On the northeastern border of the Vanura Kingdom, a vast mountain range stood, formed from enormous boulders, decorated by a dense forest. Within these mountains, miles from any civilization stood the Great Shrine of Monatem. This most holy Shrine was the stronghold for the Alumus religion, created by those who worshiped the God of Divine Light, Alumus. This hallowed land nestled deep within the mountain held power that few could rival, its religious members outspoken in every country. Leading the continent's most influential religion, was Saint Sanctius, a being rumored to be ever-living, immortal, a watchful father protecting his children from the old Terrors, a sacred being.

Water slowly dripped from gnarled pine trees as a soft drizzle of rain, paired with a light mist, covered the mountain range. Snaking amidst the wet foliage, hidden from view, was a well-trodden path, worn smooth by thousands if not tens of thousands of devout travelers. If one were to follow this path, one would come across the Great Shrine, its sloping tiled roofs jutting out of the mountain wall. Built into the side of the mountain, the Shrine was constructed out of massive stone blocks and wooden beams, the materials used so large that some people believed that giants had been used to move them.

High above the Great Shrine, built on a small cliff, stood a simple wooden hut. Adjacent to the hut, dug into the cliff floor was a stone bath. Hot steam wafted off the warm water and mixed with the fog that enveloped the mountain, creating swirls of white smoky forms that danced in the rain.

Soaking in the warm bath sat Saint Sanctius, his mind at peace with the world. Glimpsing at the majestic view of the emerald valley below, he stretched his arms sinking deeper into the water. As his mind wandered, the sounds of rain became louder and louder, a downpour of rain disturbing the calm waters, making it seem as if he lay in boiling water. Opening his eyes he watched as sheets of rain fell on the forest located at the base of the cliff, the nourishing waters bringing forth new life.

“Your Holiness, dinner is ready.”

Sanctius glanced up, Ispus a devout follower of Alumus stood in the rain, her upper body bent in a bow.

“Ah, it's already that time?” murmured Sanctius, sinking deeply into the warm water one last time before standing up from his bath. Despite his old and kindly face, his body had the markings of a young man, well-built muscles still covered his body, a stark contrast between his old face and youthful body.

Stepping out of the bath, he gracefully walked to his hut, each step carefully placed on flat stones embedded in the rain-soaked earth, forming a disjointed, uneven walkway. Reaching his hut, he was greeted by two kneeling women waiting just inside, their heads bowed in reverence. Each held a towel on her lap. Stepping inside, Sanctius held his arms out wide, allowing Ispus to retrieve one of the towels and dry him off.

“Are the guests from Bovera here?” he asked, his arms still outstretched.

“Yes, your Holiness, His Eminence Father Benedict is attending to Lord Tulka Bovera—he arrived with his nephew Lord Kornel Bovera just a moment ago,” Ispus answered, fetching a white gown and dressing him. “They are waiting in the reception room.”

“Excellent! Have them brought up. We will dine soon.”

“Yes, Your Holiness.”

Once he was dry and dressed, Saint Sanctius entered a narrow passageway carved into the walls of his hut, a passageway that connected the Great Shrine to his wooden hut. The passageway was a recent addition to the Shrine, built within the past hundred years, and often slipped his mind. Although he found it useful, he frequently found himself walking down the mountain instead of using it. He hated to admit it, but breaking habits he had acquired centuries ago was difficult.

Reaching the inner halls of the Great Shrine, he made his way towards the dining room, gliding passed groups of kneeling followers and servants. He barely noticed them kneeling now, in his youth, he had demanded they stop worshiping him, but that had been a losing battle. Now he let them do as they pleased, if they wanted to kneel to him, he would not stop them.

Tulka Bovera stood at attention in the dining room, a stir of anticipation and anxiety running down his spine. The dining room was bare, only housing a small table, a couple of wooden chairs, and four candle stands. Since his brother had given him the Divine Medicine, he had taken his nephew and rushed to the Great Shrine, only stopping once to clean themselves at the foot of the mountain before continuing. Carefully observing the room, he guessed that no matter how plain the furnishings were, no ruler would mock them. The very knowledge that Saint Sanctius dined here, made the room holy, devoid of earthly needs.

On the right of Tulka, stood Father Benedict, his hands folded in front of him. Father Benedict looked like he was created out of hard leather with multiple deep lines running across his forehead. Despite his age, he still possessed a full head of hair, all of it gray and kept short. Judging by the rumors, Tulka suspected the man’s hair had turned gray in his youth—unsurprising given that he was the youngest monk to be elevated to a position just under the Saint.

On Tulka’s left, his nephew Kornel awkwardly stood, nerves causing him to constantly swallow. Kornel was the spitting image of his father—back when his father still had hair. Taller than average, he wore his brown hair slicked back and neatly parted to the side. Some might have called him slender, but Tulka knew his nephew possessed a strength most could only dream of. It was a trait shared by most men of House Bovera, so it was expected within the family. However, not many people outside of the family knew this.

“Kornel, when the Saint comes in, make sure to follow my lead, we must make a good impression,” Tulka whispered, trying to get the boy to loosen up.

“Yes, uncle,” Kornel answered, the nervous expression on his face not changing.

Sighing silently to himself, Tulka nodded at Kornel. I hope the lad can keep his head, he thought. This trip is costing us more gold than expected. The amount of gold his family had donated to His Eminence Father Linus, was astronomical—more than what twenty farmers could make in a lifetime. Still, arranging this meeting was unavoidable. They had to put themselves in a position to present the Divine Medicine they had acquired to Saint Sanctius.

Nervously standing there, Tulka wished he could draw some of the Aether that surrounded them and use its power to calm his nerves, but he knew better. The act of drawing Aether into himself could be seen as an act of aggression, and he didn’t need that. Keep calm, and just breathe, he told himself. You’ve handled worse than this. This is all for our family. Stay strong.

Before he knew it, Father Linus was walking in, his kind but strong voice announcing that the Saint would be entering.

“His Holiness Saint Sanctius!”

As soon as Tulka saw the Saint his knee hit the floor, his hands clasping each other. Although he was not that religious compared to his brother, he knew how to act the part. House Bovera needed the Great Shrine’s backing. Nodding once in approval, as he heard his nephew kneel beside him, Tulka waited for the Saint to speak.

“Please, you are guests here. Rise!” Saint Sanctius waved his hand for the two men to stand as he made his way to the wooden table. Sitting down at the head of the table, he gestured, signaling the men to sit. “Sit. Sit.”

Cautiously making his way to where the Saint indicated, Tulka sat down, glancing over at Kornel, making sure he did not embarrass them. Good lad, he thought as the boy followed his example and sat down.

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When everyone had taken their seat, Father Benedict clapped his hands, communicating to the monks who were silently standing around to bring out the food. “Let us eat!”

The meal presented matched the simple dining room, plain bread, warm milk or water, and some sort of vegetable found in the surrounding mountains, food that could be found in any village. In contrast to his influence, Saint Sanctius preferred simple food, saying it helped him understand the hardships of the common people. Once his preference became apparent, it didn’t take long for everyone at the Great Shrine to follow suit. The practice of eating simple meals soon spread to all monks and nuns, to the point it was now expected of them to eat such foods.

As the monks served everyone their meals, Tulka took the opportunity to carefully observe the so-called Saint. For a man having such influence on the continent, the Saint did not look special. In fact, to his eyes, he looked like any old man he would come across in any city. But how much of this was an act? Did the Saint always eat this meager meal? Or was it something only done in public? Tulka didn’t know the truth, but if he were in the Saint’s place—it would definitely be an act.

Unable to determine the truth, he mulled over the Saint’s age. It was commonly believed that the Saint was a thousand years old, but to Tulka’s knowledge, even the Elves did not live that long—and they were the longest-living race on the continent. To most people, including Tulka, the Saint looked to be in his late seventies, not yet in his eighties, but close.

Observing the Saint, Tulka felt a tremor of alarm run down his spine, just now for a split second—when their eyes had met, he had noticed something—something about those eyes looked inhuman! Hurriedly looking down and putting plain bread in his mouth, he silently started to chew, his mind racing. What was that? Was the old man sitting across from them truly a divine Saint? Were the rumors and beliefs of the people true? Get a hold of yourself! He angrily scolded himself. It was just your imagination! Trying to keep his composure, he wiped his sweat-covered hands on the provided napkin before consternating on his meal. He would not make a fool out of himself.

The room was deadly silent as Saint Sanctius ate, every movement of bringing the food to his lips was carefully done. For him, eating was not just for sustenance—it was a ritual, a ritual for preserving the body and worshiping Alumas. Before the meal, Father Benedict reminded Tulka that speaking during the meal was forbidden, as dining was considered a sacred time. According to the teachings of Alumas, even a meager meal could fill one’s soul if appreciated with all one’s heart. Meals were a time to worship and appreciate Alumas.

As Tulka nervously ate, every noise he or Kornel made seemed deafening to his ears, the silent clattering of utensils piercing his ears. He was too nervous! So nervous, that nothing he ate had taste, regardless of its simplicity. As the agonizing meal finally came to an end. Saint Sanctius finally looked towards the Bovera men. “I heard that you have traveled all the way from Bovera,” he said, bringing a cup of water to his lips. “It has been a couple of years since I visited the lands of Bovera. From what I remember, I was most taken in by the beauty of the people.”

“Your Holiness,” Father Benedict said, leaning in and whispering, “It has been over fifty years since you visited the lands of Bovera. It was around the time Father Linus joined our order.”

“Has it been that long?” chuckled Saint Sanctius, putting his cup down and smiling. “Sometimes I feel as if I blink, and decades have gone on by. Is the young lord, Bisconti still doing well? He was but a child when I was in Bovera.”

“Yes, Your Holiness. Father is doing well,” responded Kornel.

“That is a blessing indeed, when I heard about the destruction the war with the Domibu tribe caused on your people, I wept with sadness. I hope that the missionaries I sent were able to help.”

“Yes, your Holiness,” Tulka bowed. “With the spiritual guidance you sent us, we never lost hope. It has given us the courage to reconstruct many of the burned villages and farms. We will forever be in your debt.”

“Wonderful, wonderful! Now let us get to the main topic. I know you two are not here just to eat with an old man such as myself. What is the real reason you are here?”

The atmosphere in the room changed, the air hiding a hint of electricity.

Feeling sweat reappear on his hands, Tulka gulped. “As you are fully aware, although the post-war recovery has been going well, we are still fearful of an attack. We would like to request the Great Shrine to take a mediator role in helping us reconcile with the Lords of the Kandula Kingdom regarding the boundary conflicts.” Tulka knew that his brother, Bisconti had already made arrangements with Father Linus regarding the topic, but if he was able to secure the backing from the Saint himself, it would be even better. “We also have a small gift for your Holiness. It is the best that House Bovera can offer.”

Taking out the small wooden box, Tulka carefully handed it over to Father Linus.

“Please accept the gift.”

“A gift?” Saint Santius pursed his lips, a frown on his face, it was well known that he did not accept gifts. As the Saint of Alumus, worldly possessions were frowned upon. “I would thank you for the gift, but as an old man, I do not need anything. The Lord of Divine Light has blessed me with everything I need.”

“I’m aware, Your Holiness. But please, allow us to show our appreciation for everything you have done for us.”

As Linus walked up to Saint Santius with the wooden box, Tulka held his breath. Please accept the gift, he thought. Everyone knew the Saint did not accept gifts, but according to intensive information gathered, this medicine was the sole exception. Reaching the disinterested Saint, Father Linus opened the wooden box revealing the vial.

“The Divine Medicine!”

All composure vanished from the Saint’s face as he stood up, his chair crashing back as he flew up, his hands greedily snatching the box. Seeing such a change in the Saint, Tulka opened his mouth in shock, this was not what he expected. He had hoped the Saint would accept the gift, but what he just saw was beyond that. The man considered the holiest living being had completely changed, his once divine gaze filling with an ocean of greed, face twisted in a lustful smile.

With shaking hands, Saint Sanctius reached into the box and brought the vial up to his eye. “This is truly The Divine Medicine,” he whispered. “How was this acquired? I was under the impression that it had been lost to the ages. I had given up all hope of finding it.” The trembling Saint delicately placed the vial back into the wooden box, holding it as if it were a newborn. “Linus, the Bovera Family have accomplished a miraculous deed, Alumus has blessed this family,” he finally breathed

“Yes, your Holiness,” stammered Father Linus, his face white. The absurd reactions from Saint Sanctius also caused him to freeze in shock.

“I shall grant the Bovera Family any three wishes as long as it does not violate our doctrine,” Saint Sanctius declared, still gazing at the box in his hands.

“Any three wishes? Your Holiness?” Repeated Father Linus, casting a quick glance towards Tulka.

Seeing the intense confusion and astonishment etched on the faces of both Father Benedict and Father Linus, Tulka couldn’t help but wonder if they had made the right choice. What did we just do? He wondered. Judging by the actions of everyone around him, this medicine was far more important than he had anticipated. Even Saint Sanctius, known for his unshakable mind, had lost his serenity.

“Yes, any three, I will leave it in your hands,” Saint Sanctius declared, his attention no longer on his surroundings. “Now I must take my leave.”

Later that night, after the unexpected ending to the meal, Saint Sanctius stood alone in his room, a smile larger than any human could achieve on his face. I had waited for this moment for so long I had given up hope! He thought. And now I have it! For a thousand years, he had searched high and low, never even hearing a whisper of The Divine Medicine, and yet out of nowhere it had come into his possession.

Opening the wooden box again, he looked gleefully at the vial before launching into a maniacal laugh, head skyward. “My luck is still with me!” he cried, dancing around his room, all sighs of old age vanishing. In his place stood a young man in both face and body. “In just ten years, no, five. I will regain my power! I have been in hiding far too long. Once my powers return, I will retake what is mine!” he sang. As his crazed laughter filled the room, his holy image seemed to crack, his divine appearance taking on an eerie tone. “Just you wait!”

Flinging himself onto a couch, he paused, thinking out loud. “Once I take the Divine Medicine, it will take years before I will be healed. And during those years I will be vulnerable. I need to seal myself in the Room of Solitude for my protection. But I am worried about what will happen while I’m gone. What should I do?”

Father Benedict and Father Linus did not like each other too much, but they were loyal to him—they would not betray him while he was gone. But what he did worry about was if they could put their differences aside and work together. Together they will have enough power to move the Shine in an unexpected direction while I’m done, he thought. I need a way to keep that from happening, a way for them to be wary of each other. Lying on the couch, arms holding the Divine Medicine in front of his face, he smiled. I can give Ispus more power—not too much, but enough power to threaten the other two. The three of them will keep each other in check. Nodding at his tricks, Saint Sanctius stood up calling to the monks standing guard outside. “Send Ispus in. I have something to discuss with her.”