The room felt empty. The day of soulful rest, the first day of the Month of Feast, didn’t feel quite the same as it did the years before. Alice neglected her duties for the day, choosing to lie down in her bed. She looked to her left and stared at the ready-made bedding that belong to her clerical sister. Five weeks had passed since that fateful day. At first, the days were dragging on and on, with her counting the minutes until she could see Claudia again. When the start of the third week hit, depression overcame her. The promise had been broken, but her hopeful heart refused to let her believe the worst. “Two weeks, tops, eh?” she said mockingly, to the memory of Claudia. “I applied for the dream weavers. Even grandfather Iovinus thought I would get it.”

  The days had grown colder. With winter fast approaching, Alice’s duties as a groundskeeper lessened. The church grounds had been raked clean of leaf litter, which was then mulched and preserved for the spring. They moved all the delicate plants indoors or covered them with clay pots to protect them from the winter snow. She stared blankly out the window. The afternoon sun gave the sky’s blue an orange undertone. The hours moved faster and faster each day. On the wall was a calendar with some days crossed out. The displayed picture for the Month of Feast was Saint Galvisius himself, the patron saint of harvest, family, and social gatherings. Iconography of Saint Galvisius displayed him standing upright, rigid and emotionless, holding a bundle of wheat in his left hand. A statue of the family unit, mother, father, and child, all holding arms together, stood on the open palm of his right hand. For a moment, Alice pondered a sinful thought.

  When lucidity returned to her, she pushed herself upright and rubbed her eyes. She needed to distract herself. Anything to do would be better than letting her mind wander and wallow in self-pity. Grabbing the broom from the wardrobe closet, she began sweeping the space for the fifth time that day. There was not a speck of dust to be collected, but it did what she needed it to. Some time later, she heard the church bell ding six times. She didn’t feel hungry. She hadn’t eaten for the whole day. Still, she forced herself to make an appearance. She knew that if she skipped too many meals, there’d be unwanted attention on her.

  The dining hall was on the other side of the courtyard, not too far from the smaller chapel. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her. She was one of the last ones to arrive, due to how slowly she walked. The scent of dinner filled her nostrils. Looking toward the serving bar, she saw a large meal pot with a creamy off-white liquid in it. It was Torsday and that meant cheesy potato soup for dinner. Alice salivated at the thought of the soup’s savory taste and hastily joined the line to collect her serving.

  Overflowing, bowl in hand, she carefully made her way to one of the dining tables, taking a seat between two other priests. On her left was an older woman, one Agnes Galera. To her right was a younger man, a newer altar servant whom she’d not yet met. He didn’t appear to have outgrown his baby-face. “Grandmother Galera,” she said politely.

  The old woman turned to look at her and gave a welcoming smile in response. “Alice, it’s good to see you. Take a seat. This is our newest altar server, James Von Braun.”

  Alice took a seat and as she set down her bowl, knocked it against the wooden table, spilling some of the soup. “Gah, no, my soup!” she exclaimed, trying to hastily scoop it up with her wooden spoon. It was not very effective, serving only to smear it across the smooth surface.

  James, a young white-skinned man with short black hair, pushed a cloth wipe across the table and wiped up the spilled soup. “Fret not, dear sister, I’ve got you covered,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Alice gave him a wide smile, though still clearly upset about spilling some of the dinner. “I appreciate the gesture. What priest are you serving under?”

  “I’ll be helping Father Thatch starting next Solsday.” He said gleefully.

  “Oh? Sounds like you’ll be making quite a few trips to Blayredeshia, then.” Alice said. There was a tinge of distaste in her voice. She didn’t much care for the backwater province. “I hope your travels out there are safe.”

  He looked a little concerned by the comment. “What’s wrong with Blayredeshia?”

  Alice bobbled her head. “Just not a great place to be. You’ll see when you make your first trip.”

  Agnes jabbed an elbow into Alice’s side. “Don’t scare the boy.” She reprimanded her. “James, the province is just fine. It’s just not part of the core, so those of us who rarely leave, oft see it in a lower light. I have made a hundred trips to even the worst parts of it, and it’s no different from going to the west coast and visiting the slums in Abernathy.”

  Along the Aberath cliffs on the west coast of Phodus lies a city known as Abernathy. Despite being one of the oldest cities on the continent, it rarely saw any period of prosperity as the steep hundred foot cliffs cut it off from the ocean, and the floodplain it resided on dissuaded traders and prevented any decent agricultural usage. It was a city of subsistence that, while once may have been eighty or a hundred thousand strong, it now exists as a rural backwater with only ten thousand in its loose and sparse foot print. Despite its high poverty rate, its residents often partake in bartering and permaculture farming. Alice had only visited that town once in her two years of serving. She recalled the mud-covered hovels they dwelled in. The residents may not have minded their living standards, but it bugged Alice. Squalor was no way to live.

  A second jab from grandmother Galera brought Alice back to reality. “Ow, will you stop that? I’m not a pincushion.”

  “You were spacing out. It’s rude to do that at the dinner table.” She stated. “Plus, James asked you a question.”

  Alice turned to the young man and gave him an apologetic smile, “sorry about that. What did you want to ask me?”

  “What was it like, doing missionary work?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “It’s rather repetitive. I never enjoyed doing missionary work, but to become a priest, I had to do a six-month endeavor across Phodus.” She hesitated on openly complaining in front of a bishop, but she knew Agnes well. “It’s just not my thing. It’s why I applied to the Dream Weavers.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment, although she wasn’t sure if he quite understood why. The rest of dinner was uneventful. They ate until they were satisfied. Dropping her spoon into a licked-clean bowl, Alice stood up and bowed her head. “I must be leaving. I have a few things to do before bed,” she said quickly and departed.

  ***

  For the first time in a month, the sky was shining brightly. The moon stood above all else, showing in full its radiant round white glory. The stars danced alongside it like a chorus of glittering jewels in a tapestry of black. The cold autumn wind seldom blew across the courtyard that night. Alice sat on the wooden bench, wrapped up in a heavy wool cloak and a fur blanket. Insomnia got the better of her and to remedy it, she believed some moonlight exposure would help realign her circadian rhythm.

  The pond at the center of the courtyard hummed with the activity of croaking frogs, however few remained at this point in the season. It felt calming, being alone with just the moon above. She stayed out for as long as she could, but the air became too chilly. She got up and returned to her dormitory for the first time since dinner.

  A package sat on her bed. It was small and rectangular, wrapped in brown paper and twine. It had no name written on it. She picked it up and shook it. Nothing rattled, but the paper ripped in her grip. She undid the twin and ripped off the wrapping paper, revealing a leather-bound journal; a very familiar journal. “What is Claudia’s journal doing here?” She turned around and saw no one else in the room or in the hallway.

  She sat down on the bed and gingerly opened the book. She didn’t like the idea of prying into someone else’s journal. It felt like a betrayal. However, Claudia had cleared out everything when she left three weeks prior. Claudia left only one thing in Alice’s care: a small eight-ounce bottle of whiskey with a note attached reading, “For when I become Confessor, keep in the dark, good times ahead.”

  Remembering the bottle, she pulled it out and set it down on the bed beside her. She had a gut feeling that said Claudia wouldn’t be needing it. The first page of the journal read like a typical journal, going back ten years.

  12th of Frozen Moon, 7E112

  I finally got in. I’m an altar servant for the Church of Galvisius. I can finally do my family proud. Since I was a kid, my dad always taught me the value of faith and loyalty. He expected that one day I would be called to the church like he was. He served as a priest for the Church of Saint Clara out in Blayredeshia. With any luck, I’ll be a priestess in five years and confessor in ten. Confessors get to travel the world, converting heretics and rebuilding the faith. All in armor, too. I want to look all shiny…

  Reading the small snippet brought a tear to Alice’s eyes. In two years, she’d come to know Claudia as a friend. In a weird way, it felt as if Claudia herself was telling Alice to read about who she was. The book was several hundred pages thick and something in her gut told her to flip to the back. And so she did. The last twenty or so pages were blank, albeit dirty from the travel. The last written page, however, looked written in a handwriting that was barely legible, like Claudia was panicking.

  21st of Harvest, 7E122

  Sister Alice. I’m at the end of my rope and I’ve found only a noose upon which I must decide to hang either myself or my spirit. I’ve found Carrhae and in it, every layer, ring, and interpretation of the hells lives here, alongside an unholy amount of radiorum which I can only assume is the rift itself. There is no turning back. As I know from here on out, the radiorum will only corrupt my body. I’m already feeling the effects at the city’s edges.

  We found people, demons, and hellions living side-by-side like some bastardization of civilized humanity. They walk through the streets proclaiming names that would make Torcall ill, all while putting their vanity and degeneracy on display for all to see. The humans have transformed, intermixed with the hellions, creating something new, something even more disgusting than the fae-born satyrs. I’ve spoken with the men that I travel with and we’ve all agreed that we must know what lies at the heart of this. I can only hope that my suspicion is wrong, but if it’s not, then let these words be my last will…

  Send in the cavalry.

  She slowly turned toward the window, letting her sight go cross-eyed and seeing double as the weight of the last entry sank in. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she dropped the journal. It bounced off the floor, landing partially propped against the adjacent wall. Breathing became difficult as she tried to hold back the tidal wave of tears that welled up in her eyes. When her walls broke, she collapsed off the bed and onto her knees, sobbing.

  The person she woke up with every morning, who got her a slot in the groundskeepers, that person was gone. Really and truly gone. Through quivering gasps and trembling lips, she prayed for the alternative. She prayed to Torcall that Claudia would be saved from her fate, that she sees could her best friend, her sister in the clergy. When she found no peace in that moment, she dared to think beyond Torcall’s domain, a most sinful thought fueled by desperation.

  She cried aloud, not caring who heard her. Between the screams of tormented emotions, she called upon Syna, the goddess of the life cycle in the Odissian Pantheon, but when that yielded no response, she turned to anyone listening. “Syna! Hear me! Syna! Siti! Siti, please hear me. I need you.”

  The moments of silence that followed weighed even heavier on her. Siti belonged to an ancient pantheon hailing from a twenty-thousand-year extinct kingdom, known as Menbyhenet. Even after the kingdom fell, its gods remained active; all the history books agreed on it.

  “Mariona?” Her voiced cracked. The elvish deity of rebirth did not answer the weak plea, either.

  Then, for a few moments, the space filled with a blackened blue smoke. A vaguely blue humanoid figure towered above her from behind the smoke with glowing yellow eyes, horns that rapidly receded into a luscious hairline, and hefty haunches that, as they passed through the smoke, revealed naked human feet. Standing above Alice was someone she’d never seen before. The woman was wholly human, made of lightly tanned skin, rugged and thick brown hair and blue eyes. She dressed modestly, in black pants and a long-sleeved teal shirt. “I’ve heard your pleas, child of Torcall.”

  Alice gasped, trying to collect her breath all at once. Shock and awe, partnered with a health dosage of fear, caused her to try to flee. In her haste, she slammed her knee into the bed frame, then hit her head off the mattress. A moment later, the urge to run disappeared. She looked up to the unexpected visitor and asked, “Who are you?”

  The woman gave her a friendly smile and held out a helping hand. “I am Saint Octavia,” she introduced herself and took a seat on the side of the bed. “I heard your cries, and I’ve come to give you the guidance you need. First things first, breathe.”

  After a minute of breathing exercises, Alice calmed her nerves and wiped away the last of her runaway tears. “Is Claudia alright?”

  “I do not know the answer to that. However, I know that something big must be done, something that only you can do.” She said vaguely.

  Alice didn’t respond right away. Her gaze remained firmly on Claudia’s journal. She felt a hand gently grab hers and she turned to look at the woman, finally answering the question. “What do I need to do?”