Ato trudged through grass, the soles of his feet beginning to ache with the subtle pain of many days of travel. He looked towards the front of the group, where Kito was, and at Lady Pritii beside him. She glanced backwards idly, and met Ato's gaze, wherein she smiled softly. Ato suddenly felt his ears burn, and he found himself looking at the ground.

  "Oh? What is this? What a strange look on your face..."

  Ato turned beside him, towards Hava, who smiled mischievously. Suddenly Ato's entire face was burning.

  "I...do not know what you mean." Hava snickered.

  "Do not play dumb, Ato! That is the look of a man in love!" Ato felt something in his chest flutter.

  Hava continued, "You seem more tired than usual, as well... And I did not even know that was possible... Has someone finally fallen for your voice?"

  Ato rubbed the back of his neck, a smile crossing his features. He thought back to the recent nights he had spent awake on the outskirts of camp—more than usual. But he could not help himself from hoping—and the few nights she had appeared, were worth all the lost nights of rest. It was not like Ato much cared for sleep, anyways...

  "No... I simply found...a new opportunity..." Ato yawned, and stared back towards Pritii's back as she walked.

  He had not had any image of the Elf of Grasses before now, but he had certainly not expected someone so generous, kind, and... Ato could not help but blush.

  Divine.

  Up ahead, Kito stopped in his tracks, then turned backwards to face the group.

  "Ato? May I have your assistance?"

  Next to Kito, Pritii stood, the same gentle smile on her face. Ato stopped, and found himself blushing.

  "O-of course!"

  He walked to the front of the line, standing next to Kito, Pritii on the other side of the old mage. Before them, off in the distance, was the faint shape of their village, Pilalde. Ato found himself sighing with relief, and stretched his toes.

  "Finally..."

  "Yes... But, I sense something at home—do you too?" Ato furrowed his brow. He had found it harder to sense many of the smaller details of the Song around him, since he had learned to sense Pritii. He found his attention pulled towards her, whenever she was present.

  He reached forwards with his Song, towards his home, and found himself dumbstruck. Around the far edge of the village, so far that he almost could not sense it, he felt what seemed like hundreds of beings, many with large Songs, almost as large as the old mage's. And... another song, giant, old... larger than even Pritii. If the Elf of Grasses was like the sun, this was... everything. Ato almost wanted to look away—it was close to terrifying.

  What is going on?

  Ato turned towards the old mage.

  "There seems to be...quite a lot happening at home." Kito cackled, then coughed, and Ato saw on Pritii's face as she heard him, a frown.

  "Yes! It seems we have company!" Kito turned towards the rest of the group.

  "Let us hurry now children! Someone is waiting for us!"

  Ato stood at the edge of the large crowd of people, composed of his party and his fellow villagers. Normally, he would have greeted them, and they him, but no one paid their fellow any attention. Beyond them, were hundreds of foreign mages, warriors, officials, priests. Beyond them, stood some great stone work, a white spire atop golden legs that towered above all, a tower that had not been there before, that Ato remembered seeing only once, when the royals had come to visit.

  But, none of these things held the attention of the village—they were not worthy. Instead, all eyes were trained ahead, at a group of mages, and the man between them: a man like no other.

  His brown skin was perfect, his clothes—unique even among the assorted and diverse foreigners—were unstained, bright as if new, yet tattered, to the point that Ato wondered how they remained in place. And all over, moss clung to him, as if when he sat, he sat for decades. He was both clean and dirty, old and young, alive yet dead.

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  He stood in an awkward spot, beyond the gate to the shrine of Ana, to the side of its wooden porch. And yet, the priests stood around him, at attention, and he smiled serenely with eyes closed, paying them—and everything else around him—with less than no mind. Truly, it was like it made no sense for him to be anywhere but there, or like it did not matter at all: he was as a boulder in a field. But that was only what Ato could see with his eyes.

  He sensed a ringing in his ears, a sweet smell in his nose, his tongue tasted iron, and his very skin vibrated. He reached out with his Song, and it was almost painful to sense the yawning stillness, the deafening maelstrom before him. At this proximity, the man’s Song swallowed everything else, and Ato could sense nothing but him. And below it all, a more subtle sensation: a peculiar sound, like flowing water.

  Ato knew at once, what he was. He had heard the stories, as all had, but he suspected that even if he had not, he still would have known.

  One above true and false, and so knowing all. One who has conquered with and without, and so given all. One who plays at life, and so may come and go as they please. Eternity and a moment wrapped in flesh. A Saint.

  Ato knelt, and bent his head, until his forehead nearly touched the ground. He realized then, that others had already been kneeling. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands. He prayed.

  “Oh sacred, though I am worthy, I am not. I am not, I am not… Blessed am I, in your presence, in grace have I found myself. Speak of me to the Great Mother, Sacred, you who know her voice, that she may remember this life I have lead, that she may smile upon it with a mother’s pride. Oh sacred, though I am worthy, I am not. I am not, I am not…”

  Ato did not know how long he knelt praying, but when he finally raised his head, he found Kito looking down at him.

  “All done?”

  Ato nodded, rising, still staring at the Saint. Kito turned to look as well, an almost proud grin on his lips.

  “He looks somewhat familiar, does he not? Like a Grass Folk, I mean.” Ato looked at the Saint’s face, and found himself agreeing.

  “Is he—”

  “Yes, he is. The Tenth: a Saint said to be from those peoples that came to be us, before we journeyed here in ages past.” Kito sighed in wonder.

  “This is not the first time I have seen him, child. I remember the other, many years ago, in a forest—a place of many trees. I felt blessed, to see so many like the Great Tree, and then I turned to see him in the distance, standing in a great flowing stream of water. ‘The things he has witnessed…’ I thought, and I was in awe. I knelt and prayed for what must have been hours, then.” Kito coughed out a laugh.

  “Do you think you will be able to ignore him?”

  Ato, blinked, finally able to tear his attention away from the Saint, to be able to sense anything other than him—for a few moments, at least.

  “…yes.”

  “Good. Now turn to the other guests, if you can. They are important as well. Get to know them well: they are not like the merchants or royals that move through Pilalde at times—but, depending on how your life goes, you may see many like them in your time.”

  Ato nodded, turning towards the crowd of foreigners, and found himself astonished all over again. There had to be at least five hundred people gathered at the shrine, all strangers. The crowd was so large, that the grounds of the shrine failed to fit them all, and the tents they set up began to spill out beyond its gate.

  But more impressive than that, was the diversity of the group: people from all over, wearing clothes and with features that Ato had rarely seen, from people in thick fur pelts, paler than the palest traders to ever come to Pilalde, to the ones who wore clothes of thick cloth, and darker in skin tone than a Grass Folk after the sunniest day.

  And then there were the monks, men and women with shaven heads, all wearing the same simple robes, and finally, the men in fine clothing, that shared the same features as Ato, while being a tad paler—the Crown.

  And as Ato's gaze slid over the group, he noticed the most intriguing detail: the swords, axes, spears, the staffs and small sticks that Ato had heard some mages used. Everyone seemed to be a warrior or mage. And from the way their Songs lit up the village, they were all very powerful.

  Ato felt his face stretch in a wide smile. He had always wanted to travel the world, to see the lands that stretched beyond Pilalde. But now, it seemed the world had come to him.

  "Well, it looks like you all arrived home at a fortuitous time!"

  A giant hand clasped Ato’s shoulder, and he turned to find Kenri next to him, wearing a conspicuously clean cloak, his axe polished to an almost mirror complexion. Kito laughed.

  "Yes, but that begs the question: what is the occasion?" At the question, Kenri's face changed, his brow furrowing a tad, as if he had been reminded of something concerning.

  "Well...we will all see tonight—there will be a great dinner at the shrine, hosted by the Crown. All of Pilalde’s warriors and mages are invited." Kenri looked at him, and he frowned.

  "And, Ato...I would like to speak with you a moment."

  "What for?"

  Kenri, paused, frowning.

  "Well—"

  "Greetings, brother!"

  As soon as he heard the voice, Ato felt his stomach twist. He looked to the crowd, where the words had come from. There stood Setri, a new scar stretching down his eye, a devilish grin on his face.

  “I have been waiting all day!”

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