In the dead of the same night, Julian's wings folded back into themselves, and he landed with a loud thud, in a crouch, high upon the roof of the Basilica. Slowly, he stood, and watched the long lines of students and faculty filtering out, returning to their dorms and apartments. Part of him wanted to smile. They – the ones he'd chosen – were turning fourteen in just a few days, and the memories he had of then were still so vivid, even on the other side of that vast gulf. Reaching out for a friend's hand, for comfort on Christmas night, walking back with a smile that betrayed none of his worries, and only projected a carefully-cultivated strength… And seeing a giggling figure in the crowd, and for a brief moment, having that intuitive wondering…
Someone climbed the stairs up to the roof. He felt them open the door, and as they approached, his memories faded into the abyss. He straightened his face, rearranging ducts and pores and bloodflow and-
“Julian! How lovely to see you.”
A hand grasped his shoulder, and while he nearly flinched, Julian caught himself, and dissolved his wings. He didn't have to turn his head to know who it was, or see those familiar sunken cheeks, those spindly limbs more draped in their vestments than wearing them, that thin nose, or that smile.
“Sir,” he acknowledged.
The hand withdrew, and a finger traced its way across Julian's shoulderblades, pausing almost imperceptibly at his wing-roots, until it lifted off his opposite shoulder, and the Vicar was standing beside him. “Beautiful, isn't it?” the Vicar said, looking out at the parade of students.
“Yes,” Julian replied. Not moving his eyes, he examined the Vicar in his peripheral vision. He still wore black robes, still tied them with a crimson sash, and still had no indicator of his office, other than the subtle red of the inside of his collar. To those for whom it mattered, he had no need of identification. You either knew him, or you were powerful enough to feel the sheer mass of his spiritual presence. As the head of the Demetrian Order, the Vicar was officially in command of the armies of the True Church, marshaling its magical resources, and while the Angelic Order of Saint Michael was functionally independent, the Vicar technically had domain over the Angels as well. While actually exercising that authority would likely cause some kind of crisis, the Vicar liked to keep his eyes on the Angelic Order.
“When I saw you walk that same path, I knew you were destined for something great.”
Julian said nothing.
“They've given you truly rare clay to mold. You haven't disappointed in quite some time.” The Vicar exuded a sense of peace and serenity. “I have faith that you won't again.”
Julian nodded.
And with that, the Vicar was gone.
The stream of students had not abated. If it was at all like he remembered, it'd be another half hour before everyone filtered out of the Basilica, and even longer before everyone had gone to bed. They were somewhere, buried in that crowd. Unaware.
All was well. All was as it had been. They were ready.
And if they weren't…
They had better be soon.