After taking a bath and eating a quick meal, I left the house while carrying a basket of sandwiches for Father. Making my way deeper into the city, I follow the familiar roads to Temple Square. Without the whole city gathering for the weekly sermon, the trip was quick and the square felt as spacious as it actually was. I glanced at the altar, now filled with water instead of ichor, before focusing on the Temple of Z'kyd'qa.

The building was the largest of the five temples. Towering walls of polished dark granite gleamed in the light of the moon. Internal lights lit the stained glass windows depicting iridescent flames and legendary paladins.

I passed by several small groups as I entered the foyer, each one serving as a representation of the god's deific domains. Military recruits were heading to the back for basic training, craftsmen carrying fine goods and materials, acolytes holding scriptures and records of the dead, and various sick and injured people seeking treatment.

The soldiers and acolytes could enter quickly thanks to their special badges, and the infirm were ushered into another room to not get anyone else sick. I had to wait in line with the craftsmen to be allowed entry.

"Name?" the bored-sounding young man behind the desk asked me as I approached the front of the line.

"Xara Hitax," I said, handing him my ID.

He looked over the small metal tablet, handing it back to me once he verified its authenticity. "Reason for visit?"

"Just visiting my father, Gammiz Hitax in the forge. I'm bringing him some food," I say while holding up the basket of sandwiches.

"Let me see."

I placed the basket on the desk and the receptionist opened it. After moving a few of the sandwiches around he nods and hands it back to me. "You can go. Try not to take too long. I assume you know the way?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Freed from the clutches of bureaucracy, I make my way through the Hall of Craftsmen towards the temple's forge. This particular hallway wraps around the entire building to ensure that only official members of the Temple can pass through the secret chambers in its center. But even then I'm able to see into numerous rooms where acolytes are studying everything from weapons making to architecture. At one point I even chuckled as I overheard a few scholars arguing over a new method to mix clay for some reason.

As I walked I started to hear the sound of clanging metal and shrieking grindstones, and soon I found myself in one of the most important rooms in the temple, the Holy Forge.

The large, domed room was a few dozen feet across in any direction, with a large circular opening at the top providing most of the light. All around were workstations bearing pieces of equipment in various stages of production. There were freshly formed billets being hammered into shape, a red-hot ax head shrieked as it was quenched in a bucket of dark liquid, and I even saw an apprentice being trusted with sharpening a nearly finished sword.

Most would expect such a room to be swelteringly hot, but instead, there is only a pleasant warmth here. The reason is that this was where the Mythsmiths of Z'kyd'qa worked. While ordinary smiths plied their mundane craft in the eastern industrial district, the Ichorsmiths used vats of holy ichor to heat their metal. Walking past one such vat, I watched an apprentice dumping large amounts of iron ore into the black liquid.

While ichor did not produce much ambient heat, anything that maintained direct contact with it would slowly heat up without limit. Mythsmiths could then imbue the mundane metal with the divine aura of the ichor. Soon that ore would be smelted into liquid mythril and skimmed off the surface for one of the smiths to begin forging into a piece of equipment for some lucky paladin.

I carefully made my way through the densely packed workstations, but it wasn't long before I was stopped by an apprentice.

Stolen story; please report.

"Hey, you can't be in here," he said firmly, his gaze firm and unyielding despite being a foot shorter than me.

"You must be new here. I'm here to see my father."

He seemed surprised by my comment, but as he opened his mouth a voice called out.

"Hi'myg! Stop bothering her and get me more flux."

He turned to a woman standing next to a vat of ichor where a series of blades were being heated. "But ma'am-"

"But nothing. I gave you a job and it wasn't to stick your nose in other people's business."

I smiled at the woman as I walked past the now nervous apprentice. "Thank you miss Zi'vem!"

The older woman said nothing else, nodding as she checked the heating blades.

I walked a little further and finally saw Father working at the center-most workstation, hammering a piece of metal into what looked like the primary plate for a shin guard. The piece was almost fully formed, and now he used a narrow hammer to add some final details.

I walked over to his workbench and set down the basket. Despite walking right in front of him Father did not react to my presence.

It had always seemed odd to me that Z'kyd'qa was the god of military as well as craftsmanship. Smithing weapons and armor was one thing, but how did deadly combat have anything to do with sculpting pots or carving wood? What did something as destructive as war have to do with something as creative as the arts?

But then Father took me to the temple for my ninth birthday. I got to meet the mythsmiths and their apprentices while they worked their forges, and slowly started to understand. It was about passion, about discipline, about honing your skills until even the swing of a sword became as much of a work of art as the blade in your hands.

After a few minutes, Father finished hammering and dipped it into a trough of liquid to cool quickly. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Father looked up and flinched when he suddenly saw me. I giggled as I realized that he had been so focused on his work that he didn't even notice me.

"Ahm, how...how long have you been standing there," he said as he tried to compose himself.

"Just a few minutes." I gestured to the basket. "Mother sent me with sandwiches."

"I see." Opening the basket, the smallest hint of a smile appeared on his face as he pulled out two sandwiches. He handed one to me.

I raised my hand to reject it. "They're yours, I already ate."

"It's vellberry jam."

"So?" I asked, trying not to lick my lips.

"I don't eat vellberries."

My brow furrowed. "Since when were you a picky ea-!" I stopped speaking as my stomach betrayed me with a growl loud enough to be heard over the noise of the forge.

Father smiled. "Eat."

Blushing slightly, I took the sandwich and took a bite. The two of us stood there silently for a moment, leaning against the workbench as we listened to the sound of pounding hammers and grinding stones.

"How was your day?" Father asked, breaking the silence.

"It was...productive. Kiuyk convinced me to spend basically the whole day at the training field with her. Oh! Commander Laqbeka was there too. We demonstrated a new training method for him and he said it might be useful for the paladins!"

Father's face lit up with surprise. "Impressive."

I smiled, but I felt my face stiffen as a question came to mind. "Do you...do you think that will help with the trial?"

"Hmm...it is possible, but not likely. The administrators will already know that you are a talented warrior, and this method of yours may improve their impression of your intellect, but what matters most now is their questions of your character."

I sighed, having more or less expected this answer.

No matter what Temple one wanted to join, becoming a paladin meant holding tremendous authority in Deqana and all throughout the empire. It took strength and wisdom to carry out the duties of a paladin, but all the power and knowledge in the world wouldn't be enough if they decided one just wasn't worthy of the influence the position granted.

"Do...do you think I'll pass?"

"...I do not know."

'Oh...' My shoulders slumped. "S-sorry."

"Don't apologize." Father awkwardly put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. I looked up, his face shifted as he tried to find the right words. "You are brave, creative, and most of all you are kind. I simply don't know if that's what they want." He scowled. "Osgoqu is nothing like you, and yet he is nearly a grand master now," he said, his normally even voice tinted with disdain.

"Do...do you not like him?" Father had been so respectful towards the paladin at the sermon, and considering Osgoqu's behavior I had assumed that their time during the war had made them close.

"He was...an effective leader, especially for something as gruesome as war. Just as he directed battles with brutal efficiency, he will judge you based on whatever the Temples think is best." Father looked me in the eye and pulled me into a hug.

I flinched from the contact. It's not as though he had never hugged me before, but Father was rarely one for physical affection. I could feel his discomfort as I buried my face in his shoulder, he reeked of sweat and ichor, but even still I felt tension that I hadn't noticed leaving my body.

"Whatever metric the Temples use to measure a paladin's worth, know that you have done everything you could. All that remains is to have faith. The gods do not bless those without merit."

I smiled. "Thank you."