Fall of Autumn, Week 4, Day 7

  The pews of the church were filled to the brim with people chatting among themselves. I wondered why, but then I had a horrific realization.

  Garbage! I shouted internally, It’s Seventh Day! The day of Sermon! Am I going to have to sit through this whole thing to give my donation and pray?!

  I shot a betrayed look at Dame Arella, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  There was, unfortunately, a reserved space at the front of the church with purple velvet ropes and the emblem of Dawn.

  “Do I have to sit there?” I asked under my breath.

  “My Lady, you are a Dawn.” Sir Neil said gently.

  I pulled a face but headed forward. As I did, the pews grew quiet, and eyes began tracking my every move. For the first time in what felt like ages, little Eunora reared her head, and my stomach churned. But I was stronger now. I was who little Eunora had allowed me to be. So, rather than kick the anxiety out, I let it run through me. I accepted it, and I went on to walk with my back tall.

  Dame Arella, Klein, and Sylvie went into the front pew first. I followed, with Juniper, Arlen, and Sir Neil following. The charms in my hair sparkled in the shining magelights, and as I settled in, they made a light tinkling noise. At some point between when I started walking and when I sat down, the whispers had started. And I could, unfortunately, hear them quite clearly.

  “Is she a Child of the Dawn?”

  “A Dawn? In Fellan?”

  “She’s so small! Do you think she’s staying?”

  My stomach continued churning, and I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I decided to focus on the church’s architecture instead. When I looked up I could see several platforms, one second-story overlook, and a third-story overlook as well. It seemed the fourth floor was closed off. Great stone columns lined the walls, with multi-story pillars supporting the overlooks. They were etched with pictures of vines. Behind the lectern, several paces back, were statues of the main six Divine Patrons of Fellan.

  Frill, the Goddess of Compassion, was the first statue. Unlike in the other churches, there was no statue of Morloch to tend to. Thus, she was seated, rolling bandages and placing them into a basket. To her right was Yllium, the Goddess of Faith, her crown atop her head and her arms reaching upward toward the sky. Next was Mace, the God of Peace, with his intricate armor and weapon that became his namesake resting across his shoulders. Then came Vimash, the God of Travelers, holding his arms open in welcome, his ragged clothes the universal sign for the God. Next to him was a woman with hair so long it touched the floor. It was Greta, the Goddess of Patience. And, finally, Ital, the God of Hospitality, with his basket of goods. It was all very proper for a border town.

  As I was pointedly ignoring the whispers, I scanned the other pews. Most of them were taken up by average-looking citizens. They were in their Seventh Day best, but that was nothing fanciful —not like the men and women in the front pews on the other side of the church. Or even the pews directly behind me. Those were clearly Fellan’s upper class. Their outfits ranged, but they all screamed wealth. My eyes skimmed over them, but I did clock most of them glance at me at least once, and there were several children my age or older.

  At some point, after I’d decided to focus on my nails and making them look more nail-like and less like voids of darkness on my fingertips —unsuccessfully, the crowd hushed as a woman in silver robes appeared, followed by ten other men and woman in various pastel colors, all with the body chains of the priesthood. She walked past me and shot me a smile before taking her place at the lectern. The other priests and priestesses lined the edge of the hall.

  The woman, who must be the High Priestess of Fellan, as she was the one at the lectern, looked over the crowded church, her face neutral, and then her face lit up with a smile.

  “Hello, Children of the Gods.”

  Her voice was clear but did not echo. Nor was it too loud from up close. I suspected there were Skill shenanigans related to it. My eyes focused on the way her pale blue hair was pulled back from her face, revealing her soft features. Whereas the Duchess of Dawn, the Countess Mallorica, was all sharp edges and harsh tones, this woman was gentle. Her eyes sloped gently downward, and I could see their clear green shine. Her smile was filled with warmth and kindness.

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  “I am Ophelia, High Priestess of Ital, God of Hospitality, and Lord of Warmth,” she started.

  “On this Blessed Day, the Seventh Day, the Day of Sermon, I would like to share with you a story of Frill, Goddess of Compassion, Lady of Health and Beauty. Of how she once was a mere mortal, a woman like you or I, who went out of her way to aid those in need. How, one winter, many millennia ago, she changed the world for the better.”

  I felt it, then, the feeling of a breeze brushing my cheek, and I understood why I was leaning forward. Why I was hanging on the High Preistess’ every word. She was running an aura Skill, not unlike [Otherwordly] or [Silent as a Shadow].

  “But first, let us sing.” She hummed.

  And then another priest in dull orange threw up his arms and cast a much less subtle Skill. It summoned illusory instruments that shone in an orange light to match his robes. As they began playing, their forms shifted from violas to violins to cellos, from tambourines to trumpets to tubas. They were hardly one shape for more than a few notes, but the sounds were far from incongruous. No, they were melodic.

  A priest in cream swiped her arm out to the side of him, and pamphlets began flying out to each member of the congregation. I plucked one out from the air in front of me and began looking it over. It was a book of lyrics, and it was dated for that day.

  I looked back up at the High Priestess, and her eyes were on mine. They were shining a brilliant silver, and I held back my sigh. It seemed I was going to be chatting with another servant of the Gods before this day was out.

  The words on the page were gibberish to me, but that’s because I didn’t speak Old Minnish. I could read them well enough, but I wouldn’t be singing along. I stood when everyone else stood, but my mouth remained closed. The High Priestess stopped looking at me as I did so and sang loudly. It was a beautiful sound that I resented was associated with the Divine. There were eight songs, with rough translations at the back, in the booklet. I didn’t bother reading the translations, as it was bound to be praise for the Divine.

  I took a breath, steadying my emotions. Frill had not done anything to me, not yet, and she is known to be a friend to Morloch. It’s why, often, their statues were intertwined.

  When will this end?

  I activated [Mana Sense] and looked around the hall, searching for the different types of mana. I flinched as I was overwhelmed with white light. I blinked quickly, and my eyes began to focus on the individual motes of light. All around, white mana was falling like snow, clinging to those who were singing and falling off those who weren’t. I watched as a mote of mana approached my skin and fluttered away, landing on Juniper’s shoulder. Next was the orange mana that made up the ever-shifting instruments. Then, I focused on the silver mana that was coming out of the High Priestess’ mouth. It was a cone and swirling.

  It had to be mana of the Divine. All the other mana Skills I’d seen so far had been shades of blue. Now, even the mana in the priests’ bodies was altered in color. Some of it was still blue, but large swaths of their mana veins matched the color of their robes. I opted not to examine the congregation's mana veins. It seemed… invasive. And rude. Honestly, it was kind of pushing it to look at the priests’ mana.

  I did mental gymnastics to keep myself entertained through the songs. Each one lasted for nearly ten minutes, so it was an hour and a half before the music ended. I wondered how much mana it took for the priest to maintain the band but decided it was probably related to the average length of a service.

  As the instruments evaporated, the High Priestess looked over the pews, “Let us begin our tale. Our Lady of Compassion.”

  I felt her Skill working once more, pulling my attention, and out of defiance, I pulled my focus away, ignoring her words. I wouldn’t be forced to listen to the Divine. My eyes landed on my animations, poking their heads out of my bag, and I took the opportunity to pull out Haze. I held the panda in my lap, much like a mother would a baby just before bouncing them. I stared into his eyes for a moment, watching him reach out to me.

  And then I booped his nose. His arms stopped reaching for me, and he turned his head up to look into my eyes. I held back a laugh as he brought one arm up as close to his nose as he could get. Then I flipped him around gently and tugged him close to me.

  I could feel the chill of my mana running through him, and I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them, the High Priestess was once again looking at me. But I turned my head before I took in her expression. I spent the remaining half an hour of the sermon that way, staring off at the architecture and hugging Haze.

  I tuned in here and there, just enough to get the gist of the story. It was, obviously, about Frill’s exploits. She was the daughter of a shaman and the owner of an apothecary. One day, she was waiting for her family to come home, tending to the garden. As she watered her plants, a man appeared, dressed in an all black hunter’s uniform. He was bleeding profusely and was covered in dirt. As she approached, she offered her aid. The man, his face covered by a cowl, rejected her offer. Frill, however, refused his rejection and instead tore her dress and began wrapping up the man’s wounds. She, who had a powerful Class, was no match for the man. Or, perhaps, he’d simply been too stunned to say anything. After she’d bandaged him up, he gripped her face in his hands, his red eyes meeting her white ones, and said a muffled ‘thank you.’ Then he disappeared, sinking through the ground silently, letting go of Frill’s face as he did so. The last she saw of the man, he was pulling out a sword and snarling at the ground. Later, when Frill was alone, she received a system notification.

  She had received a Divine Skill.

  She had unlocked her Divinity.

  For she had saved a God.

  Morloch, the God of Self-Improvement and Sacrifice.

  I knew this story already, or rather, little Eunora did. It was the story of how Morloch and Frill became intertwined. If the story is to be believed, it is the first time the young God had ever sacrificed his own Divinity to a mortal that was not of the Drow.

  And it was millennia before he did so again.

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