The Monk stirred from the depths of unconsciousness as foreign words tickled his ears while a pleasant sensation washed over him.

It was a familiar sensation that cleansed him like being bathed in a gentle stream. It invigorated him as it surged inside and out of his body, washing away aches and pains and exhaustion. His addled, slowly rousing mind recognized it was as the touch of potent healing magic running throughout his frame.

He opened his eyes to find the argent radiance coming from the spell slightly obscured his vision, but he made out an outstretched, broad fur-coated hand. The underside of the hand had pads that looked somewhat thicker than most of the other full-blooded maui’en he had seen, and the fur itself was greying and thin—lacking the luster found in a cat’s youth.

“Good, you’ve roused,” a softer and aged voice spoke in the Common tongue from behind the lucent hand. “I had my suspicions that your condition might have been worse than expected. You’ve gone through much, haven’t you?”

The glow faded out. Silver was replaced by amber light washing against the glaze of the walls as his vision slowly came into focus. The hand that had offered him succor belonged to a female maui’en clad in white robes that curved around her full-figured body, adorned with what he presumed to be the religious headdress and broad collar that looked to be made of silver resting on her shoulders. And her round eyes were half-lidded as she bore a slight, gentle smile.

“What happened…?” His voice came out hoarser and tired than expected, even though he’d drunken the waterskin what must have been hours ago.

“Traveling through the desert at night and crossing paths with Sandworms are a deadly combination,” she explained patiently as she rose to her full height from the crouch she had been in. “The Sandworms themselves secrete fluids that can be harmful to one’s constitution. I’ve used one of the blessings bestowed upon me by our goddess to cleanse you of it, as the one who reported your arrival lacked such a blessing.”

He sat up and flexed his fingers. The exhaustion from before was gone, but he still felt somewhat lethargic. Even so, he shelved that concern to focus on the lady before him. “Are you the head priestess of the main temple then?”

“Head Chantress, to be precise.” She clasped her hands together and inclined her head towards him. “And you must the apprentice of our mutual friend. She mentioned you would be arriving, but I grew worried as the days passed and you were nowhere to be seen.”

“I apologize,” he said. “There were… complications that prevented me from bringing the package sooner.”

Her brows rose at that, and she slightly tilted her head. “Though losing the artifact would have been a setback, my concern would be the loss of your life. That is irreplaceable, the artifact is not—despite its importance.”

He remained silent as the weight of her words weighed heavy on his heart.

She took his silence in stride before setting her broad hands on his shoulders. The pads on them felt firmer than one would expect. But her eyes were soft and her voice was soothing as she said, “Allow me to praise you in the place of your master for surviving all that you’ve gone through. You’ve done very well.”

“…Thank you,” was the only response he could give.

“Now, how about we leave this gloomy place?” she suggested, turning to the cell’s entrance where the same guard from before stood. “I’ve vouched for you, so you’re free to come with me to retrieve your belongings.”

He rose to his feet and followed her through the hallway with the guard behind him until they reached what he presumed was the room where they processed those who came through. He was given his belongings, all of which were thankfully undisturbed. But his cloak and clothing were inside of a bag, and he had been told not to put them on until they were washed to remove any of the Sandworm’s fluids that might have gotten on them.

“The pouch—” He began to try and hand it over to her, only to stop when she shook her head.

“That can wait until we’re back at the temple and you’ve had a nice meal,” she insisted as they continued out through the processing room. “But before we depart there are others who are waiting to see you.”

He didn’t quite understand what she meant until she opened the door, and several familiar faces came into view. The first was the Half-Maui’en Ranger, who hopped onto her feet no sooner than he came through the door with her tail and ears standing as her gaze fixed onto him. The second was the Dwarven Spellcaster, still taking drinks from his waterskin that never seemed to run out, who gave him a wave. Third was the Human Mercenary, standing with back against the wall and his arms crossed, who gave him a nod.

Last was the Caravan Leader, who approached him with his arms clasped in a religious gesture. “Praise be, you actually made it back alive. It pained me to not remain behind to search for you after all you had done, but I had to consider the rest of the caravan.”

He shook his head. “It couldn’t be helped. Besides, a path was left behind for me to follow. Without that, I wouldn’t be here.”

The ranger’s features softened when she heard that. It was as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders as she pressed a hand to her chest. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if it would work at all. I just knew what it was like to be left alone and lost in the desert. Once you’ve gone through that, you’d never let someone else go through it if there was anything you could do.”

“A bit of an understatement considering you nearly started throwing out anything not nailed down,” spoke the Dwarven Spellcaster as he finished his drink. “You were the first out of the Inn when word reached us to come in and confirm what he’d told them. Nearly tripped over yourself.”

She wheeled around at that, bristling at him as the fur on her tail and ears stood on end. “He didn’t need to know that!”

The mercenary only let out a gruff chuckle before straightening himself up. “Well, seeing you pulled through has gotten rid of the bad taste in my mouth and that’s good enough for me. I’ll be here for a while since our friend here isn’t hiring sellswords any time soon, at least until someone else arranges a ride back or takes care of those damn jackals. Come by the waterhole near the inn where we’re staying before then, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Unaware of the full context of that, the Monk looked to the Caravan Leader for an explanation.

“I suffered too many losses to recover,” he explained. “The goods that we retained, the camels, and everything else I could sell were used to see everyone else compensated for what I could. I am now little more than a hawker of wares for the time being, reliant on credit and goodwill earned throughout the years.”

In other words, he had lost just about everything getting back here. Perhaps if the Monk had been more capable then more lives and goods could have been saved. But he hadn’t been and so they had to resort to desperate measures to survive. And even then, it cost the survivors much. “Sorry.”

His former employer only shook his head. “Had you and these three not been there, I would not be here right now and in good health, unlike many of my brothers and sisters. Such fortune must be repaid, and so if you ever need my services as a merchant, do not hesitate to contact me—any of you.”

“Think I’ll be heading to the tavern myself,” the dwarf said as the other two departed ahead of him. “Don’t stay out too late, kitten.”

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The Half-Maui’en Ranger growled at him quietly before huffing and then turning her attention to the Monk and Head Chantress instead. “If you’re heading to the Main Temple, do you mind if I come with you? I want to pay my respects and I did promise to see him there for saving my life. For the generosity shown to us—”

“—must be repaid in kind,” the wizened priestess finished in her place. “You may certainly accompany us, child. Shall we?”

The Monk squinted the moment he stepped through the exit of the building, as the amber sun setting just beyond the walls of the city caught him in the eyes. He blinked it away and turned his gaze to the world around him to find it was more than he had expected. It was crowded with buildings that were made of sun-dried bricks, turning the streets that were paved with blocks into a maze upon which tread maui’en and men alike—and a lot of cats that seemed to wander about freely.

Further ahead he could spy greenery and sparkling water. There was an oasis nestled there, the life-giving waters a central fixture whereupon architects had taken painstaking efforts to craft arches and structures to symbolize its importance to survival in the harsh desert. The columns rose into the air and formed a ring around it, similar ones to be found further off in the distance that gave the impression that the city itself had been constructed around multiple places where water rose up to the surface from below.

The pair led him along the main road, wider than the side streets that peered off as the buildings formed blocks that naturally separated into backroads and alleyways that were apparently difficult to navigate unless you were a native. Their destination was thankfully much easier to reach since the Main Temple itself was one of the most important religious sites within the city. There were several different temples located throughout the city, but the Main Temple was apparently the most prominent since it was built in service to their goddess, who was the primary deity revered by their people.

“Why is that?” he asked her since she seemed so well-versed in the topic.

“Maui’en are the descendants of those who were changed by the Goddess Maui’nwi,” she said, pointing to her feline features for reference. “So she receives the majority of our reverence.”

The Monk attempted to grasp the clear weight of what she was suggesting. But it was something he didn’t fully understand. Religion had never been something his secular life on the mountain merited, given his family adherence to self-enlightenment through martial prowess.

The Head Chantress took notice and softly chuckled. “It would be easier if he understood our history. You see, our ancestors were once humans of a distant land where several divinities are worshiped. Among them, Maui’nwi was a goddess whose presence had not been of great reverence until the day she chose to make herself known to them.”

As she explained it, their homeland was located across the sea. It was a homeland of verdant greenery, a beautiful place rich in nature. However, that homeland itself seemed to operate on something of class system whereupon the lot in life one held was determined by birth, and those who could not fill in the slot that they were said to be fated for were cast into the outskirts as it was believed that those who did not play to the part fate decreed upon birth were not to be tolerated by those who did so.

Despite being exiled, reviled, or pitied, those who lived on the outskirts still held onto their own pride and found their own way of living. Their lives were not easy, but they chose to continue as they were free from the constraints they were supposed to be bound to in accordance with that perspective of fate—rather they should be seeking what they truly were meant to do.

However, at some point, a plague began to spread throughout their homeland. Those who resided within the heart of the land could call upon the arcane and the blessings to survive and weather it. But those on the outskirts lacked such divine protection, and so they suffered the harshest.

Was it their punishment for seeking to live in accordance with their own desires? Would it not be best to crawl back to one’s lot in life for the security it brings? Or did they loath the fate they were born with so much they welcomed death to escape it?

“Those questions were said to have been posed to a young girl who was slowly dying of the plague by a curious cat that sat curled on her windowsill, with the full moon lingering behind it casting an unearthly glow,” the Head Chantress said, taking a moment to let him process everything he had heard to that point.

“A… cat?” he asked, trying to mask the skepticism that came from that part of the tale. Not that he had doubts that it was possible to commune with animals. His master had demonstrated that she could do so, but that was because of how she could use nature itself to reach into the heart of the animal itself, and through that, they could understand one another.

“I myself do not believe that it was an actual cat,” the wizened priestess said. “Rather, I believe it was a spirit in service to the goddess who was asking on her behalf. Similar to how you and your master act as envoys for the land, the divinities themselves cannot intervene directly in the world so easily. So I believe the goddess crafted the spirit in the form of a cat, her favored animal, to commune with the child.”

“If I remember right, wasn’t the girl’s answer that 'clinging to fate would mean that nothing changed' or something similar?” asked the Half-Maui’en Ranger, tilting her head in thought while her ears flopped. “That they would be no better than children who constantly cling to their parents for the rest of their lives, always bound to their care. So they removed themselves from the lot in life fate dictated not because they cursed it, but because it was the only way to grow as people?”

The Head Chantress nodded. “And, in response to that, it was said the cat approached the child and softly whispered in her ear the approval of the goddess before a divine light washed over her. Her illness was cleansed, and her appearance was changed to show that she held the goddess’ favor with her blood carrying the cure for the plague. She then shared her blood with first her family, then her friends, and then her neighbors, each of whom gained the traits of a different feline. Thus, the survivors began to revere the goddess for her mercy and approval of the path they had chosen.”

Of course, things did not get easier from there. They have survived the plague but the sudden change in their bodies did not go unnoticed. Whether it was a necessity to survive the plague or the whim of the goddess to shape their bodies more to her favored creature, their ancestors faced persecution for their new appearance in addition to their exiled status. Thus, they were forced to depart their homeland and crossed the seas until they arrived here.

It was a harsh and long journey. Their people were poor and thus their ships were small and cramped, with few knowing how to navigate the stormy waters. But under the guidance of that young girl, who would become known as the First Chantress, they managed to arrive and made this place their home as the first of the Maui’ens.

“…Were your ancestors not afraid?” the Monk asked, looking down as he felt the weight of the teeth and claws grow heavy around his neck. “They risked everything to arrive here, whereas simply following the path laid out for them would afford them a life of comfort and security.”

The Half-Maui’en Ranger’s brow furrowed as her ears rose and fell in thought. “Probably, but it’s not the kind of life they wanted. They’d be unhappy and trapped, only able to complain about it as nothing changed. If you’re unhappy about a situation, isn’t it better to do something about it?”

“It is natural to fear change,” the Head Chantress added, her wizened words filled with conviction. “The unknown path is the most frightening, and there’s no guarantee that happiness awaits the end of the journey. But the courage to act despite their fear only serves to make our ancestors worthy of veneration.”

His only response to that was silence as they continued their trek along the sidewalk of the main road. He took in the sights of the desert city they called home and compared it to the mountainous forest he had dwelled in, trying to better understand what their ancestors would have given up just to defy the path laid out for them. Even knowing it would isolate them from those bound to tradition, deny them the bounty of their homeland, leave them to rot as a plague devastated them, and eventually drive them overseas because of the measures they took to survive. They faced what must have been countless trials and tribulations, all to find their own way in life.

And yet, when faced when that same choice, I… He averted his eyes to the ground as his hands clenched around his staff as he exhaled a soft, yet haggard breath to try and drive the memory away. He didn’t want to remember the blood, the claws, or the cry of the cub. He didn’t want to think about anything other than getting things done.

“We’re here.” The voice of the older of his two escorts brought his attention back to the forefront, where he saw a drastic difference in the landscape up until then. The paved path turned into flagstones that split the desert greenery into an avenue of lanterns along the way, sitting on poles being tended to by members of the clergy who extended their hands out towards them before whispers in the foreign words gave birth to small, argent flames that shone like a silvery sliver of the moon that provided beacons in the dark.

Their glow brought attention to the stone murals on either side, with desert trees behind them, that depicted the tale the pair told him before ending in a small plaza with the statue of a prominent figure in the center. She sat on her knees while a cat was perched on her shoulder in a pose of prayer and wore a soft smile that was indelibly fixed into the stone but felt as natural as if it was on the lips of one of the people around them. And beyond the statue were interconnected buildings, a complex which had a massive rooftop supported by columns made of reddish sandstone with bricks filling in between them.

The Head Chantress stepped onto the pathway while he stood there and took in the majesty of the locale. Many of the others who took notice of her made a gesture of respect and a slight bow, to which she responded similarly. Then she turned back to him and Half-Maui’en Ranger and beckoned them forth.

They joined her and ventured inside.