure carved from salt.

​Julian noticed immediately that one seat, positioned slightly lower than the rest but still prominent, was empty.

​As Julian walked down the long, white aisle, he felt the weight of their collective gaze. They weren’t looking at him with the warmth of the commoners or even that disgusting calculating gaze from Aurelian.

They looked at him as if he were a piece of clay they were eager to reshape. Like potters ready to mold an image they can praise.

Their intentions are clear, Julian thought, his grip on Lucius’s hand tightening. Right now, they don’t see a man with a home, a child, or a life. They see a miracle they want to claim, to bleach until it’s as colorless as their walls.

​He felt a surge of pride in his dark scholar’s robes. He was a shadow in their perfect world, and he intended to stay that way.

​"The Saint from the Viremount Empire," the Pope’s voice finally echoed, thin and dry. The voice was definitely fit for his old age. "You come to us in the colors of the earth, yet you carry the power of the heavens."

He was going straight to the point, not even asking how the journey was, how Julian’s first night had treated him. It was clear he was not interested in such trivial things and would not care to ask.

This already gave Julian one negative impression.

Minus 2 points for being a bad host. Julian thought.

"Tell us, Julian Von Astrea—does your Light come from the soul," The Pope asked, not knowing Julian had just deducted a likeness point in his head. "...or is it a gift you borrowed from the snow?"

​Julian paused. The question hung in the air for a while, just lingering.

Julian had thought about this question many times during the long, quiet nights in the North. He, too, wanted to know. Where did he get this power? Why did it choose him, a man of logic and books?

He had never reached a conclusive answer, but a single truth had settled in his heart.

​He had been given powers he did not want, but they were powers he indeed needed.

They were the tools that allowed him to do more than just watch when he saw a soul suffering. Though he had never welcomed the weight of the ’Saint’ title, he knew the heavens must have bestowed this gift on him for a reason. Whatever it was.

​Julian looked the Pope in the eye, his expression composed.

​"I did not ask for this power, nor did I seek it out in the snow," Julian began, his voice steady. "But I have realized that it was given to me because it was necessary. I am not here to perform for a Council; I am here to translate what this gift means and to understand my mission. I am here to ensure that when a soul suffers, I am more than just a witness."