Peak of Autumn, Week 5, Day 3

It all blended together, making our way into Juvel. The city was much smaller than Adeline by a factor of ten. That isn’t to say that it was small. The buildings were two or three stories, growing taller the further we went into Juvel, and people were milling about everywhere. Unlike in Adeline, where my arrival was announced, the Dusk Knights didn't draw much attention in Juvel. The locals seemed accustomed to seeing the cream armor, finding the presence of the Dusk Knights normal and reassuring. Occasionally, someone would catch sight of us, but it wasn't like in Adeline, where people would stop and stare. Because no one looked overlong, and Eunora’s anxiety didn’t rear its head.

That’s how I wound up eating on the first floor of an inn deep inside the city walls and gingerly placing my knit entourage onto a new bed –save for Noir, who belonged with me. Always. It’s how I found myself dragged out to the church by Sir Limrick, Arlen, and Klein –with Sir Neil and Dame Arella taking the lead.

Like in Adeline, the church was raised up from street level –a flight’s worth of stairs leading up to great stone doors. The steps, unlike in Adeline, had no statues or lines of priests. Instead, the grey stone was engraved with patterns of vines that stretched from the base of the doorway down to the sidewalk. The etchings were intricate and beautiful, but still, I felt the weight sinking into my stomach. If I prayed, would I be forced to speak, to move, to perform for the entertainment of Gods and Goddesses? Perhaps I could fake it.

My feet felt leaden as I climbed the steps. No one met us at the doors. No high priest sat in judgment of me, weighing my worth. There was no crowd filling every pew – and I was not expected to make a statement. Instead, a middle-aged woman in pale pink robes and metal chains wrapped around her waist approached with a light smile.

“May all who approach be bathed in Ital’s light,” her voice was smooth as she spoke, and her green eyes stuck out against her dark skin, “I welcome you to the church house of Juvel.”

Ital, the knowledge flooded me, another who Eunora had idolized, God of Hospitality and Lord of Warmth.

“Greetings, Priestess, we are here on behalf of the Count and Countess Dawn,“ Sir Limrick spoke as Sir Neil and Dame Arella arranged themselves on either side of the door. Arlen and Klein were standing close to me but distinctly not next to me, “Our Lady wishes to pray and give donation.”

He flicked his eyes back at me quickly, but I didn’t bother to school my expression –my dread likely clear on my face. Dame Arella’s eyes never left me. It helped to ease me somewhat.

I swallowed as they all turned to me, expecting me to speak.

“I do.”

My voice was as weak as it had been in Adeline, and I had to admit it: I feared the Gods as much as I hated them. Scylla’s mere visage overwhelmed my senses so thoroughly that I was unable to speak. And in the absence of my will, she forced me to. What else could I be forced to do?

I need power desperately. Otherwise, this fear and hatred will consume me.

The priestess smiled and bowed, gesturing out with her arm as she did so, “Of course, my Lady, if you will follow me, I will guide you to our private prayer rooms.”

As Sir Limrick and I followed her, I tugged on his sleeve and whispered, “How long do I have to pray?”

His mouth twitched, and I was sure he was trying not to frown at me, but still, his voice was soft as he spoke, “However long you want to.” He paused. “But try for a few minutes at least.”

I nodded, resolving myself, and I let go of his sleeve. Behind me, I heard Arlen and Klein whispering.

“Can’t we just wait outside?” Klein muttered under his breath, “The church is so suffocating.”

“Stop being a baby,” Arlen whispered quickly back, “It’s not like a God is gonna descend and smite you.”

“Bite your tongue.” Klein hissed back.

More nerves were soothed at their light bickering, and I smiled a bit.

In the center of the far wall were six statues. Two of these were the same as in Adeline, a woman tending to the wounds of a man. Frill, the Goddess of Compassion, was wrapping yet another bandage around Morloch’s ever-bleeding wounds. Meanwhile, the God’s face was hidden behind a cowl, casting him in darkness. To either side were two statues. On the left end was a man aiming a bow —Xanth, God of Hope— and next to him was a woman sitting in a meditative pose, her legs crossed —this was Greta, Goddess of Patience. On the right end was Ital, God of Hospitality, with his iconic basket of goods. Contained within were blankets and fruits and small conveniences. Between Ital and Morloch stood a woman with her arms outstretched and a tiara atop her head. This was Yllium, Goddess of Faith —The One Who Welcomes Lost Souls.

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The Gods worshiped in Juvel had a theme, and it made me uncomfortable to think too much about, so I focused my eyes ahead of me —onto the back of the priestess.

As we passed the lectern, the priestess brought us around a corner to a long hallway lined with a half dozen doors. She took us past three doors, and upon reaching the fourth, she pulled the door open. There was no lock or latch. The door simply rotated out on loose hinges.

“My Lady,” the priestess gestured for me to approach, and biting back a sigh, I did so, “This will be your prayer room for the day.”

Before I walked into the room, Sir Limrick passed me a small but heavy bag that jingled as it moved. The donation. Resigned, I entered. The room was spacious, with a reflecting pool that took up a third of the floor. Across from the entrance, three alcoves were carved into the wall —but they held no iconography. No statues or engraving. They sat empty. Halfway in, a crimson cushion was on the ground, and a waist-height column sat between it and the reflecting pool. The column had a wooden bowl atop it.

I presumed that was where the donation was to go.

“When you begin praying, the likeness of the Divine you’ve chosen will appear above the pool,” the priestess’ soft voice brought me out of my observation, and I looked back to her, “When you’re finished, the offering will be taken from the column and deposited to that Divine’s fund for public works.”

At my furrowed brow, she smiled, “Fret not. Your donation will be used in the spirit of whichever Divine you wish. You can, obviously, pray to however many Divines you want —but the prayer room will only be able to manifest the first three for donation tracking.”

Garbage! I screamed to myself, I can’t even not pray!

Outwardly, I nodded and continued into the prayer room. As the door closed behind me, I found myself alone. Despite the space in the room, the walls were too close. The silence was overbearing. My breathing became choppy. I had to pray. Or the donation wouldn’t be taken.

Why do I care if the donation is taken? What will happen? I’ll be a disappointment? I tried to think logically, but a small voice filled my mind. They’ll hate us. I don’t want them to hate us.

Too many voices. [Eternal Communion] may have been exhausted, but Eunora was still there, altering my thoughts. Because this was her body. But not her mind. Her memories were not my own. I’m not you, Eunora. Let me be me.

Silence greeted me, but still, I made my way to the cushion and column. The bag of coins felt heavy in my hands, and I opened it to peer inside. It was an unseemly amount of money. Twenty gold coins. From what I remembered of Eunora’s lessons, that was… was a lot. Enough to buy a house outright. Or several years of wages for a typical family. I thought briefly about tucking a few pieces into my bag for an emergency. But this kind of money, given to the church, would help. And I wouldn’t be able to break it into silver —not to mention that I didn’t have the strength to keep a gold coin around.

I emptied the coins out into the bowl. They filled it to the brim. Then I stared out over the reflecting pool, thinking.

I needed to pray. But who should it be? Scylla had threatened that she would answer my call. Grel and Brel were out of the question. The other Gods of this church all seemed… positive. But I couldn’t remember their titles —which meant I didn’t know their purpose. But I had chosen Morloch’s boon. The God of Sacrifice. That wasn’t ideal. He did have a second domain, though. The God of Self-Improvement. And isn’t that exactly what I wanted? To be better? To be stronger? To be more?

Rather than dwelling on it much longer, I sat down where I’d been standing. I had no desire to kneel on the prayer cushion with my eyes closed in veneration. I didn’t trust the Gods, not even ones that oversaw ‘hope’ and ‘compassion’. I wasn’t going to give them any more power over me than they already had —and I didn’t want to be lulled into a false sense of security because I was comfortable. I sat cross-legged on the stone floor, Noir positioned in my lap.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that refused to go away.

Pray. I told myself. Ask for something if you’re not thankful. That’s what you did in elsewhere. Though often you were thankful.

I clenched my fists, pressing them into the hard bones of my knees. [Mental Fortitude] was not activating by itself, which soothed me. It meant the anxiety was not destabilizing me. I was still able to think things through. I could do this.

Stretching out my hands, I released the breath I’d been holding.

“I know,” I paused, my voice shaking and swallowed, “I know there’s a proper way to pray for a noble. I read about addressing Divines by their full titles. But honestly, I can’t remember your full title. Just your domain. So that will have to do.”

As I spoke, a figure began to form above the reflecting pool. I refused to avert my eyes, so I saw as the mist structured itself into a man with rolled-up sleeves and a black cowl over his face. He wore a hunter’s outfit in all black, but I could see pale skin where his forearms were displayed. And where there was pale skin, there were wounds bleeding golden blood. Long slashes lined Morloch’s arms, and as his blood dripped into the reflecting pool, it disappeared. I looked into the darkness that was Morloch’s face, and all I could see were two red glints of light.

“Grant me strength, Morloch, God of Sacrifice. Allow me to be better, Morloch, God of Self-Improvement. I need power to protect myself. I’ve withered in the Dawn household, but I wish to bloom.”

Behind the figure of Morloch, the three empty alcoves began to fill with his iconography. Engravings began to etch themselves into the stones in full color and impossible detail. The first, a picture of a dying people. Humanoids with long ears and dark skin, their bodies layered in piles. The second, the earth consuming the people and depositing them in a world without light. The third, Morloch himself climbing out of the pile to become his people’s light.

“I want to be more. Not less.”

I felt it, then. The sense of being watched. It wasn’t oppressive, not like an aura. But neither was it comforting. At the center of Morloch’s chest, there manifested a rip in reality.

Unlike in Adeline, I had received a warning. A God was descending.