After weeks cramped on board the imperial galley, Tēmānu was eager to stretch his legs. Leaving his servant to oversee the unloading of his possessions from the ship, he headed into Kār-Apum, curious to experience the city for himself without an escort of Strythani nobles looking over his shoulder.

His temporary abode was in the merchant’s district. It was the one sector of the city that resembled the settlements he was used to, though, even here, there were notable differences. While a majority of the great merchant houses that plied the inner sea came from the Empire, there were representatives from many other kingdoms as well - elves from Onkodos Laos and Yammaqom, dwarves from Birānāti and Mus̆aqqû, and even a handful of satyr, Fey, and Albwynian merchants. There was even, much to his displeasure, a group of Zalancthian merchants, hawking wares that by all rights should belong to the empire.

He steered clear of their stall, offended by its very presence, though he could not help but notice the rows of immaculately carved statues they were offering, idols of the Corsyth gods carved in a fashion he recognized as belonging to the lost province of Pitḫallu. Like the Agamīnian general who had recently sworn his loyalty to the empire, it seemed these merchants too had succumbed to the imperial culture.

But Tēmānu was not here for the market; he was sure that in the weeks and months to follow, he would find himself here regularly, but the market was not significantly better than what he’d seen in Celestia. Instead, after a quick survey of the goods on display, he headed deeper into the city, curious to see the Strythani quarters up close.

As the merchant quarter faded into the distance, so too did the hustle and bustle of the city. The Strythani’s sectors were a strange mix of settlement and open wilderness. The majority of their homes were built into the ground, protruding from the earth in a series of gently rolling hills. Many of the townsfolk planted gardens on the roof, growing whatever roots and vegetables could survive the harsh winters, while others allowed the land to lie fallow, overgrown by shrubs or even trees that would provide further protection from the elements.

Most of the sectors were arranged in a roughly circular pattern, usually oriented around a thick patch of trees in the center in which they farmed the silk of their crescent-fanged spiders.

Tēmānu did not consider himself particularly fearful of spiders, but he was forced to reassess that opinion when he stopped at the first of the forest patches. The forest was fenced off, preventing any fools from wandering, and a handful of guards watched the entrance, but he could still see the spiders, perched high in the trees. A bit shorter than a cow, but significantly wider, the monstrous beasts were far too large for his liking.

Still, he stuck around for a while, jotting notes in his book and even attempting a rough

sketch of the spiders, until one of the guards showed up with their lunch - a wagon loaded with a handful of lambs and a small flock of chickens. He turned away in disgust as the spiders descended on the small creatures, unable to walk away fast enough as lambs’ frantic bleats filled the air.

He strolled aimlessly for a while, not ready yet to return to his temporary abode and prepare for the night’s feast until he spotted a building in the distance that was quite unlike the buried homes.

In some ways, the construction methods remained the same. Like the homes, the complex before him was buried beneath a layer of dirt, but this was no simple house. It was a massive stepped pyramid with a long, stone staircase that led directly to the top. Each of the pyramid’s seven steps was planted with evenly spaced rows of tall, wiry evergreens and between them were narrow wooden statues, carved in grotesque mockeries of animal form. A temple claimed the pinnacle of the pyramid, a row of animalistic pillars that held up an overhanging roof and large, red panels that blocked out the wind.

Tēmānu paused at the base of the stairs, looking for the telltale emblem that would reveal what deity the temple was dedicated to, but the red panels were bereft of decoration. Usually, the absence of emblems would indicate that it was dedicated to the Progenitor, but such temples were extremely rare even in the Empire, so he doubted he’d find one here. Driven by curiosity, he started up the stairs, bounding them two at a time as he continued to revel in his release from the hellish bowels of the ship.

As he neared the top, he could see that the red paint of the panels was cracked and chipped, with entire portions of the hard lacquer having fallen off altogether. The pillars were equally weathered, with many of the finer details of the carvings lost to the ravages of the time. The whole place seemed nearly abandoned, and as he stepped across the threshold, he found the temple shrouded in gloom.

A large wall, decorated with faded frescoes of hunting, stood opposite the open doors, blocking his view of the temple’s interior. He paused to examine it, expecting to find some clue to the god the temple was dedicated to, but found nothing he recognized; nearly every sequence of the myth it told, however, was dominated by a massive, shaggy bear that he assumed must be the god in question.

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Deciding it was a local deity that he was unfamiliar with, he ceased his scrutiny of the scene and circled around the wall to see the rest of the temple.

A row of pillars extended into the darkness; gilt in silver and gold, they glittered in the light of a giant hearth that occupied nearly the entire back wall of the shrine. To his surprise, there was no statue of the god watching over the shrine, nor even a symbol of his divine presence, but a long, low altar stretched in front of the hearth. Barely a fourth of the hearth hosted a fire, but it was enough to drive a small portion of the darkness away, and allow him to see a man sitting behind the altar though he could not distinguish any details as his face was backlit by the flames.

He debated turning around and leaving; judging from the state of the temple, it was likely that the deity was no longer popular with the people and the solitary priest watching over the dark hall was most likely impoverished. While he could sympathize with the man’s state, Tēmānu would prefer not to be begged for donations. But before he could flee, the priest spoke.

“Have you come to speak with the flames?” The man’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, and yet somehow it reached Tēmānu’s ears as if he was standing right beside him. His curiosity stoked again, he ventured deeper into the hall. I guess I can spare a few coins.

The man sat on an old wooden chair that had likely been quite elaborate in its heyday. Tēmānu could see glimmers of gold and silver clinging to its weathered spindles, along with a crackled coating of the same red lacquer that decorated the outside panels.

But the priest, on the other hand, was not as old as he’d expected. The man was a true Strythani, dressed in a sleeveless shirt despite the cold of the outdoors that revealed surprisingly muscular arms covered in a layer of hair so thick it could almost be mistaken for fur.

His dark hair was equally shaggy, with long, wavy strands hanging below his shoulders, though his beard was neatly plaited. His amber eyes were his most unusual feature, however, as they glowed in the dark with the faint eyeshine that Tēmānu had sometimes observed in a night hunt. The man was no more than middle-aged, if that, he judged - hardly the dusty fossil he’d expected to find.

Despite his surprise, he inclined his head politely, only for the priest to snort.

“No need to do that here, boy,” the priest said not unkindly. His voice, though soft, was deep and resonant, and Tēmānu immediately thought the man had missed his calling - he would have been a fantastic orator in the gilded halls of Celestia.

“Old habits die hard,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve been here less than a day.”

“Aye, you came in on the Horned Serpent, didn’t you?”

Tēmānu paused. “I did. I’m surprised you know that.”

“Eh. This temple may have seen better days, but there are still some who observe the old ways,” the priest said. “I’d heard rumors of the new ambassador from the Empire; folks were quite surprised to hear he was actually going to come here.”

“The previous ambassador was quite ill,” Tēmānu lied, offering the excuse that Eligon had told him to use.

But the priest chuckled lowly. “I suppose one could call greed an illness, but I wouldn’t try that excuse on our new lord.”

Tēmānu sensed a slight note of disdain when he spoke of the new king and raised his brow. “I’d heard there’d been some difficulties with the recent succession,” he said carefully. “Is the new king not a supporter of the temple?”

“Bah!” The priest waved his hand dismissively. “It is not his money that lacks quality, but the man himself. But surely you are here to worship at the temple?” He added, with a wry smile, “Not to question me about our politics, no?”

Caught out, Tēmānu flashed him a rueful grin. “I was actually hoping to learn more about this temple. It’s quite impressive,” he added, not mentioning its state of disrepair, “but I’m afraid I’m not as well educated in Strythani religion as I should be. To which god is this temple dedicated?”

“Come now,” the man chuckled, “You know who this temple belongs to.”

Tēmānu could only shake his head uneasily, afraid that he was giving insult to a potentially powerful man. “I’ve seen no symbol of the god thus, unless that hearth,” he pointed to the flames behind them, “is some aspect of their worship.”

“You’ve seen no symbol because there is none. Man is the symbol,” he said, abruptly rising from his chair. The priest was a good two feet taller than Tēmānu and twice as wide of shoulder, and a sudden tingle of fear ran down his spine. Surely he won’t attack an ambassador.

“I meant no offense-“ he started to say, but the man waved off his words.

“Tell me, ambassador, have you heard of Ilrabû?”

He groaned internally as the priest spoke the name. “Of course,” he replied promptly. “I did not realize that the Ilrabû had temples of his own.”

“Once this was the only temple in Kār-Apum, until the empire came and spread their gods. Now, most worship the Celestial Queen and her consort.” The priest showed no antipathy when he spoke of Selene, but his face darkened as he mentioned S̆ams̆a. “But the time will come again when this temple is filled with worship.”

Tēmānu studied the man’s face carefully, uncertain if he wanted to raise the rumors he had heard. While the priest had made no hostile move toward him, something about him sent every nerve in his body tingling with danger, and it was only his curiosity that drove him to stay. “Are you referring to the rumors that the Ilrabû has returned?” he finally ventured.

The priest smirked. “Those are no rumors. The Ilrabû has returned to his people and those that ignore him, those like Ḫaḫḫūru, will be found wanting. But,” he sat back down and, as he did, the feeling of danger Tēmānu had felt vanished, “that is a question for another day. For now, shouldn’t you be heading to the palace? The word is you’re the guest of honor.”

Glancing back at the shaft of light coming through the door, Tēmānu realized that day was fast fading.

With a hurried bow, he took his leave, and as soon as he was out of the doors, begin running - hoping he’d make it back before the elders from the council came for him.