The noise from the council members seems to drown the sound of the heavy rain and thunder.

Unable to hold it any longer, Talon yelled, “silence.” Followed by a loud thunder.

He had a frown when he looked at Brian without blinking for a minute.

“Did you pray to this supposed ‘god’?”

Brian noticed when Talon said god there was something in his voice, almost like daring the god to punish him. He darted his eyes around the room; he released a sigh of relief when he found nothing.

“No, he saved us without us asking for anything. But I did pray for LUGUS.”

“Instead, this ‘god’ answered your prayers.”

“Yes.”

“Did you do anything after he saved you?”

“Yes…we prayed to thank him for saving us.”

“But you said you didn’t know which ‘god’ it was.”

“We didn’t. Aileen started first, and she called him…‘GOD OF FLAMES’ and nothing happened to her, so we assumed that was his title and joined her.”

Every council member and Talon turned to look at her. Aileen lowered her heads when she saw the look on the council members. Second ago they saw her with a bit of respect. Now it was gone and replaced with disgust and despise. But what hurt her the most was the expressionless face of her father.

‘You’re not even going to show me your anger.’

She had tears running down her face, but her wet furs and bloodshot eyes masked them, so nobody noticed. At least that was what she thought until she felt a hand on her hand. She turned to look. It was Alan who had a puzzled look. He looked at her and then at her father and back at her. His expression was now replaced by a frown.

“You prayed to this god without even knowing his name, let alone if he is a god. What if it was an Archon?” said one of the council member.

Before Aileen could speak Brian answered, “I don’t know his name, Elder Isona, but I know with certainty that was not an Archon or an Ascendant. Whatever he is, he is beyond that.” He shivered when he said the last part. All the groups did.

Aileen lowered her heads again, listening to the water drops as it fell from her body to the ground and the rain outside as it patters on to the ground from the roof. The sound together created a perfect, beautiful rhythm that helped distract her from the conversation.

Seeing their reaction, Isona asked, “what did you see?”

Brian shook his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Pray and you will find out.”

Without saying anything he left the room, the others followed close behind him. Aileen remained so engrossed in the rhythm that Alan had to pull her away by the hand. The council members stared at them as they left. None of them did or said anything to stop them, seeing that the chief was silent.

The rain seemed not to bother the group as they walked the dark streets. It was silent except for the rain and the sound as the wind made the signboards and windows of the homes squeak.

“What was that?” asked Alan, still holding her hand.

She jerked her hand from him but stayed silent.

“You must be exhausted. Go and rest we will meet tomorrow,” said Brian.

“What about you guys? Your wounds—”

“Don’t worry about us. You’ve already done what you could for us. We’ll go and see Amador. And when the rain stops, we’ll meet with Rurik. Something about that wolf pup doesn’t seem right.”

“Yeah. Like, how did it end up in the forest?” said Garret.

“We will get to it later when we ask Rurik. For now, we should all get some rest, especially you Ali.” Said Brian, resting his paws on her shoulder.

“Who’s going to tell Helena about Raheem?” asked Alan.

They looked at each other in silence, waiting for one of them to speak up, but none of them did.

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“Maybe we should wait until he wakes up.”

“Good idea.” They all nodded their heads.

“What if she heard we’re back and asks about him?”

“Thank Drofiri for the rain. Now let’s hope it rains until he wakes up.”

Aileen split up from the group when they reached a crossroads. She was walking alone with the rain for a company she could share her deepest secrets. The rain had been falling steadily for hours, a dull, rhythmic patter that mirrored the weight pressing down on her chest. Each step was slow, her boots sinking into the mud as she walked down the familiar path. When someone suddenly grabbed her from behind, she immediately conjured fire in her hand, but the heavy rain extinguished it.

She, for once, was glad it was raining, otherwise she might have hurt the one person she didn’t want to.

“Sorry, Cinta. I didn’t know it was you.”

An older vulpine was behind her, a few meters between, scared by the fire that was formed at Aileen’s hand. She had a few gray furs in the mix with the auburn. Her face softened as she waved at her not to worry, her warm smile contrasting against the bleak, gray world around them.

“I should be the one saying sorry, dear. It’s bad luck to sneak on someone.” Her words came soft and warm, like honeyed tea on a cold evening, each word wrapping around her in a comforting embrace.

“You shouldn’t be out in the rain. You’ll catch your death out here,” the woman said softly, stepping out to meet her. “And I told you to call aunt. You’re breaking my old, weak heart.”

Aileen hesitated, her gaze still fixed on the path to the graveyard. But the woman’s hand, gentle and firm on her shoulder, was a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed and gave a small smile.

“There, my dear, you should smile more. It is a shame the world is robbed of it.”

Cinta grabbed her hand again.

“Come to the house. The kids missed you terribly. And you look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

"Your mother wouldn’t want you out here like this." The words cut through the haze of guilt, making her blink away the tears gathering in her eyes. Without a word, she followed Cinta to her house.

As Aileen steps inside the house, the warmth immediately contrasts with the chilly rain that still clings to her. The familiar scent of simmering stew fills the air, rich with herbs, onions, and slow-cooked meat, comforting and homey. The sound of children's laughter echoes from a nearby room, muffled but lively, a reminder of a life that feels distant and unreal.

She entered a modest but warm room, lit by a low fire’s crackle in the hearth. Soft, well-worn furniture surrounds a wooden table, the surface scratched and marked with years of use. The floor creaks slightly underfoot; she had missed that sound. The faint, sweet scent of freshly baked bread lingers, mixing with the earthy smell of wet wood from the porch outside, making her stomach growled loudly.

Cintra looked at her with a grin, which embarrassed Aileen. ‘Thank the gods, the kids didn’t hear it.’

For a few seconds, the noise in the next room was silenced, and then it erupted into the loudest laughter. Aileen covered her eyes with her paws. Cintra let out a small laugh when she heard the children.

She tried to distract herself with insignificant details—the firelight reflecting off the polished copper pots hanging on the wall, the woolen blanket folded over a chair by the hearth, always ready for someone to use. There’s the faint rustle of curtains as a cool draft slips through a cracked window, and the flickering shadows play across the walls, making the space feel alive.

Cintra gave her a knowing smile, the kind that says everything with no need for words. The air is thick with warmth and care, even in its simplicity, offering her a sanctuary from the coldness she felt.

She heard a creaking sound when she sat down on one of the chair. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion. From the next room, the sound of children laughing continued to fill the air, their giggles so carefree, so full of life. It made her smile faintly, though the smile never reached her eyes. She hadn’t laughed like that in years.

Cintra returned, wiping her hands on her apron. "It’s good to see you safe. I heard you were on a mission... how was it?"

“Raheem was hurt.”

“And you, my dear, are you alright?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer, her hands resting limply in her lap. The words were stuck in her throat, choking her. "I’m fine," she said eventually, but it sounded hollow even to her. Cintra didn’t push, but her knowing gaze lingered.

"You know," Cintra began, her tone casual but with a hint of concern, "my husband’s caught up at the shop because of this rain. It’s been pouring for days. He wanted to come home, but it’s too dangerous."

She nodded vaguely, her thoughts drifting back to her father’s indifference. She wondered if it was ever possible for him to care, or if he was as caught up in his own grief as she was. He never talked to her about it.

The children burst into the room, running circles around the table, laughing and chasing one another. They tried to grab her hands, to pull her into their games, but she just smiled faintly again, her gaze distant.

Cintra watched her, her expression soft. "You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready," she said after a moment. "But if you do, I’m here."

She looked down at her paws, fingers tightening around the fabric of her clothes. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "It was my fault. My mother... she died because of me."

The silence that followed was heavy. Cintra’s eyes softened, and she took a seat across from her. "Your mother died protecting you," she said gently. "That wasn’t your fault. She loved you more than anything, and she made her choice. A mother’s love... it’s stronger than any fear, any danger. I’ll even say it is greater than the gods’ love."

She closed her eyes, feeling the tears she had held back for so long finally break free. The woman didn’t say anything else, just let her cry, her presence a quiet comfort.

When the tears finally stopped, she felt lighter somehow, though the grief was still there, still heavy. The scent of food wafted through the room again, and her stomach growled once more, louder this time. The woman smiled softly, getting up to prepare the meal.

"Come, eat something. You need your strength."

She didn’t argue, and when Cintra placed a bowl of warm stew in front of her, she took the first bite slowly, savoring the warmth that spread through her body. The children’s laughter still filled the house. And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel a bit of hope.