For a moment, I looked back at the great bridge that we had crossed as we lumbered through the city. It was far away now, mostly blocked by the thousands of passersby, and as we walked ahead, my sight of it was gone.

“We should arrive at the church soon,” said Florencia as she looked around. “There!” She pointed at three pointed roof peaks that she saw over in the distance.

“The library should be close as well,” said Jace eagerly. “Let’s not spend too much time in the church so that we’ll have enough time there.”

“I think we should skip the library,” said Iskander. “As we should skip the church. We won’t find anything there. The quicker we get to captain Leze, or back to the Lord Mayor, the better.”

“Remember, Iskander,” I said, forcing myself to concentrate amidst the chaos of thoughts and emotions of everyone around me. “The survivors of Veneiea are in that church. We might even find out what Vranik looks like, or maybe even someone who has talked to him.”

“Pff!” said Iskander bitterly. “I sense we’ll gain nothing good over there.”

“I agree,” said Jace. “But it’s on the way, so mind as well. But I think I might stay behind in the library, only if I find a lead there, of course.”

I saw both of their points, but I disagreed. My mind, however, was too scattered to argue my point, so I let the matter be. The cacophony of the city was utterly overwhelming, and Florencia had to lead me by the hand through a few thick crowds. I hoped I would get my sensitivity under control soon. This was becoming too much of a hassle.

And even though most of our company thought going to the church of Iscia was a waste of time, they still followed Florencia’s lead.

We turned to the right again, heading now towards the ocean. But it was still rather far away, and our view of it was blocked by countless buildings low and high. A more narrow street with two opposing lanes took us to a small stone square. It was bordered by a rusty, waist-height fence. In the center of the square grew a single, gnarled alder tree that had shed its leaves all around itself. And it was because of the many roots that grew under the odd-shaped stones that the square looked rough and untidy.

The church itself was slim, but tall, built of old beige stone. And the entire thing seemed to be squeezed into a space that was never truly meant for it. Its construction felt more like an afterthought than a deliberate plan. I looked up and noticed, rising above the neighboring houses, three towering, cone-shaped spires that stretched towards the sky.

There was only one entrance into the church—through a narrow door of dark wood. And in front of that door stood three older-looking women who had their heads shaved and were handing out pamphlets to all who passed by. But there were few who entered that church, as most of the passersby averted their eyes and hurried past the place as if chased away by an unspoken uneasiness.

“This looks like a cheerful place,” said Iskander grimly. He then grabbed the leather belt that held his greatsword to his back and held it so his knuckles went white.

We approached the door, and the three women dressed in dark robes looked up at us.

“You! Your soul! It needs saving! Will you read our word? Our promise? We can guide you through your pain, and help you ease it. Make it bearable,” proclaimed a frail woman, blind in her right eye, and a long scar running across her left cheek.

“No thanks, I’m good,” said Iskander firmly, and rushed past them. Jaxine quickly followed, with eyes cast down and turning her shoulder as to block them.

Jace passed the three as well, saying nothing but bowing out of respect, but he also shook his head, wanting nothing to do with them. I followed, along with Florencia, and we entered the church of Iscia. As we entered, I felt my senses return to me, as we were now quite far away from the main busy street. I could finally think clearly.

But that was only for a moment.

Weeping was the first thing that we heard. Then, an immense, oppressive weight of despair descended on me the moment I stepped deeper into the church.

It was like a heavy slap in the face, and I felt washed clean of the weariness of Caffria in an instant. The misery was palpable, weaved into the very air that we breathed in. This was supposed to be a place of worship, but not this… almshouse.

It was crushingly dark inside, even though thousands of candles were lit everywhere. They were put on candlesticks of black iron and brass, and some were of wood or stone. There were also stacks of dozens of them set upright on the floor. And two chandeliers hung silently on black chains in the middle of the main hall.

And yet, for some reason, all those candles did little to light up this grim and dark place. It had windows as well, narrow but tall, made of colorful mosaic, yet it seemed like no light came through them. It was like this strange sanctuary was cast in the same darkness that those survivors of Veneiea were themselves drowned in.

I looked down and saw that the floor was a mosaic of marble, silver and crimson colored, with leaves seemingly drawn on top of a checkered pattern. There were very few things made of cloth around, so our steps would’ve echoed loudly as we made our way more inside. But it was not so.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

In a shocking display of misery, the entire church was filled with the refugees and survivors of the Veneiea massacre, who had now no homes to return to, and who now had no minds capable of rejoining society.

All around, there were no benches or any other furniture. All had been dismantled and made into beds and chairs and small chests and cupboards. And in the middle of those were countless bedrolls or mattresses and sleeping cots made from piles of old, damp clothes.

But it was the crying and constant mumbling that filled our hearts so we could not even think. It was a cacophony from which I could not distinguish a single word, and it went on and on ceaselessly.

Iskander fell silent, his lips sealed, and his hands clenched tightly around the strap of his sword scabbard. Jaxine was almost glued to his side but also seemed to fade into the background as if diminished. Many times did I almost forgot that she was with us.

We saw small groups of people gathered around the candles or small tables. They were all huddled very close together, and amidst them stood priestesses of the church, dressed in long orange and red robes that were richly embroidered. They held thick books, ancient-looking, and read words of comfort from therein, and the crowds before the priestesses wept and thanked the gods for their protection and salvation.

Further ahead, still, on the other side of the nave, right where the pulpit should have been, was a single, rickety chair, and a line of people leading to it.

Beside that chair was an emaciated old woman, with a shaved head except for the thinnest topknot. She was bent down on her knees before a young man and tattooed his neck and shoulders with black ink while mumbling loudly to herself. On the other side of the chair was a strange wide bowl, perhaps of silver or polished steel, where something burned and filled the air around them in thin, white smoke.

“What in the…” mumbled Jace. “Jonas. I don’t think you will find anyone here who you could talk to. They’ve all lost their damned mind.”

Everyone else agreed with the chilling realization.

Then came a desperate cry!

“It’s you,” cried a wrinkled, bald woman and stormed in front of me. “Oh, blessed be Iscia! It’s you! You were there! You destroyed that… monster with lightning. I saw it with my own eyes, I did. The bright blue flash of light, and boom! It fell and turned to ash right before my eyes. Lightning shooting out of your fingers. Killing that terrible… that terrible…”

“The savior. The Monster!” She kept repeating those words before she was dragged away by her friends.

Then, a flurry of running footsteps echoes towards us, and a young woman emerged through the crowds. She was short and thin, and with dark hair tied in a tight bun. I saw in her dark eyes, burn a fierce purpose that seemed to overshadow her small stature and make her seem larger than she was.

This must have been Catia Zyla, who the King’s mother talked about. She was her promising pupil, who had been sent to Caffria to speak the word of the faithful, and who had now taken to herself a new task.

“What is this? Why are you upsetting poor Darloa?” she asked. “Who are you? Are you here to harass my people again? You don’t wear guard’s uniforms!”

“No,” I said as calmly as I could, ignoring the weight of despair that sapped all hope and strength. “We came here to talk.”

“Oh? Talk?” said Catia Zyla, stepping close to me and Florencia. With a quick glance, she scanned her and then addressed her. “You carry a token of Iscia with you. Is she your favored deity?”

“I sympathize with the teachings of Iscia the most,” said Florencia carefully.

“You have that air about you,” said Catia, and then turned to the both of us. Jace, Iskander, and Jaxine backed off, guarding themselves, and their faces were rather white. “You don’t seem like guards. What are you here for? Do you wish to hear the word of our gods? Do you wish for faith and hope? I do not sense that about you. You’re here for something. You want to take something from us?”

“We come here to talk with some of the survivors,” said Florencia. “We are actually looking for somebody, and thought, hoped really, that maybe someone here might guide us in the right direction.”

Catia Zyla frowned and looked at us suspiciously.

“They’re harassed enough by the guards. Why don’t you just leave them alone? They’re barely coping with what they went through. You can feel their despair, most can. That’s why nobody comes here anymore. That’s why they all run away and never look back. Some go around, so they won’t have to walk past this place. None come to help.”

“We’re not here to harass them,” I said. “We are trying to find any information about someone. Do you know if anyone here is… acting strange?”

“Acting strange?” Catia Zyla parroted, as if insulted. “My dear man, most of these people will never have a normal life again. Acting strange! They can barely function. Some forget to eat for days or forget to bathe themselves. A few need to be helped in the toilets. Strange!”

She wanted to spit at me. I saw it; her disgusted face.

“Do you know where most of them were found, fancy lord?”

“I’m not a lord—”

“In the meat pit! Do you want me to tell you about it?” We shook our heads. “No? I thought so. But they told me! Oh yes, they told me everything about what happened in the meat pit. Those who were rescued from there can’t hold a conversation for more than a few words. Luckily, I managed to save at least some of them. But those weren’t found in the pit. Those I’ve sent out into the city to hold sermons to the few who listen. Our words instill some strength into the faithful. They’ve been doing a good job, I think.”

“About those who hold lectures,” I said, grabbing at a lead. “Are there some who is more—”

“Active? Alert or—” said Florencia, but Catia Zyla interrupted again.

“They’re broken, all the same. Their minds can hold a single purpose, but nothing more. But they will, at least, survive this ordeal. But the rest of them,” she looked at the crowds gathered here. “Faith is all they have left. And faith is all they will have.”

She breathed out and recollected herself. How one can do any kind of work in this miserable place? I had no idea. It was foul here, poisonous, almost corruptive. I felt like I needed a wash afterward.

“You know, instead of suspecting my people again, maybe you should reign in some guards who keep harassing us?” said Catia Zyla, and shot an accusatory glance at us. “That one guard, I think his name is Pecca. He has already taken ten away from us for questioning. None of them have come back! I’ve asked the other guards, and conveniently, nobody knows anything about what has happened to them.”

This was strange, and I exchanged a meaningful look with Florencia. We didn’t even have to say a word to each other. This was a lead. I felt it, as did Florencia.

“This guard…” I said.

Then—a sharp cold overcame me, causing goosebumps to rise all over my arms and neck. I felt a pit in my stomach. Or like a boulder lodged in the middle of a flowing river, interrupting all around it. An overwhelming nothingness that was unnatural amidst the surrounding energies.

My eyes shot at Florencia. She was still talking as if nothing was wrong.

Goxhandar awoke with explosive strength.

“Master—” it blurted. “A demon!”