The rain clouds were a good sign. It was overcast, which would make his magic a million times easier to use, and he felt good about this. It may have been that he triggered monsoon season a bit early. That was the problem with weather magic. You could cast it, but it would have lasting effects on the atmosphere. The fact that Crimson had tried to cast wind magic in a desert was practically a guarantee for a sandstorm. Gray still was in awe of his blatant irresponsibility---

No, no thinking about Crimson right now, because his opponent was right across from him, dressed in resplendent gold and white robes, with his short, cropped white hair and lines in his face. He might have been an attractive man in his youth, were his personality not so grossly repugnant. Gray could play the two-faced, but he tended to hate every second of it, and the fact alone that he had been pushed into that corner was nauseating to him.

Well, he knew what was coming. He couldn’t play dumb now.

“Are you ready, Sojourner?” Father Ilias asked, and Gray was acutely aware of the crowd of people watching from a safe distance away. This was very new. Very, very new. He wasn’t used to being observed.

“For the most part, yes,” Gray said and tilted his head. “Shall we assume our positions and take the oath?”

“Correct,” Father Ilias said and fell to his knees, clasping his amulet in his hands. Gray sank down onto the dirt to sit cross-legged and folded his hands politely in his lap.

“I swear by the Goddess of Light and by my own vows of faith that, should I fail in this task, to return custody of the children to the adults of this town,” Father Ilias said, his voice a dull drone of a trained orator as a golden shimmer began to float gently down over his head. “This I put on my name, Ilias of the Followers of the Goddess.”

“I swear on the knowledge of those that came before me, and the knowledge of those that will come after me, that should I fail in my task, I will refrain from interactions within the Church of Light,” Gray said with his eyes shut tight as he felt warmth fall over his shoulder and a bond settle into his chest. “This I put on my name, Gray of the Librarian Sojourners and Order of Rain.”

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

“Begin,” Father Ilias said, and Gray opened his eyes.

In a battle of clerics, what mattered was the speed of invocation. And Gray had the advantage here, because he was a poet, not a prayer warrior, and the prayers of the Goddess were lengthy. Even so, that was no excuse to be lazy and complacent. White would smack him over the head if he even thought he didn’t have to take the proper steps in combat.

“You looked like an

Angel,

but I called you the

Devil.

The holiest of

Them all,

brought me to

Ruin.

You looked like an

Angel

but I knew you were

Devil.”

The poem came out as fast as he could make it happen with the proper invocation, and just as Father Ilias finished his prayer, the spell forming over Gray’s head dispersed.

That was the specialty of poets, and Gray allowed himself a small smile. Poems were both blissfully hard and hilariously easy to comprehend. Freeform poetry, Gray’s specialty, allowed for greater artistic interpretation and more apparent metaphors. Which made it criminally easy to take a poem about someone related to the divine was actually deeply corrupted to the core, and all power was based on belief. All that mattered was that Gray’s belief in the power of a poem written by a man weeping over a lost lover overpowered the power of a man calling on a Goddess.

As suspected, Father Ilias’s faith was impure and selfish, directly contradicting the nature of the Goddess he called on.

“What?” Father Ilias asked in horror, and Gray cleared his throat to project even louder.

“I chained you

so you would not forget

the life you breathed into me

like electricity

coursing through

My veins.

I chained you

so you would come to

Love Me.

So, my darling.

Won’t You Love Me?”

Lightning cracked down, three, four, five bolts, to slam into the ground all around the old priest, and instead of disperse, they spider webbed out to encase him in a cage of pure electricity, and Gray slowly tilted his head.

“Do you yield?” he asked loudly, and Father Ilias stared at him with wide, startled eyes.

Judging from the size of the Divine Smite he had been about to cast, he was a skilled practitioner, but he would need time to try again. Time Gray clearly would not give him.

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It was on him for underestimating Gray for his youth.

“So, my darling.

Won’t You Love Me?”

Gray repeated it, and the cage shrunk as Father Ilias continued to stare at him like he had lost his mind.

“How could you use such vile poetry?!” Father Ilias demanded, and Gray blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“That poetry! It’s…! It’s…!”

Love poetry? It wasn’t even explicit, and Gray had plenty of explicit poetry in his repertoire.

“So, my darling.

Won’t You Love Me?”

A third time, and the cage shrunk ever-closer, clear and threatening, and Father Ilias held up his hands.

“I yield!”

Oh.

That was relatively simple, and Gray breathed out to release the spell. He had really thought he was going to need to shrink it twice more.

“That was excessive, young Sojourner!” Father Ilias nearly screeched at him as Gray climbed to his feet.

“You should count yourself lucky it was me and not Crimson and his scientific texts you were dealing with,” Gray said dryly, because Crimson, for all his faults, would have given Father Ilias a much harder time. “And you tried to smite me immediately, so I will count this as fair.”

He could not understand people that opened up a duel with a killing strike. Yielding was a perfectly acceptable option without any of the bloodshed. But, that was typically how the Followers of the Goddess operated, so he shouldn’t be so surprised.

Well, it was relatively swift, so he could count this as a win. And the children would now be returned. With that, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the waiting crowd, already practicing a winsome grin.

"Oh," Alfie said as he reached the crowd. "That was fast."

"Well. I'm a good Librarian," Gray replied as he rolled out his shoulders and stretched. "But I'm a bit hungry. Magic burns calories, and those weren't small spells."

Two of his biggest, actually. Cancelation and Cage were almost past his skill set, not that he'd admit to it when everyone was so very clearly happy. And, look. No bloodshed. Today was a very good day. He loved days that didn't end with someone bleeding. Or fried. No matter how terrible of a person they were. He just couldn't actually stomach violence.

"Oh, I'll be definitely fixing to feed ye," Malina said and put two firm hands on his narrow shoulders to push him off towards the inn. "Now, Alfie, you go make sure they hold up their end of that promise and let those little'uns go while I get some food in this one's stomach."

"Thank ye," Alfie said and suddenly grasped Gray's hands, just a bit too tight. "Thank ye so much."

"Well," Gray said and carefully pulled his hands out of the bruising grip, "I did promise."

"How can we even repay you?" Alfie asked and Gray shot him a smile.

"Malina's food," he replied, because it was good, and he only had food on his mind right now, but then another comment occurred to him. “... And information on the next caravan coming through here?”

“Oh, that’ll be the day after next,” Alfie said and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “If they’re on schedule, that is! I’ll put in a word with ‘em if you’re wantin’ t’travel with them.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Gray said and caught sight of Father Ilias out of the corner of his eye. The man looked worn out, and more than a little devastated, and Gray’s heart twinged. This could be his first mission work. He could even be out here on punishment detail, as missions for someone of his age were generally only given out to mid-level to high-level clergy enjoying the fruits of the cities that had made a mistake. It was unlikely he was here of his own volition, given his temperament.

“Excuse me,” he said as the other clergy from the church started to make their ways towards the head priest.

“Where ya going?” Alfie asked and Gray tilted his head with a smile.

“Just going to speak to the priest,” he said, though he really did not feel much sympathy for the man. If he had it in him to question, he should know the methods of the church were wrong. Good intentions mattered very little in the long run. Even so, Gray wasn’t one to be a gloating winner. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Ye sure?”

“Mmm. Yes, I’m sure,” he assured Alfie and made his way across the dirt and sparse, yellow grass towards the Father.

“Father Ilias,” Gray said and reached out a hand. “It was a good duel.”

Father Ilias stared at the offered hand for a long, long moment before he reached out to shake it, albeit begrudgingly.

“It was a one-sided victory,” Father Ilias corrected with a thin, pained smile.

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Gray assured him even as he looked at the parents simply flooding into the church to reclaim their children. He really shouldn’t be doing anything for this man, but… “Invocation speed matters.”

“You shouldn’t have been able to cancel Divine Smite,” Father Ilias said bluntly, and his hand tightened in Gray’s grasp briefly before he released. “I know I was lacking.”

“I do apologize for the trouble my fellow Order member caused before,” Gray said rather than respond to that, because he wasn’t a liar, and the truth would not be welcome. “I’ll be sure to inform Rain of his transgression. He should not have been so aggressive right away.”

“I fail to see how Librarians have any right to take offense to our methods,” Father Ilias said shortly, and Gray considered the merits of continuing this conversation. “You’re all children ripped away from your mothers’ breasts.”

“If that is your belief on our selection process, you’re entitled to it,” Gray said, his voice subconsciously tightening. “But, again, I am merely wishing to apologize for Crimson’s actions and his behavior. I don’t make a habit out of debating theological rearing methods.”

“Well, you’re much more neutral on the topic than most Librarians I’ve met,” Father Ilias said dryly, his tone drenched in utter contempt and bitterness, and Gray realized this was futile exercise.

“On the contrary, I simply don’t debate the method in which I myself was raised with those that have already drawn their own conclusions,” Gray corrected. “Ears of stone will not hear, and all of that.”

Father Ilias stared at him with angry, frustrated eyes, and Gray gave him a slight smile.

“Again, I would like to reiterate there was nothing wrong with your methods, and you made no errors,” Gray said and inclined his head. “I would advise to include in your report that it was Gray of the Monochrome line belonging to the Order of Rain to your superiors. I’m sure they’ll be understanding.”

The message, while polite, was blatantly clear: you were entirely outclassed, and I almost feel bad for you for thinking so highly of yourself.

“I hope you have a better day, Father Ilias,” Gray said and turned on his heel to walk away.

“Sojourner Gray,” Father Ilias called, and Gray looked over his shoulder to take in the storm clouding the older man’s face. “I may not know the way in which you were raised, but I have seen how you all present yourselves as adults. I might advise that there is a thin line between false humility and hubris. There is a reason Librarians are so loathed by so many religious sects, after all. You should consider carrying yourself differently.”

A small smile touched Gray’s lips and he inclined his head.

“Your concern is noted, Father,” he said, and continued to walk away.

There was a fine line between false humility and hubris, that was to be sure. But the line between confidence and arrogance was much, much broader.

Gray looked up at the blue sky and smiled to himself.

The clouds had cleared.