“And I,” Saevrin continued, feathers lifting in a silent ripple, “would not have you perish beyond recall.” Then, of course, he laughed. That low, rustling chuckle like dry leaves in autumn.

  I folded my arms, tilting my head. “Well… I don’t wanna die either.”

  “Faithful one,” Saevrin murmured, his voice stretching thin. “This soul clings to purpose, however flawed. You shall aid her. Take her to the Starwarden. The rite must be readied. I have seen your devotion.”

  Then, quieter, almost gentle, “When your time comes, you shall be welcomed in the Promised World.”

  And with that batch of cryptic nonsense, he vanished.

  Just poof. No wings. No smoke. Just gone.

  The priest immediately launched into some lengthy thanks-and-praise chant, head bowed and hands pressed together like he’d just been knighted by a pantheon. I didn’t want to be more disrespectful than I already was, so I kept my mouth shut and leaned back against the wall. It was surprisingly cool. Not cool enough.

  I smiled at my joke, stared at my hand, and raised it slowly. Just to try. No Sovereign. No Ice-Blood God. No system. Just… me.

  I focused.

  Mana gathered easier this time, like water drawn from a tap instead of stolen from a storm-cloud. Willing. I pulled it in, concentrated, shaped it. Ice. Frost. A fine glitter of cold shimmered across my palm.

  But it wasn’t like before.

  It wasn’t Ice-Blood God power… How was that bloke’s real name? Ugh, it had been some time. It was Vethr’vla… something. Yeah, Vethr’vlaedr.

  Good job me.

  It wasn’t Vethr’vlaedr’s power. That hero nonsense. And it wasn’t Sovereign’s magic either. That power had weight, consequence, command. This didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a reflection. Not borrowed. Not bestowed.

  Mine.

  I flexed my fingers. Ice bloomed faintly at the tips, delicate like a memory.

  Maybe… maybe when the Sovereign rewarded me, it touched my soul. Something that stayed when everything else got wiped. And my soul is real…?

  God, I hoped it’d work in Rimelion too. Because if I was walking back into that world empty-handed? I was going to need every single sliver of this I could get.

  I waited.

  At least fifteen minutes. Hard to say exactly. Time was a little fuzzy when your AI assistant was broken and the only clock was a priest stuck in divine buffering mode. “Uhm,” I whispered, finally breaking the silence, “shouldn’t we… go somewhere? Like prepare a ritual? Y’know, like the literal god asked us to do?”

  The priest’s eyes snapped wide as whiskey bottles. “I—I—I… Sister, you are right! What—wha—no! Saevrin, please, have mercy! For I have—”

  And boom. Full meltdown. He dropped into a kneel and launched into a flurry of whispered apologies, hands pressed together, head bowed so low I thought he’d try to burrow into the moss. I stepped forward, cautiously. He was muttering something now, eyes shut tight, mouth flapping silently like he was reciting ancient patch notes only he could read.

  I think I broke him.

  “Uhm… not to be that guy. I mean—that girl—but Saevrin might actually be more merciful if we, oh I don’t know, did the thing he asked us to?”

  No reaction. Just more ghost-muttering.

  “Right then,” I sighed. “I’m gonna go find the Starwarden myself, yeah?” I made my way to the door, pushed it halfway open, then looked back at him, still deep in some sort of divine performance anxiety spiral. “Last chance, priest?”

  Still nothing.

  “Okay, nobody pin this on me,” I muttered, mostly to the empty room, and maybe a little to the sky, in case Saevrin was eavesdropping. “I’m just following orders. Divine ones. So if anyone’s mad, yell at the god, not me.”

  I hesitated, hand still on the doorframe.

  Saevrin was the god of the Overworld, yeah. But also the god of honesty. And self-reflection. And… what was the third and fourth one? Accountability? Dramatic entrances? Whatever.

  Point was, he valued truth. And I was being honest. Honestly confused. Honestly winging it. Honestly doing stuff that shouldn’t work, like yelling at deities or Twirs.

  But it kept working.

  So I shrugged. And walked out into the sacred city. Toward the biggest ruin, I remembered. Wait, here they weren’t definitely a ruin.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  I didn’t know what I expected. Some kind of divine checkpoint? A trigger? Magical mist rolling across the path like it did in those old raids?

  But no.

  I just walked through the town like I belonged here.

  Priests passed me. Young, old, robed in all shades of gray and brown, and each time we locked eyes, I gave a nod. They nodded back. Polite. Casual. Unbothered. Like it was totally normal for some stranger to just stroll through the spiritual heart of their religion.

  Maybe it was normal. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Except… this should be a dungeon. A hard one. And part of me still half-expected mobs to leap out from behind wooden carts or for the dirt road to explode into boss music.

  Where even am I?

  Earth? Doubt it. That airlock setup back at the entrance, it felt like more than just containment. It was a gate. Probably dropped me into some pocket realm stitched to Rimelion’s edge. Close enough to feel like it. Far enough to be a questionable life choice.

  Ugh. I was never good at dimension theory. I had a sword; I waved sword; I cut with sword. Nothing fancy. Exploits favored the dumb.

  Tucked into the back edge of the settlement, framed by thick trees was the building I was loking for.

  Made from deep-colored, oiled wood. It wasn’t tall, no sky-reaching cathedral nonsense. The roof only rose about double a normal ceiling height. But what it lacked in height, it made up for in sheer length.

  Like dachshund.

  It stretched on and on, long as a train hangar. Its design was simple, but enhanced with runes. Weird, nor Rimelion ones. The symbols were curling along the eaves, and wooden beams reinforced with dark iron inlays.

  A temple, yes, but not showy.

  Half of one long wall was dominated by a single massive door. I approached and stood before it. Then knocked. Three sharp raps. “Uhm, guys?” I called out softly, knuckles still resting against the towering wooden door. “I mean no harm, but… a god sent me here?”

  I gave the door a gentle shove. It didn’t budge. Not even a creak of politeness. Then… scraping. Wood on stone. Movement on the other side when a heavy latch shifted, then clicked.

  The door opened just enough to let a figure slip through.

  An older priestess emerged, dressed in layered robes the same color, her silver hair braided back elegantly. She didn’t say a word.

  “Uhm. Hi?” I offered a weak smile. “A god sent me here?” Her stare was sharp and unreadable, the kind of look that could nail butterflies to boards. “I’m Charlie,” I added quickly. “And I—”

  She stepped forward suddenly, gaze flicking past me, scanning the road behind. Her eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she looked me up and down.

  Measured me.

  “How did you enter this place?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief. No confusion, accusation. As if made the grave sin and walked in the temple with mud on my heels.

  “I… don’t understand. What do you mean?” I said, honest and just a little defensive. “I walked through the front door. Came with a Whispering Novice. We talked. Then a god showed up. Told him to take me to a Starwarden. So…”

  I gestured toward her robe, palm up, halfway to a shrug. “Are you the Starwarden? Kinda obvious.”

  She closed her eyes.

  Not like she was meditating. More like she was trying to mentally CTRL+ALT+DEL me out of existence. A sharp exhale followed, nostrils flaring slightly. Then, with the poise of someone deeply fed up but too dignified to scream, she stepped fully outside and folded her hands behind her back.

  “Another question,” she said flatly. “Why do you need me? And don’t say a god sent you.”

  “But he did send me…” I mumbled, then lifted my chin and added louder, “Tvraelyngar Vaedriun. Do you have any idea how long I sat at my desk in near-dark, trying to remember and pronounce that? Something like that stays in your memory forever.”

  She didn’t laugh. Didn’t flinch. Her arms crossed now, sleeves shifting. Stance tighter. “How did you learn of that?” she snapped. “No, how did you even learn of us?”

  “Uh… your website? I booked a meeting?” I blinked at her. “And yes, god told me to find you.”

  “What god?” she hissed.

  “Saevrin!” I threw my arms wide and turned toward the sky like I was calling a pet bird. “You wanna come explain? Please? Now would be super helpful.”

  Silence.

  “Is this because I didn’t bow?!” I shouted. “I swear to you, if you make me kneel, I’ll face plant on purpose—”

  Then she moved.

  No warning. Just a flicker of motion, her arm snapping forward like a whip, fist aimed low and fast.

  My eyes went wide. I twisted my body just in time, turning into the blow so the strike caught my side instead of my stomach. Pain exploded through my ribs and launched me off balance, stumbling a few steps before I hit the ground, shoulder first.

  Air rushed out of my lungs. Moss scraped against my palms. The hit hadn’t broken anything, but it would’ve if I’d stayed still.

  “What the hell?!” I coughed, pushing up to one knee. “Was that supposed to be a greeting? Because it sucks.”

  She didn’t reply. Just shifted her stance, weight forward now, one foot slightly ahead, hands loose but ready. Her eyes locked on me like I was a hostile spell that hadn’t finished casting. “You don’t belong here,” she said coldly. “So you will be removed. That is my role.”

  Great.

  She lunged again. I was ready this time, well, readier. Not watching the sky. Her movement blurred, a fake-out kick arcing high while her real strike snapped low toward my thigh.

  I hopped back, stumbling a bit on uneven moss, and narrowly avoided getting dead-legged. “Whoa, calm down!”

  “I made a vow,” she said, pushing forward. “To leave my life behind, but not the teachings it provided!”

  Then she unleashed.

  Her fists came fast, efficient, brutal, not wild, but relentless. A flurry meant to break defense by sheer pressure. I barely kept up, forced to retreat step by step, hands raised, trying not to get clocked in the face. She wasn’t just fast. She was trained. Military, maybe? Or one of those martial orders?

  I tried to sidestep a grapple, twisting my body like before, but she still caught the edge of my dress and ripped it with a sharp yank.

  That wasn’t what hurt, but gods, it felt like a slap to the soul. Lola had helped pick this dress. Had argued over the fit. Had smiled when I finally wore it. And this priestess just tore it?

  Something snapped. My breath hitched, then came out fast.

  I didn’t think.

  I just reached inside, pulled on that mana, formed into a cold shimmer in my gut, and shaped it. An icicle bloomed in my palm, sharp and instinctive. I hurled it before I could talk myself out of it.

  Her eyes widened a fraction.

  She moved, arms up in a block, but too high, too late. The icicle sliced across her forearm with a sharp hiss, leaving a narrow trail of frost-burned skin and a thin line of blood.

  “Ouch!” I blurted. “I’m so sorry!”

  She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, clutching her forearm as pale-blue frost crackled and melted along the wound. Her eyes flicked to me, assessing, not just in pain but confused. “What was that?” she demanded, voice tight. “And why are you apologizing to the enemy?”

  “Because you’re not?” I shot back, half-wincing. “Saevrin, I swear, if you don’t—” I stopped, because her expression was suddenly not great. Cold, offended, and still bleeding.

  “What?” I asked, easing back a step. “What did I say this time?”

  Her jaw flexed. “Do not. Ever.” That came out low and trembling, not fear, but fury barely sheathed. “I… also apologize,” she ground out, like the words cost her. “But never, ever, speak of the illustrious holy Saevrin in that tone again.”

  I gulped down at least ten remarks about him and the illustrious that sprang to mind like popcorn in a microwave.

  “Okay,” I said instead.