The scene before me was heart-wrenching. The child, frail and weak, coughed intermittently, but his eyes sparkled momentarily at the sight of the food.

His mother, her face a portrait of maternal devotion, gently helped him eat, one small spoonful at a time. Her own hunger seemed a distant concern compared to her child's wellbeing.

Moved by the scene, curiosity and concern nudged me to break the silence between us. "What happened to your child?" I asked, my voice soft but filled with genuine concern.

The woman stopped mid-bite, her spoon suspended in the air, and looked at me. Her eyes were pools of sorrow.

"He's been ill for some time." she said, her voice weary, laden with struggles. "We've been struggling to get by. Without proper nutrition, his health just deteriorated."

"And the father?" I prodded gently, sensing there was more to their story. "What about his role in providing?"

Her lips quivered, and her eyes welled up. "M-My husband... he died a few months ago. He was delving into the tower..."

Her revelation struck me, a reminder of the Tower's merciless nature. I hesitated before asking the next question, but I needed to understand her situation fully.

"What about using your class to find work? These days, even productive classes can find employment."

Her response was barely a whisper, laden with a weight that seemed to crush her spirit. "I-I can't... I'm a 'Discarded'."

At her words, I felt a jolt of shock.

'Discarded' – a term cruelly bestowed upon those who, by the whims of fate, were not granted a class at birth.

These individuals were often marginalized, forced to live on the fringes of society, their lack of a class making them almost invisible in a world where one's social standing and livelihood were dictated by their class.

I looked at her, with sympathy. Here was a woman, a mother, who had been dealt a harsh hand by life.

She had lost her husband to the Tower's unforgiving depths and was now struggling to care for her sick child, all while being shunned by a society that valued classes above all else.

The 'Discarded' were often left to fend for themselves, their chances of obtaining a class slim to none. To do so, one would have to venture into the Tower and reach a significant level – a feat nearly impossible.

Even among the nobility, there were those unfortunate enough to be born without a class, a situation that could bring shame and dishonor to a prestigious family. However, the key difference lay in the resources at their disposal.

Noble families, unlike those of humble origins, had access to wealth and influence, which they could leverage to mitigate the disadvantages faced by their 'Discarded' members. They could afford to hire experts - seasoned adventurers and skilled professionals - to accompany and protect their classless kin into the Tower in order to gain one from a deity.

However, for the common folk, such as the woman before me, these options were but a distant dream. They had no such means. Their status as 'Discarded' was often a life sentence, consigning them to a lifetime of hardship and struggle on the fringes of society.

In a certain light, one could consider the woman fortunate, at least in one aspect of her challenging life. Despite being 'Discarded', she had found love and companionship with a man who possessed a class – a rarity for someone in her situation.

Uncommon as it was, this union had provided her with a semblance of security and normalcy in a world that often looked down upon those without classes.

However, her respite was cut tragically short by her husband's untimely death in the Tower. Her situation was bleak, illustrating the unfairness of our world.

The woman’s eyes, though clouded with the shadows of despair, still held a flicker of hope as they met mine. "I am traveling to the Church of Lumière." she replied, her voice a soft echo of her determination. "I've heard they have healers there, people with the class to cure illnesses. I'm hoping they can help my son."

'The Church? Does she not know about their reputation?' As I was about to respond, in order to offer a word of caution , the door of the Inn burst open, cutting me off on my track.

The sudden entrance drew the attention of everyone in the room. It was them – the well-equipped escorts of the carriage I had encountered earlier, as imposing as ever.

In total, there were six of them, and walking amidst their protective circle was a young girl, roughly my age.

The inn’s patrons turned their gazes towards this new group, curiosity and a bit of apprehension in their eyes, just as they did me.

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The young woman in the middle seemed out of place among the burly guards – she had an air of importance about her, yet there was also a vulnerability that couldn't be missed.

One of the escorts, who appeared to be the leader, broke the silence with a commanding voice, "What are you lot looking at!" His tone was sharp, his demeanor intimidating.

In response, the patrons quickly diverted their gazes, returning to their meals.

As the escorts and the young girl approached the reception, a sudden, harsh cough from the sick child cut through the inn's atmosphere.

The sound caught the attention of the young girl being escorted.

In a swift, almost instinctive motion, she broke away from her guards and made her way towards our table.

Her sudden movement caused a stir among her escorts, but she managed to reach us before they could intervene.

"Poor child, he must be suffering quite a bit." she said softly, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

The mother, taken aback by this unexpected approach, instinctively pulled her child closer, unsure of the girl's intentions.

The young girl, noting the mother's wary expression and their worn appearance, quickly understood their plight.

"I'm a cleric." she announced, her voice gentle yet firm. "I can heal your child."

This revelation sent ripples of surprise through the inn.

The mother's eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude, her voice trembling as she thanked the girl for offering to use her abilities to help her son.

The girl reached out to the child, ready to perform the healing.

However, before she could begin, the leader of the escorts intervened.

He grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her back. "As a new member of the Church of Lumière, you can't just heal people as you wish." he said sternly. "You need the Church's approval for such actions."

I couldn't help but be taken aback by the revelation that the young girl was associated with the Church of Lumière. This church wasn’t just any religious institution; it was one of the longest-standing and most influential organizations known.

Rumors even circulated that their leader was immortal.

The Church of Lumière was renowned for its unparalleled healing abilities. They possessed the power to perform miraculous feats of healing, such as fully regenerating lost limbs – feats that were unheard of elsewhere.

However, accessing their services was notoriously difficult and expensive. Even the simplest healing spell from them would cost a minimum of 10 gold coins per cast, a sum far beyond the reach of ordinary people.

Their influence stemmed from their monopoly on healing classes within the human faction.

Whenever they discovered someone with healing abilities, they would swiftly move to recruit them, offering privileges and benefits that were hard to refuse.

Yet, it was known that some resisted, leading the Church to resort to more forceful tactics, such as threats against families, to secure their compliance.

This monopoly had turned the Church of Lumière into something akin to a mercenary religion.

Adventurers and explorers delving into the higher floors of the Tower often required healers, and the church capitalized on this need.

They would rent out clerics and healers to parties for exorbitant fees, cementing their position of power and influence.

As I reflected on this, I couldn't help but ponder my own past. If only my family had access to the Church's healing services, perhaps my broken body in my first life could have been mended.

But the cost was prohibitively high, and my family had opted for a cheaper alternative – healing potions produced by apothecaries and alchemists.

While less effective, these potions were all they were willing to invest in my care.

Over the years, the amount spent on these potions must have been substantial, yet it was a mere fraction of what a single healing session from the Church would have cost.

When the expenses for my care grew too burdensome, my family had chosen to let me go, to let me die rather than continue bearing the cost.

The girl, defiant in the face of the escort's admonition, retorted, "I haven't accepted any of the Church's terms yet. I was brought to them against my will after my parents sold me to pay off their debts."

Her voice was laced with a mix of anger and sadness. "You wouldn't understand how hard life is in the countryside. You're all nobles from birth, not like me, not like us! I was just a normal girl from the countryside before all this."

The tension in the air was palpable. The cleric girl, torn between her newfound obligations and her desire to help, stood defiantly against her escort.

The mother, clutching her sick child, looked on with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

The escort leader insisted that the girl must refrain from using her healing abilities without the Church's permission. However, the girl's defiance only grew stronger in the face of his insistence.

"If you don't let me heal this child, then I'll refuse any offer the Church's throws at me." she declared boldly, her eyes blazing with determination. "And I will make it known that it was because you stopped me from helping someone in desperate need."

Her words struck a chord of panic in the escort leader.

Realizing the potential fallout from this confrontation, the escort leader relented. His primary mission was to escort the girl safely to the Church of Lumière, and he was not prepared to risk jeopardizing that objective over this incident.

"Fine, do as you please." he muttered, stepping back. "But make it quick. We have to proceed to the Church as soon as possible. We'll rest until the rain stops and will proceed with our journey to the Church."

The girl nodded, her expression softening as she turned her attention back to the sick child. She moved closer to him, her hands hovering just above his small, frail body. The inn fell silent, the patrons watching with bated breath as the girl closed her eyes.

A soft, warm light emanated from her hands, enveloping the child in a gentle glow. The mother watched, tears streaming down her face, as the child's coughing subsided and his pale face gained a touch of color. The healing process was gentle and quiet, yet the effect was immediate.

As the young cleric prepared to leave with her escorts, the mother, still holding her now much healthier child, reached out to her.

There was a profound gratitude in her eyes, a deep need to acknowledge the kindness that had been shown to them.

"Wait," the mother called out gently. The young girl paused, turning back towards her. "Please, may I know the name of the one who saved my child?"

The young cleric smiled softly, a hint of warmth in her expression that had been absent earlier. "My name is Emilia." she replied.

The mother nodded, repeating the name as if to etch it into her memory. "Emilia," she said. "I will never forget this kindness. You have given my son a new chance at life. Thank you, Emilia."

Emilia nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of the mother's thanks.

With a final glance at the mother and child, Emilia turned and rejoined her escorts.

Witnessing this act of compassion and defiance, I couldn't help but feel a renewed belief in the goodness that still existed in the world.