Chapter Text
But blessed are your eyes, for they see;
And your ears, for they hear
The oldest cathedrals were always Luc’s favorite. It didn’t matter which city they found themselves in, which country they roamed. No matter how dangerous the job that had brought them there in the first place; sooner or later, Luc Marseille would disappear for an afternoon and return with the same instruction.
“Come, mon cœur,” and Elena would follow.
Most people assumed he took her there for religious reasons. He never corrected them; never bothered to explain. The truth was much simpler. To him, at least.
Luc liked things that survived.
And very few things survived longer than cathedrals.
The cathedral that sat in the center of Armenia was older than memory.
It was his favorite, and the one he always dreamed of taking Elena to. So when this job brought them to Vagharshapat, he made sure to arrive a day ahead, dedicated to taking elena inside the oldest cathedral in the world.
Its ancient stone rose toward a gray sky. The spires as high as the heavens, walls holding the memories of centuries of lives. Elena stood beneath it, feeling impossibly small. At eight years old, she was already learning that the world was dangerous. Yet, she was still young enough to believe that adults understood it better than she did.
The cathedral doors opened with a groan. A gust of cool air rushed over them, the scent of wax and incense filling their lungs. Silence settled in immediately. Not true silence. The cathedral breathed, footsteps echoing through the chambers. Tourists whispered through the pews, candles flickering in their wake. History lingered in every corner.
Luc never spoke first; that wasn’t how he taught. He never lectured, never assigned lessons. Never announced wisdom like it was something to be memorized. Instead, he asked questions. Then waited.
They wandered through the cathedral together. Past the stained glass windows where the dim sunlight shone through. Past ancient statues and rows of weathered pews. As they rounded the first corner, Luc paused. He folded his arms and looked down at Elena. “Tell me what you see.”
Eager to answer quickly, Elena rattled off “Stone, windows,” she pointed to the side. “Ancient statues,” she looked around her shoulder. “Tourists over there. An old couple in the front row of the pews.”
Luc shook his head in denial. Not with disappointment, but with patience. “Non,” he said softly.
Elena looked up at him, frowning. “No?”
A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what survived.”
The framing of the question changed Elena’s perspective instantly, as his lessons often did. She looked around again, really looking, absorbing everything around her. Everything she saw, everything she felt. She didn’t look at the cathedral, but through it.
And sure enough, she noticed things she’d missed.
The stone wasn’t uniform. Some blocks were darker than others. Some were newer, others worn nearly smooth. There were scars hidden beneath restoration. Repairs concealed inside beauty.
History layered upon history. Evidence that the building had been broken before.
She stared longer. “It’s damaged.”
Luc nodded, “Good, mon cœur.”
Elena pointed out to the nearest wall. “That stone doesn’t match,” she turned her attention to the adjacent wall. “Another there.”
“And there,” she looked up to a blackened section near the ceiling. “Fire.”
Luc’s smile widened. Now she was seeing.
“People think these places survive because they’re holy.” His hand settled against the patch of smooth stone. “They’re wrong.”
Elena looked up at him. “Then why?”
Luc considered the question. He answered simply, “Because somebody kept rebuilding them.”
The words settled somewhere deep within Elena.
Years later, she would still remember them.
Because somebody kept rebuilding them.
Luc began walking again, Elena following close behind.
“Cathedrals are contradictions.” his voice echoed softly through the vast space.
“They’re built by artists,” he paused “Built by kings, by laborers,"
His smile turned, faintly amused. “Built by thieves.”
Elena immediately looked up at him, but he ignored it.
“Murderers,” he continued. “Believers.”
They stopped beneath a towering archway.
“Some built from devotion,” he took a step forward, slowly moving through. “Some by greed.”
He paused. “Some by fear.”
Luc glanced upwards at the ceiling; towards centuries of history. “Yet, the structure remains.”
Elena followed his gaze, the ceiling disappeared into a shadow. It was massive and beautiful. Almost too impossible for her to wrap her incredibly complex brain around.
“People want simple stories,” Luc’s voice softened. “Good men, bad men.” he paused.
“Saints and Sinners,”
His eyes returned to hers. “But most things survive because imperfect people decide that they matter.”
Elena thought about it, absorbing the last of his words. It felt important, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Children often understood the weight of a lesson before they understood the lesson itself.
They continued walking. Eventually, Luc asked, “What do you think ruins people?”
Once again, Elena answered immediately. “Fear.”
Luc listened. “What else?”
“Violence.”
He nodded.
“Loss.”
This earned another nod as Luc absorbed her answers. Eventually, he shook his head. “No.”
“No?” Elena frowned.
He knelt down beside her, until they were eye level. “Non, ma fille.”
His expression had changed. Not severely or frighteningly so, simply more serious. He took Elena’s small hands in his.
“The thing that ruins people the most is certainty.”
Elena blinked. She tilted her head, not understanding.
“The most dangerous people aren’t always violent,” he continued, voice remaining calm.
“They aren’t always cruel,” he paused.
“The truly dangerous people are certain.”
His words echoed strangely in Elena’s head.
Certain.
“Certain they are right,” Luc explained. “Certain they are owed. Certain other people are disposable.”
The cathedral suddenly felt colder.
“Certain that pain justifies cruelty.” Luc studied her carefully, making sure she understood.
“Fear can be survived,” he continued. “Pain can be survived. But certainty…”
His voice lowered.
“Certainty turns people into gods inside their own heads.”
Years later, Elena would think about those words every time she looked at Janine Cody.
And years after that, she would think about them again when she looked at J.
Eventually, she would think about them when she looked at Andrew, lying outside a burning house.
But for now, she only listened.
Trying to understand.
Trying to learn.
To see.
They made their way to the side chapel and sat side by side, candles flickering nearby. After a while, Elena asked the question she’d been carrying for months. Maybe years.
“What are we?”
Luc looked at her. She already knew he stole. Already knew their life wasn’t normal. She knew that adults lied. She knew who Smurf was, and what jobs they ran.
Knew enough to understand that there was a difference between surviving and being good.
For a long time, Luc didn’t answer. Elena began to think that maybe he hadn’t heard her. The cathedral seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, he said, “We are responsible.”
Elena frowned, her brows furrowing. “That’s not an answer.”
Luc laughed softly. “I know, mon cœur.”
His gaze drifted towards the candles. “We are not innocent. We are not good.” he paused. “But we are responsible.”
Elena remained silent, listening to him explain it to her.
Some people hurt others because they enjoyed power.
Some did it because they were afraid.
And some people did it because they believed survival excused cruelty.
Luc understood violence. He understood criminals. And he certainly understood himself. Yet somehow, he had never worshiped any of it. Never chased it with an insatiable hunger.
“If you have power–real power–you become responsible for what survives around you.”
His words settled into her bones.
Power meant responsibility.
Not ownership, or control.
Responsibility.
“The world will tell you that love is weakness,” Luc watched the candlelight dance across the stone. “Usually that’s said by people afraid of owing something to another person.”
“So love makes you strong?” Elena asked.
For the first time that afternoon, sadness crossed Luc’s face. It wasn’t regret or pain, but rather recognition. As though he already knew something she didn’t. Like he could see a future she couldn’t.
“Love doesn’t make people strong.” his voice was gentle. “It makes them responsible.”
For now, his answer puzzled her.
Eventually, it would define her life.
She would think about it when she protected Andrew. When she left, when she eventually returned to him. She’d think about it when she tried to save J; when she saved the boys.
When she burned the house.
Love makes people responsible.
Eventually, they stood to leave. The afternoon light had begun to fade. The cathedral glowed gold and amber. Ancient and eternal.
At the door, Elena paused as she asked one final question.
“What deserves saving?”
Luc became very still, his expression unreadable. As if he understood exactly how much rested inside that question.
One day, Elena would realize that he had.
One day, she would understand that this wasn’t a lesson.
It was a warning.
Luc looked back at the cathedral. Back to the centuries of stone, the history.
At everything imperfect people had chosen to preserve.
Then, he looked down at his daughter. “One day, mon cœur,” he said quietly. “You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”
“How?”
The smile he gave her was small. Sad, and certain of nothing. The smile of a man who understood the world far too well.
“Save the people.” he paused.
“Never the cage.”
Elena looked puzzled, she didn’t understand. Not yet, anyways.
She took his hand and they stepped out into the fading light.
Standing in front of a burning house in Oceanside, Elena Marseille would finally understand what he meant.
The cage was never the house. It was never the money, or the empire. It wasn’t even the Cody name.
The cage was the thing that demanded people sacrifice themselves to keep it standing.