Kreig’s hand stalled, fork almost in his mouth. Lifting his gaze from the table, he met his brother’s eyes.

George glanced away, but he didn’t retract his question. “When we first met you down there, you prayed, right? It wouldn’t be so strange to assume you held a belief of some sort.” Kreig and Sam exchanged a look, and she seemed just as confused as Kreig felt, though much less apprehensive.

Carefully, he placed his fork back on his plate, boring his eyes into the gaze of his brother.

Being religious wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in the other world. It was simply a matter of which belief you held. That was the aspect that could decide whether you got an encouraging pat on the arm or a summary execution. Accusing someone of being of the white roots was to threaten death, and until now, Kreig had pleaded atheism when faced with such a question.

At this moment, he let his silence speak.

George smiled softly. “I’m just curious, if that helps. Neither I nor Sam are much religious -”

“I’m working on it!” Sam interjected.

“-But if you want to exercise your religion somehow, I’d be delighted to make some sort of accommodations. A little shrine of some sort, foods specific to your religion…” George shrugged. “Whatever you need.”

Kreig could feel his jaw slowly set.

He was pretty sure he knew what George was saying, but even then, he couldn’t believe what he heard. It was… it was not something he had considered. Not at all. Much like speaking English, he’d kept away from any sort of expression when it came to his religion. Praying was about the one thing he could do without fear. Holy Scripture, sacred artefacts, blessed foods and drinks - he’d barely even given them thought these past hundred years or so. Only in brief fits of nostalgia did he let his mind linger on the days gone by.

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Kreig folded his hands on his lap, looked down at the table, away from his brother’s encouraging eyes. The words he spoke now were heavily weighted by years of never even considering them. “I’d like a shrine.”

George smiled, but didn’t speak. His silence giving Kreig room to breathe, to speak.

Memories of the way things were supposed to be slowly rose to the surface of Kreig’s mind. “A small mat. To place the sacred things upon. Though, I’ll need to create them.” Kreig placed his hand across his mouth. “Wood, some form of metal, and, if possible,” recollection flitted through his white eyes, “the blood of oath.” Until now, his brother and sister had listened to him in careful silence. Only now was it broken.

“Blood of what?” Sam asked, her face twisting up in confusion.

Kreig froze as the words echoed back to him, and he struggled to pull himself together. “It is hardly necessary.” It was a flimsy excuse, and not one that worked on such a curious woman. Her silence forced him to speak. “...The true version is derived from the crushing of the Messiah’s Fruit. Most common versions, used in smaller churches, only contain a small percentage of actual blood of oath. The rest is made from the distillation of the bloodwort.” His voice grew certain. “I will settle for no less than pure blood of oath.”

George made a face. “And where do you suppose we’ll get these ‘Messiah’s Fruit’?”

Kreig fell into a brief silence. “By this point in time, I do not doubt that the tree I awakened has started bearing fruit. Whether they are ripe or not remains to be seen.”

“You better not be talking about the tree I think you’re talking about,” Sam said. “But I can’t think of any other tree you could be talking about, so… Uh, what exactly are we supposed to do? We can pick up stuff for the shrine tomorrow, but I don’t think we should try picking any apples from that tree. Seriously, trust me.” There was a knowing glint in her eye.

Kreig neither noticed nor understood it. “If you’ll let me, I could easily acquire a basketful in the dark of the night. With your permission.” There was a hint of challenge in his voice that neither sibling missed.

George was just about to reply in the negative when Sam spoke out. “Y’know, that’s actually not a terrible idea!” George seemed just about ready to question her statement, but she continued. “Get in there, steal a few magic apples, get out of there. Knowing you, it would be easy peasy, right?” Kreig gave an uncertain nod, clearly put-off by her sudden enthusiasm. “But you’re not going alone.” Ah. There it was. “I’m coming along. George’ll stay here at home and do… Stuff.”

A knowing gaze was exchanged between the brother and sister pair.

“Of course,” George said slowly, much like a conspirator only just now joining in on it. “I’ll prepare anything else that might be needed. More than mere fruit is to be used, correct?”

Kreig gave a curt nod. “Indeed. We’ll need a proper bottle, burnt wort will do fine, alongside a cloth and a bowl. The rest will require only the skills I have, though many villages had special distilleries to prepare it.”

“It’ll be ready when you return,” George said, his eyes focused on Sam’s. There was an exchange of unspoken words, but Kreig couldn’t catch it. Instead, he turned back to his food. After all, they had been in the middle of dinner.

Acquiring the Messiah’s Fruit would have to wait just a little.