Bossia sat in the living room. Nehari walked into the room and sat across from her. She didn't lift her head until he spoke.
"I never thought you'd escape to such a place. No one would have expected it."
She looked at him but didn't say anything.
"Many years ago, the Archbishop told me you were a difficult child to educate. Intelligent, quick to learn new things, but lacking focus and respect for solemn matters. Because of this, he never expected to mold you into a true clergy member. To be honest, I've had a poor impression of you since then. Being his goddaughter is an unimaginable fortune, and you should bear the corresponding responsibilities. But I couldn't say this to your face because the Archbishop believed it was his excessive indulgence that caused it. This put me in a difficult position. You shouldn't have had the courage to go to Silithus, let alone stay there."
"Because other places were worse. How is Bassario?"
"He won't face any punishment. I've learned a lot from him about your experiences in Silithus."
"You believe him?"
"He doesn't seem like someone who could fabricate a lot of lies in a short time. More importantly, I have a witness. I know an officer who fought in Silithus for two years. He's seen Bassario and told me he was the best mercenary there, even considered a local. I should have written to Commander Marlis at the fortress for verification, but time is tight. I can believe what Bassario said. You were lovers, comrades, and you once promised to travel all over Azeroth with him."
"He didn't guard against you at all."
"Maybe he didn't feel the need. After all, he defeated me publicly... perhaps that's the logic of a mercenary. He mentioned something that works greatly in your favor. Because Silithus lacked priests, you performed last rites for dying soldiers more than once. Whether I knew this or not, I must follow the Council's decision and hand over the relics to you, but this makes it easier for me to accept the facts. Even after abandoning the faith, avoiding military service, and disappearing for eight years, the Archbishop still trusted you. There must be a reason. Perhaps your experiences in Silithus can explain this."
"Don't be too optimistic. You must be interpreting it from a perspective of faith in the Light. The reality is probably much simpler."
"In any case, only you can see those relics with your own eyes. I must warn you, if there's anything in those relics that could affect the greater situation, this time, don't shirk your responsibility."
Nehari stood up.
"You have ten minutes to talk with Bassario. Then, I'll bring in the relics. When you open that box, there won't be anyone else in the room. Remember, no matter what's happened, for now, I can acknowledge that your heart is pure, but don't do anything foolish that would change my opinion."
Nehari left the room. Bossia stood up, supporting herself on the edge of the sofa with her right hand, slightly turning until she saw Bassario walk through the door.
He walked up to her. Unlike that night, this was the first time in a long while she saw him in bright light.
"So, he's the commander of your entire Stormwind army?" he said.
"The garrison in Western Plaguelands. He's in charge of everything there."
"Then I suppose I should be in charge of a piece of land too."
"It's his military command skills that got him to this level, not single combat. But I know you're just talking nonsense."
"Trying wouldn't hurt."
"You plan to join the regular army?"
"No, I'm just talking nonsense."
Bassario moved closer and put his arm around her waist.
"So..." she said. "What do you plan to do next?"
"You're right, this place doesn't suit me. At least for now, I'm not used to such crowded places. Though Nehari arranged temporary lodging for me, I plan to leave the city soon."
"…You don't want to wait for me?"
"After what happened, I think the most important thing now is for you to figure out what you're going to do. Once you get the relics, things might change. You've said as much yourself."
"This time is different. No matter what happens, I won't hide anything from you."
"I believe you, Bossia. But I still shouldn't stay in Stormwind. Are your thoughts still the same as before? Do you still want to go see other places with me?"
"I don't know if I can leave immediately after getting the relics. But, the promise between us, isn't it that we'll be together no matter what?"
"That's right, but I want to go elsewhere. That's why we first decided to leave Silithus. I'm not giving up on that plan."
"Then let's do this, let's do this. Stay in Stormwind for one more day, just one last day, at the place Nehari arranged. Within that day, I'll know what to do with the relics. I'll tell you everything, and we can discuss what to do next. Don't rush to decide."
"Alright." After a moment of silence, Bassario said, "But if it takes too long, and I leave first, don't blame me."
"If you really do that... then this time, it'll be my turn to find you."
"Find me? That'll be much harder than me finding you."
"You always leave traces. You and your sword."
When Bassario mentioned that he might leave first, Bossia tried to remain calm. Given Bassario's character, it wasn't a joke. But she also understood that this didn't imply he intended to separate from her. The conversation hadn't touched on her mistakes; it seemed Bassario didn't want to continue blaming her for the same issues. This frank attitude unsettled Bossia. Perhaps it didn't mean he completely forgave her, but rather that he no longer cared as much. Their future had become more uncertain. Bossia realized that the part of her that had caused past mistakes was now hoping for a quarrel. She suppressed it and borrowed a similar attitude from Bassario to respond to him. Bassario's thoughts were straightforward: he couldn't stand the troubles in Stormwind, so he might set off on his own. Fine. You go first; I'll catch up. No need for overthinking, no need to take things too seriously. I want to be with you. That's all.
After Bassario left, under Nehari's watchful eye, a notary brought in the relics—a wooden box on a cushion and a key—and placed them on the table in front of Bossia. After reading the necessary legal documents, she removed the seal from the box.
"Bossia Wislanzo. Remember what I've told you."
After leaving this remark, Nehari and the notary left the room, locking the door behind them.
Bossia sat down, looking at the brown box and the dark copper-colored key. Nehari and his people hadn't just left the room; the gradually fading footsteps indicated they had exited the entire building, and the surroundings quickly fell silent. But it wasn't just that. The table at her side, the sofa behind her, the statue in the corner, the curtain not far away—all lost their ability to produce or respond to sound. The sunlight didn't transmit messages from the outside but formed a barrier of isolation. The occasional passersby outside, the swaying leaves, the rolling wheels, all seemed to be in a completely different world from Bossia sitting inside the room.
Finally, it was time to face this moment. After many twists and turns—both from herself and from others—Bossia let out a heavy sigh, then tried to steady her breathing. She wasn't the only one waiting. The Church was waiting. Bassario was waiting. Benedictus, resting in the graveyard, was waiting. The longest and most arduous wait, however, belonged to everything within the wooden box—not because they entered the darkness from a distant past, but because they were not mere gifts; they were relics. They didn't have to disappear along with the original owner's soul; they were about to reunite with light and human attention.
Bossia lifted the box with both hands. It was lighter than a book of similar thickness, and most of the weight came from the box itself. This realization strangely calmed her. She placed it back on the table and inserted the key into the lock.
The moment she opened it, Bossia knew her premonition had come true. It was a letter. The envelope indicated that the recipient was Benedictus, and the sender was her parents. She took it out and discovered another letter beneath it. As the tension suddenly dissipated, she decided not to take them all out at once. She had time. She would read them slowly.
At first, her parents didn't live in Stormwind. They met Benedictus through the Church's pen pal program. At the time, Benedictus was a promising but struggling seminary student, and the Wislanzo couple voluntarily sponsored him. Later, they moved to Stormwind, had Bossia, and began their formal association with Benedictus. Although they lived in the same city, they still corresponded often to make up for the days they couldn't meet.
The young Benedictus was focused, devout, yet radical in his views, often expressing dissatisfaction with his surroundings and older scholars in his letters. The Wislanzo couple had no intention of arguing with him, as that would undoubtedly provoke his rebelliousness. They merely offered him comfort and support. Based on the handwriting, the letters were sometimes penned by the husband, sometimes by the wife, but the content made it clear that nearly every letter was a joint effort.
As Bossia read through some of the passages, she found herself smiling. She had always thought that Hylan was the only one qualified to mentor Benedictus. It seemed that her parents were the true pioneers in this regard. These writings didn't stir many memories from her past—they were mostly composed before she was born—but she still felt a calm and gentle warmth. Of course, there was also a tinge of jealousy.
The final letter was sent from the battlefield where her parents later perished. They rarely mentioned the war, instead inquiring about their daughter's well-being and advising Benedictus not to become overly anxious from the responsibility he had taken on. After reading it, Bossia held the edges of the letter with both hands, letting it rest flat on her lap as she stared at it for a long while.
This was not all that the relics held. Beneath the stack of letters, a thin wooden board divided the box into two layers. Bossia set the letters aside and removed the board. She frowned as she reached in with her right index finger, feeling something unfamiliar and distant that she had not anticipated.