Fabian's musings settled upon the present moment. He understood the undercurrents, the unspoken accord between wealth and recognition.
Yet, it seemed that today, the delicate scale had tilted, compromising the spiritual solace of those gathered in the cathedral. Common folk, who too sought solace and counsel, now found themselves cast in the shadow, eclipsed by the visitation of a patron.
Fabian's reverberating voice cut through the labyrinth of thoughts. "Actually, I wouldn't mind waiting at the church until the mass ends," he gently interjected.
Archbishop Sven, a portrait of venerable grace, regarded Fabian with a measured gaze. "Your offer is proof of your humility, Your Grace. However, it would be remiss of me to allow such a delay on your account."
"In that case," Fabian's tone was unwavering, his gaze steady, "I would be grateful if you could consider informing me of any scheduled masses or events. I hold the church's sanctity in utmost reverence and would welcome the opportunity to adapt my plans accordingly."
"I understand, Your Grace," Archbishop Sven said. "Your presence in the house of the Divine Light is always welcomed. Now, how may I be of assistance to you today?"
Cutting to the heart of the matter, Fabian leaned forward slightly. "Allow me to be direct. Could you possibly direct me to an individual well-versed in Sanctus' history? A relative of mine is considering embarking on an academic journey, and her curiosity has led her to seek insight into Tusshia's legacy."
He quickly added, "I assure you, Your Eminence, it's a youthful inquisitiveness, grounded in devotion to our faith. There's no risk of straying from the teachings."
A moment of contemplative silence passed. Fabian sensed the internal conflict beneath the archbishop's composed exterior. It was no secret that, despite his steadfast adherence to the sacred doctrines, the archbishop held a deeply rooted aversion to all things Tusshia.
The archbishop, the shepherd of spiritual integrity, measured the potential impact of granting this favor against the backdrop of his principles. Such an act would be tantamount to acknowledging a branch of the faith that had long been deemed heretical.
A controlled exhalation escaped the archbishop's lips, and he met Fabian's gaze with unwavering resolve. "Your plea is heard, Your Grace. While I acknowledge the purity of intent in your request, it is imperative to tread carefully in matters that concern Tusshia."
Fabian, seasoned in both diplomacy and determination, wasn't about to relinquish his cause. He knew the archbishop's stance on Tusshia was a formidable wall, but he aimed to chip away at it with reason and pragmatic intent.
"Your Eminence," Fabian's voice resonated with earnestness, "would it be possible for me to have an audience with Adelwin? As a scholar and missionary of the church, his perspective could guide my relative toward her academic pursuits, without veering into controversial territories."
The archbishop's features bore the lines of internal debate, his composed countenance tinged with a resignation that hinted at the limits of his steadfastness.
Feeling the weight of Fabian's persistence, Archbishop Sven relented, a subtle concession that found its expression in the provision of Adelwin's Valoisian address.
"In Valoisia, you say?" Fabian's voice carried a note of intrigue, his mind already calculating the logistics of the journey ahead. "Several weeks, you say. I'll certainly make time to visit him, then. Your guidance is appreciated, Your Eminence."
Seamlessly transitioning to another topic, Fabian broached the matter of the crown prince's ambitious plan.
The archbishop's reaction was palpable—a subtle tensing of his shoulders, a fleeting glance that betrayed his unease. Fabian, the diplomat, sensed the archbishop's apprehension and chose his words with precision.
"I've heard whispers that our crown prince is harboring intentions to build Solism temples across our land," Fabian's voice was measured, his tone a careful balance between inquiry and understanding.
A moment of contemplation passed, as if Archbishop Sven was evaluating the terrain of the conversation before making his move. Fabian, the master of politics, waited, allowing the archbishop to find his footing in the discourse.
The archbishop cleared his throat, his gaze momentarily averted. "Indeed, the crown prince's aspirations have reached my ears as well. A substantial endeavor, to say the least."
Fabian's response was subtle, his words a gentle nudge in the direction of consensus. "Your Eminence, I believe that the essence of Sanctus teaching lies not just in our doctrine, but also in the compassion and understanding we extend to those who seek solace in different paths."
Archbishop Sven's response was cautious. "I do recognize the significance of tolerance and compassion in our teachings. However, embarking on the construction of Solism temples requires careful contemplation."
"Let us delve into the wisdom of the Saints. Did they not implore us to embrace all souls? Did their teachings ever encourage exclusion of Solists?" Fabian inquired with gentle persistence.
Archbishop Sven began to voice his reservations, but Fabian interjected thoughtfully. "The sanctity of our faith transcends mere structures; it resides within the impact we have on hearts."
He continued, "Your Eminence, Solists are not adversaries. They share in the longing for the divine, purpose, and solace. By granting them sacred spaces, we exhibit respect for their journey and beliefs. This fosters an environment of coexistence and mutual regard."
Caught in the logic of Fabian's words, the archbishop found himself momentarily silenced. "Allow me time to reconsider this matter. I will seek counsel from fellow archbishops."
"Of course, Your Eminence. I trust your wisdom will guide your decision," Fabian affirmed before respectfully departing the church.
***
Under the pretext of assisting the church in holy missions, Fabian swiftly arranged a journey to Valoisia. After a span of several days, he found himself standing within the Sanctus cathedral in Valoisia.
Valoisia was currently gripped in a tense atmosphere, its streets entwined with apprehension. Navigating through this tension, Fabian embarked on his way to the cathedral.
As he ventured, Fabian's encounters with hoodlums became recurrent, an unwelcome dance with danger. Some assumed a facade of suspicion, casting doubt on his affiliation with the revolutionary factions. Others, however, cast aside pretenses and brazenly aimed for his pockets.
With his sword ever at the ready, Fabian exuded an aura of menace with each unsheathing. The glint of steel alone was often enough to send these would-be troublemakers scattering, the prospect of conflict proving too daunting to pursue.
Wise in his approach, Fabian had chosen not to secure lodgings within Valoisia. His intent was to wrap up his affairs in a single day, cautious of becoming ensnared in the kingdom's brewing chaos. His goal remained steadfast: glean the information from Adelwin and promptly return to Reichwein.
Upon arriving at the cathedral, Fabian was met with the hospitable presence of Bishop Philippe. The man possessed a gracious air, despite his crossed eyes—an unusual trait that did nothing to diminish the wisdom that emanated from him.
While his right eye seemed to wander, the left eye remained fixed on Fabian. It proved that even this peculiarity failed to overshadow his aura of sagacity.
With a respectful nod, Bishop Philippe addressed him. "Your Grace, it's regrettable but you have missed Adelwin. Adelwin's assignment was redirected to Kievskaya. The pressing need for personnel in that region led to the reshuffle. Valoisia, fortunately, had its hands full with resources for the ongoing situation."