That day, Laterano was on holiday.
No classes. No drills. Even morning prayers were replaced with "individual reflection"—which, in practice, simply meant Sankta children could sleep in.
Exu, her small wings still unsteady, stood by the window.
From there, she could see the central marble garden, which looked like the courtyard of a silent cathedral.
Some children were already running around. Others simply sat in the grass that peeked through the white stone.
Mostima had gone out early, saying she wanted to sit on a stone bench and read a book that was "not sacred at all, but possibly useful."
Fiammetta was still upstairs, reorganizing her writing tools.
Exu took a breath, then stepped outside.
The sky was clear.
The breeze was soft.
She could smell something sweet from a distant bakery, mingled with the sun-warmed scent of stone.
As her feet touched the edge of the garden's grass, Exu spread her arms wide—and tried to fly.
She only lifted a little before floating back down.
Her wings flapped lazily.
But she laughed anyway—not from success, but from the joy of a harmless failure.
"If you keep trying," said Mostima's voice from the bench,
"you'll be flying as high as your rooftop one day."
Exu turned to see her lounging with her feet propped up.
In her hands were two bread rolls and a bottle of juice.
"You brought snacks?"
"To share," Mostima replied, tossing one to her.
"But if you can catch it with your wings, you get both."
Exu flapped, missed, and the roll hit the ground.
"Half a point," Mostima said with a laugh.
They sat together in the grass.
Soon after, Fiammetta arrived.
She didn't say much—just sat a little apart, but facing them.
"I thought you wouldn't come out today," Exu said.
"I wanted to see the flowers growing between the marble," Fiammetta replied.
"They're small... but they survive."
Mostima pointed to a tiny white bloom nestled in a crack between stones.
"That one's just like you, Fi."
"Quiet and stubborn?"
"Rare, and wilts if moved somewhere else," Exu said quickly.
Fiammetta didn't respond.
But she seemed to be thinking deeply.
They walked slowly along the edge of the garden.
Other children still played—some practicing low glides, some testing the glow of their halos like festive lights.
Exu watched a while, then spoke quietly:
"Do you think... if our halos stop glowing,
does that mean we're not Sankta anymore?"
Mostima tilted her head. "Why ask that?"
"I was just wondering... if a Sankta loses their halo—are they still one of us?"
Fiammetta looked up at the sky.
"Maybe they're still the same.
But the world refuses to believe it."
They stopped by a pond.
Its surface was clear, reflecting the light from above.
Exu stared at her own reflection.
Her small wings looked fragile in the water's mirror.
"I want to be stronger," she said softly.
"For what?" Mostima asked.
"So that when something bad happens... I don't just watch."
Mostima and Fiammetta exchanged glances.
They didn't speak.
But something shifted in the air between them—
a little heavier,
but not unkind.
The sun began to lower.
They returned home, their footsteps soft against the cooling marble paths.
Mostima hugged her book.
Fiammetta carried a tiny flower she'd quietly picked.
Exu held the unfinished roll in her hands.
At their doorstep, they paused.
"I'm glad today happened," Exu said.
Mostima smiled. "Me too."
Fiammetta didn't speak,
but her eyes were gentle.
She slipped the small flower between the window slats before going inside.
That day ended without any grand event.
But for those three girls,
something in their steps had quietly shifted.
Even if they didn't know it yet.